Читать книгу Making Him Want It - Renee Luke - Страница 6

Twenty minutes too soon, the cab pulled up in front of the bar. Kat sat in the dim sanctuary of the car’s interior, her forehead pressed against the cool glass, her cheeks on fire. It’d been easy to choose a super thigh–high skirt and a bra–exposing shirt when she’d been in her bedroom, but now, presented with mingling with the public, she wanted to run.

“You getting out?” the cabbie asked.

Kat didn’t answer, afraid she’d order him to turn around and retrace their path. But back at home she’d be faced with the same problem, an article due and no material to write it. Drawing a deep breath, she fished inside her tiny purse, then shoved a twenty toward the driver. Getting into character, she slid from the car and steadied herself upon four–inch spiky heels on the sidewalk.

Above her, the pink neon sign read The Night Kitty, though in reality all men knew that kitty meant pussy and pussy meant sex. Come here, the sign called, and you’ll be assured pleasure. Kat squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and sashayed to the door mustering false confidence. She slipped into the dark smoky interior.

The scent of cigarettes, alcohol, sweat, and endorphins all tuned and primed for fucking crashed around her like a sensual wave. Bass throbbed a heavy beat that blared from the surrounding speakers. A nervous slither crept down Kat’s spine as she kept herself from finding the nearest exit. She hadn’t been to a place like this since her early years of college, but even then she’d had girlfriends to accompany her.

She was alone now, playing a role. Creating a façade. She stepped forward, determined to see her plan unfold.

Fine–ass men littered the room. A most beautiful specimen of male flesh stood alone across the dance floor from her. Yummy enough to be a cover model. LL Cool J–fine. Sex appeal of Wesley Snipes. She’d be happy with a piece of him.

Turning away, the crush of bodies hindered her slow advance to the bar.

“Give me a shot,” Kat said to a young man standing behind the counter who looked too young to drink, let alone serve the stuff.

“A shot of what?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter. Just get me tipsy and fast.”

“Not a prob,” he replied, reaching beneath the smooth surface of the bar and withdrawing a shot glass, which he then filled with a blue liquid, fuller than the standard two fingers. “Enjoy.” He slid the glass in her direction.

“What is it?” Please be strong!

“Does it matter?” he asked, a lopsided grin spreading over his lips.

“Nope.” She grabbed the glass and downed the contents in one smooth motion, not even gasping as the fiery liquid slid down her throat.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Yeah, another,” she replied, lifting her empty glass.

It was quickly refilled.

“Thanks.” She downed the second serving, left the empty glass on the bar along with another twenty, and walked toward the flashing lights and couples crowded on the dance floor. Stud though he may be, the bartender was on duty and with the blue fluid already making her feel more at ease, she needed material now.

Kat inched her way around the room, watching the couples bumping and grinding on the floor, a planned seduction—foreplay—in view of everyone. Good stuff she filed away in her memory for future articles.

With groping hands, men held women to their groins, hiding the swell that undoubtedly pulsated there. With bodies rubbing, palms were tightly held to feminine hips. In the center of the dance floor the couples took it one step further, backs arched, the women allowed the men access to their necks and breasts, the steady rhythm of their dancing a mimic to fucking.

“What was in that drink?” she mumbled, suddenly aware of how her black thong rubbed against her clit as she walked. She shifted her hips, completing the tantalizing contact. Her pussy became damp, moisture pooled at her crotch and she could feel the telltale evidence of her arousal slick on her inner thighs.

Glancing back at the bar, Kat had to wonder if something had been slipped into her drink. Booze alone had never made her this horny. But she’d watched the entire time as the drink was poured into the glass right before she’d emptied it. Nothing had been added.

The blue liquid she’d swallowed quickly shed the last of her inhibitions. It was unlike anything she’d ever tasted, a heady combination mixed with her resolve to get laid that made her almost desperate for the right man to come along.

Her made–up persona offered her a newly found freedom. She shrugged off the euphoria of her sexual charge and she focused on her mission. It was made easier by the slight alcohol induced lulling of her fear.

She studied the dimly lit room, searching for a man not already coupled. For the hunk she’d seen at the beginning of the Too Short song.

“You here alone?” a husky voice asked her from behind.

Warmth spread across Kat’s skin as the height and breadth of his body closed in behind her, more solid than the wall had been.

She need not bother to turn around, for she’d watched the advance of the man as he’d made his way from across the room, working the border as if he could remain unnoticed. Like hell—every available female in the joint had to be primed for a piece of ass from this guy.

How’d I get so lucky? She’d wanted him from the moment she’d seen him.

Through the pump of music their words were barely audible. “Not anymore,” she answered, hoping he didn’t hear the tiny hitch on her voice as she struggled to keep the real Kat hidden.

He stood a good six inches taller than her, his masculine presence as heady as the drink she’d consumed. Taking a deep breath, she leaned her back toward him and was surprised to feel an impressive length of aroused cock nudge against the small of her back. She shifted her hips against the erection eliciting a grumble from the man behind her, though most definitely not a complaint.

“What’s your name?”

Biting her bottom lip, Kat thought about her reply. This wasn’t her. She was a wallflower. A self–made recluse who made a habit of avoiding the public. This was a woman she’d created, and as ballsy as she was feeling, delving into real names meant revealing a part of her she didn’t want to face tomorrow. “I don’t want you to call me in the morning.”

For a moment only the incredible hum of drums could be heard above the steady breathing of the man. His warm breath on the back of her neck sent her nipples aching. He knew what she wanted. They both wanted the same thing. Was he going to walk away? Did the fact she’d turned the table on men’s usual tactics make him think twice before taking their experimental material forward?

In answer to her silent questions, one of his large palms snaked across her lower stomach. With a slight tug, he brought her back flush against his chest, his seeking fingers caressing the hem of her suede ultra–miniskirt.

“Do you want to dance?” he whispered in her ear.

“No.” Breathing was now difficult. The dance floor, though a good place for foreplay, was not nearly private enough for what Kat had in mind.

“What do you want then?”

“I want your cock inside of me, now.”

Jamal felt like laughing. He didn’t go to bars to pick up on women, but here he was now, with this little hottie tucked against his chest telling him she wanted a good bang. He’d seen her the moment she’d entered the bar, a Fly–Girl with a J–Lo booty.

He smoothed his fingers along the hem of her skirt, barely touching the silken brown skin covering thick, juicy thighs. Her legs jetted a mile to the floor. Her calves and feet were encased in tall, black leather boots, tipped with heels high enough to make any man with testosterone beg for mercy.

Dressed as she was, she could have stepped off the set of any Puff Daddy video, though none of those models were as luscious as this babe. The details of her face were obscured by the low lighting and haze of smoke enshrouding the place, but he could tell enough to know her beauty matched her exquisite body.

Jamal moved his hand lower, until he felt her tremble before him, her knees becoming jelly as he eased her legs apart with a subtle hint of pressure between her thighs. The honey whimpered slightly, lolling her head back against his chest, allowing him the pleasure of her fragrance.

She smelled sweetly exotic. Definitely enticing. It wasn’t a scent procured in any store or produced by any brand name perfume. Her lingering aroma was purely her own, feminine and inviting.

Glancing around the packed dance floor, Jamal’s gaze came to rest upon Kent as he gyrated his hips against some skinny broad in the center of the room. Outkast was pumping through the speakers now.

Jamal dipped his hand beneath the material of the woman’s skirt, his fingers encouraged further with each of her breathy moans. Easing aside the narrow strip of cloth covering her treasure, he parted her lips and dipped two knuckles deep into her oh–so–tight pussy.

Womanizing Kent, who had poked fun of his manhood, hadn’t managed to score the way he had, still bothered by being caught with a hard–on earlier. But it wasn’t merely the drive to prove himself a studly man that spurred the slow rhythm of his fingers as he moved in and out of the woman in his arms.

There was something about her that had drawn him from across the room. Maybe it was the wide–eyed stare she’d had when she’d first entered the bar, or the I’d–like–to–eat–you–for–dessert look she’d tossed him during that brief moment when she’d glanced his way. A siren call for sure; he’d been helpless against it.

In the dark room no one noticed how he pressed his fingers into her wet, accepting flesh. Using his thumb, Jamal found the bead of her clit and rubbed against it. The hottie went limp in his arms, sagging against him. He wrapped his other arm around her, holding her curvy body against his, and took the weight of a firm breast into his palm, tweaking the hard crest with his fingers.

“You want it now, huh?” he whispered, bending his head so he could nibble upon the tender skin just below her ear. She shuddered, then slanted her head for him to further explore her skin with his tongue. Nuzzling his face into her straightened locks of hair, he slowed the in and out of his fingers to long sensual movements.

His effort at seduction was rewarded.

“Please…Please…Please…” Her begging whimpered chant was driving him crazy. A little more of this and he’d cum in his pants. Jamal shook his head, finding his behavior hard to believe. Foolish. He’d never done this before, but something about her had him press on.

“In the club?” He moved his thumb to her clit and circled twice. “Reach behind you and undo my pants.”

Kat couldn’t have stopped her hands if she tried. They moved behind her, like steel to a magnet, finding the large bulge straining his pants. She cupped him in her palms, the damn fabric preventing her from feeling what she wanted so badly to touch.

She flicked her fingernail against the rough teeth of his zipper, the jagged edge abrasive against her skin. In the momentary sting of pain, reason penetrated Kat’s lust miasma, his suggestion ringing loud and clear in her ears. Her blood roared through her veins.

She wanted sex and pretty badly, but she’d never been one for public displays of affection. She certainly wasn’t brash enough to actually have sex while everyone there could watch, had they the mind to.

She stalled her hands’ progress, though not an easy feat. Where was the shy girl, she wondered briefly, taking on her new role so completely?

“Perhaps we ought to take this to…” Her voice trailed off. To where? She hadn’t thought her plan through. Once decided, she’d rushed to the bar afraid if given too much thought she’d change her mind. Now she realized the error, too late, and too horny. She should’ve secured a hotel room nearby to ensure once she’d lured a man to her lair, she could enjoy him thoroughly. Her mind searched for answers. His car? The bathroom? The back alley?

The back alley. Surely there would be some boxes or something to offer a bit of privacy from the street front. Besides, the thought of a cold brick wall against her back and the heat of his body before her sounded like an exciting turn–on.

“Come with me,” she demanded, wiggling his hand free from her sex, moisture following his slow withdraw, knowing too, that given too much time to think she’d dart for the door. Alone. Shifting her hips to lower the skirt back into place, she grabbed his hand, slick with her juices, and pulled him after her.

He willingly fell into step beside her.

The bartender gave a knowing smile as she darted past, a man in tow, then shifted his head to the door that read EXIT like he knew exactly what she’d been looking for. Kat tried to ignore the burning heat on her cheeks as she used the door.

Once shut from the thumping of the speakers, a bass vibration worked its way through the walls and filtered into her.

Mr. Gorgeous moved his hands to her back, turning her toward the wall, and urging her forward. But she stepped from his grasp. This was her game and she meant to play it as she chose. She set the rules. The pace.

“Not so fast, Bad Boy,” she said, hitching her hip to the side and acting like she’d often written her heroines. Trying not to be Kat but the character she’d created, she smoothed her palm up his abdomen feeling each rippling contour beneath the silk of his button–up shirt. He sucked a breath between his teeth that further incited her desire.

Staring at the man’s handsome face, purely masculine but definitely beautiful, she saw dark eyes the color of midnight. They gleamed like a queen bed draped in black satin sheets, beneath a pair of thick, but well trimmed, brows. His dark brown skin reflected against the distant streetlight, showing how recently he’d shaved his head.

“Back up,” she urged, using a slight push on his chest.

He complied.

“Put your hands above your head.” She smoothed her hands up each of his arms, pulling his muscular biceps with her until she had his arms pushed up. His elbows bent, he intertwined his fingers behind his head, groaning as she shimmied up his body.

She leaned in close, inhaling the lingering scent of the club and the freshness of Ivory—splashed with the subtle hint of cologne. Needing to stand on tiptoes despite the extra four inches, she placed her elbows on his shoulder and framed his face with her forearms. She stroked her curious hands over his sleek head, enjoying his smooth and warm skin beneath her fingertips.

“I like your head,” she commented when he pressed his full lips to the curve of her outstretched neck.

“Oh yeah? Which one?”

She laughed. This guy was in a hurry and that suited her just fine. No time to chicken out. She eased away from him, allowing her hands to slide effortlessly down his well–defined chest. Her fingers came to rest on the buckle of the black leather belt holding his slacks in place. Releasing the spike from the hole, she then found the single button at the top of his fly. Bulging and straining beneath the fine twill of his pants, she could feel his erection, solid and pulsing, eager for lack of restraint.

A smooth swish of jagged zipper teeth and he was left confined only by a pair of thin cotton boxers with an easy elastic waist. Kat touched his flat stomach and felt him quiver, heard him suck in a breath. Her nails scraped over his skin, swirling through the silken dark pubic hairs that plunged from his belly button to the base of his cock.

“So which head do I like? Well, I don’t know yet do I; I haven’t felt them both.” Finding previously untapped courage, she slid her fingers beneath the band of elastic and bent her knees, drawing down his boxers as she crouched before him. The spikes on her heels clicked against the cement.

There, in the fake shades of neon signs and the soft glow of the distant streets’ overhead lighting, his dark cock sprung free. A bubbling of excitement swept through Kat’s body as she slid her hand down the rigid shaft, measuring all ten rock–hard inches.

“Impressive,” she mumbled, because there was nothing else she could say when a dick as glorious and large as his was inches from her face and making her pussy hungry. Damn, she couldn’t wait for him to ease open her lips and fuck her brains out.

“You know what they say,” he replied, his voice sounding a little strained.

She laughed. Yeah, she knew black men had big cocks, but while the limited amount she’d known in the past had been well endowed enough to please her, none had been hung like his. “No. What do they say?”

“That it’s not the size of the boat but the motion of the ocean.”

She laughed again. He’s funny and fine. Yummy! His answer was not what she’d been expecting. Winding her fingers around him, she wasn’t surprised they didn’t meet. Hell no, he was too damn thick for that. Famous for writing about it, she knew just what to do. Twisting in a languid pace, she slid her hand to his base, feeling the size of his balls brush against the heel of her hand. Oh, yeah, those will feel great slapping against me.

“Really? Is that what they say?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She licked the satin tip of his plum–shaped head, tasting the ball of moisture that had formed there. His natural lubricant. She didn’t need it. She was wet.