Darien
A BRUNETTE WEARING a short black dress pops herself on my lap and I lean back into the leather seat. We ride through downtown Newark in the limo. Can’t see the city lights because the windows are tinted. Matt pops a bottle of champagne and pours it into everyone’s glass, spilling some on the black carpet.
“Let’s toast,” Logan says. He is happy as a fucking birthday clown. Probably happy to get away from his badass kids and his girlfriend, Trish.
The blonde woman yanks his red silk tie as she straddles his lap, holding up her glass, and says, “To success.”
We clink our glasses together, and I swallow the watered-down alcohol. I need something harder than this. We are celebrating Matt’s success in opening his club. He owns multiple clubs throughout the country.
Matt’s drunk ass pulls down a woman’s silk silver blouse, yanks out her big tits, and pours bourbon on her nipples and licks it off. She tries to rip off his crisp black collared shirt, but he tells her to stop. The guys banter about shit I could care less about.
Fact: Alana is the biggest cock tease I ever met in my life. If I had a dollar for every time I got blue balls from thinking about Alana, I’d be a billionaire.
Haven’t spoken to Red since I took her to the interview. And when she went to celebrate with Tate, I got pissed off. I’m gonna fuck her, but it will be on her terms and time. This is foreplay building for the grand finale. Red pretends she doesn’t want me like I didn’t catch her eye-fucking me. I thought about it all week, how she rubbed her clit against my cock, making me so goddamn horny. Cock tease. It took everything in me to show restraint. That woman already owns my dick and I haven’t fucked her yet.
“You want me to take care of that for you, babe?” the brunette says, touching the imprint of my dick. Don’t want to taste anyone else but Alana.
Shaking my head, I say, “Get off me.”
I push her off me and she pouts like a five-year-old. When the blondie sits between Matt and Logan, she straddles Matt’s lap as he makes out with the woman with big tits. Women always hang around Matt like groupies. Don’t know what they see in the slimy bastard.
We arrive at the club and a line is wrapped around the corner of the brick building. As we make it to the entrance, a camera flashes and the bouncer steps to the side and lets us through the door. Reggae music booms through the speaker, making the beige wooden floor shake under my Gucci loafers. I rub my gray cashmere sweater as I walk to the VIP section and the waitress brings me Louis XIII shots, much better than that cheap-ass champagne that I was drinking earlier. The thick crowd dances on the floor. A hottie with golden wavy hair sits next to me on the blue couch and squeezes my biceps.
“You want to dance?” she yells.
“Sure.”
She grabs my arm, leads me to the dance floor, and grinds on my dick. When the song stops, she whispers in my ear to meet her at her hotel tonight. I tell her that I’ll think about it.
It is time for Matt to make his speech, so we line up on the small stage. I scan the room as Matt gives his speech and my eyes land on Red. What is she doing here? Better not be with Tate. Speaking of that motherfucker, his background check came back squeaky clean. So clean that I thought about looking up his ancestor’s history to see if he is related to Jesus. Has been a straight-A student all his life, grew up in a two-parent home. Not a royal fuck-up like me.
God, Alana is beautiful. Her purple cocktail dress hugs her small body, and her luscious red hair brushes her shoulders. My dick stands at attention. I adjust myself through my dark jeans. Been ready to scratch this itch with her so I can go on with my life. She is not alone. She’s with a guy with a suit on. Sitting at the bar, she throws her head back and laughs, patting the loser on his shoulder. I maneuver my way through the crowd. That guy has got his hand on the small of her back, and when she turns around to speak to the bartender, the asshole puts a pill in her glass. My nostrils flare and I ball up my fist so tight that it hurts. Motherfucker.
She turns around, and the guy scoots her closer to him. I rush to her as my heart leaps out of my goddamn chest. She places her lips on the rim of the glass, and I snatch it away. She glares and tries to snatch the drink from me. I hold it in the air.
“What are you doing? Darien!” Her voice is high-pitched as she stomps her feet.
“This fucker slipped a pill in your drink!” I turn to look at the lowlife, and he looks me up and down, squeezing his knuckles.
“Mind your fucking business,” he says, standing so close, our noses touch. Spit flies on my cheek, and I take a handkerchief from my breast pocket and wipe it.
Alana yanks on my arm. “Please. Don’t cause a scene.”
Balling up my fist, I snatch my arm from her grip. “Get the fuck outta here,” I yell at the son of a bitch.
“Make me,” he bites out.
Alana tries to slide between us, but neither one of us flinches. Logan comes in my peripheral view and squeezes between me and the loser. “What’s going on?” he says, pushing us apart.
“This fucker slipped something in Alana’s drink.” I glance at her, and she has her head down.
“Okay, out you go.” Logan waves his hand, and two security guards escort him out of the club. The guy mumbles cuss words under his breath. I grab Red by the arm, pulling her in the other direction.
“I’m taking you home.”
She snatches her arm from my grip and says, “I’m not going anywhere. It’s my birthday, and I want to celebrate!”
“You celebrate when you’re sober. Not tonight. I’m not going to babysit a grown-ass woman who can’t hold her liquor.” I grind my teeth.
She turns to the bartender. “I want a bottle of vodka to go.” She’s slurring her words.
I shake my head at the bartender with the lip ring and straw hair and she nods her head. Pulling my wallet from my breast pocket, I slap a hundred-dollar bill on the table, telling the bartender to keep the change. Wrapping my arms around Alana’s waist, I pull her close to me so she won’t stumble.
“What about my vodka?”
“I’ll buy some at the corner store,” I lie.
I call an Uber driver, and five minutes later we are in the car. She rests her head on my shoulder and I loop my arms around her. She smells like heaven, strawberry or something fruity. And I like that she is trusting me. Her little purple dress rises up her legs, exposing bare thigh. She snuggles against my shirt, holding tighter.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” My tone is harsh. “Why would you pick up a guy from the bar?” I grind my teeth. If I hadn’t been there to protect her, I don’t know where she would be.
“I wasn’t picking up a guy, asswipe.”
The liquor is strong with this one. I run my hand through my hair and pull in frustration. Red pulls away, sighing.
“I want to bend you over my knee and spank the shit out of you, then fuck you until you can’t walk.”
Her jaw drops at my words, but I meant it. My dick swells at the thought. Definitely have to take a cold shower when I get home. What if something happened to her?
“I’m s-sorry.” She sobs harder, and I pull her onto my lap and cradle her.
“Shh,” I say in her hair, and she pulls away.
“I feel like shit. Can you tell the driver to pull over?”
I do what she says, and she opens the door, pukes on the concrete, shuts the door, and the driver takes off in the city.
With drunken eyes, she says, “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”
“Never.”
She smiles at my words.
We pull up to our building, and I throw a twenty at the driver. I scoop Alana up in my arms like a bride, carrying her to her condo. She lays her head on my chest. When I put her down, she leans against the wall as I grab her keys from her purse and put her key in the keyhole, unlocking the door. As I glance around, the living room is spotless—you can eat off the floor. It’s nothing I imagined. I thought the place would be decorated with floral shit, but it looks like I’ve stepped into Goodwill. Where did she get her furniture? On the side of the street?
“Where is your room?”
“Down the hall, on the right.”
I kick the door open. Do I have the wrong room? Her room looks like a teenage boy’s, one who is obsessed with comic books, video games, and anime. Video game posters hang on the wall. And if the room weren’t painted pink with panties sticking out of the drawer, I would have never guessed this was a girl’s room.
I knock over a stack of comic books as I lay her down on the queen-size bed. She vomits on her dress, so I unzip her silk fabric and pull it over her head, resting it on her computer chair. My eyes sweep over her body—her light-brown nipples are hard through the pale-pink lace bra, and her matching thong fits on her hips. Her body is sinful, a sin that I want to commit. I get a good look at her ass as she crawls into bed. She’s athletic thin but has wide hips and a butt shaped like an apple I feel the urge to bite. My dick strains against my pants and I adjust myself.
She undoes her bra, waving it like a flag, and tosses it on the white carpet. And like a sick fuck, I stare at her perky breasts. She’s got a birthmark shaped like a heart above her nipple on her left tit. Not into fucking women while they are drunk. She is shit-faced. She might not remember what happened.
“Stay the night wit—” Before the words are out her mouth, she jumps up, rushes to the bathroom with her hand over her mouth, and moments later I hear the toilet flush. I follow her to the bathroom and she hugs the toilet bowl. I hold her hair as vomit spills from her mouth. She hits a side button and the toilet flushes.
“I’m going to be sick in the morning.” She lies down with her breasts touching the white tiles. “I’ll sleep here tonight,” she says, dozing off.
Grabbing her pink blanket from the bed, I place it over her body.
As I sit at my home office and pay my dad’s medical bills, my doorbell rings. I rush to the door and look out the peephole. Alana holds a fruit basket in her hand. Slowly, I turn the knob on the door and swing it open. Her cheeks are flushed, and her front teeth catch her pouty bottom lip.
We stare at each other for a few seconds, and she says, “This is for you,” and shoves it in my hand. “Don’t know your favorite fruit, so I picked out everything I could think of.”
I hate eating fruit, but I’ll keep it and make Logan and Gunner eat this shit. “Thanks.” I set the basket on the breakfast nook. “How’s your headache?”
She shrugs and says, “Good. Thank you for having my back at the club. I’d probably be raped or dead.” She plays with her ponytail.
“You’re welcome.”
“Don’t tell Gunner. I don’t want to hear his mouth.”
I make my way to the breakfast nook and lean against it. Why the fuck is she scared to tell him that?
“Nice place you have here.” She walks to the wide window in my living room and looks at the city. “I can see my job from here.” She taps the window, leaving fingerprints on the glass, and moves to the sleek black piano. “You play?” she asks as she strokes the keys.
“A little bit.” I love it that she is here in my place, invading my personal space. Love the fact that she isn’t dodging me every chance she gets. I sit on the black bench and play “Hotline Bling.” She sings off-key, but I don’t mind listening. She flops next to me, and we finish the song.
“You have a lovely voice,” she murmurs.
I want to sit her on that piano, fuck her and fill her with my come. Wonder what kind of woman she is in bed? Does she moan loud? Does she like her hair pulled while I fuck her from the back? Does she like her ass slapped? She gets up from the bench and peeks in the hallway. I nod for her to look around. She scrunches up her nose, inhales and exhales.
“There are no pictures of families on your wall, it’s lifeless here.”
“I’m not much of a picture person.” I shrug my shoulders. Haven’t had much time to decorate ever since I moved out of my mansion. I still have stacks of boxes in the hallway. Alana opens a brown box filled with albums near the kitchen, picks up Michael Jackson’s Bad album and waves it in my face.
“Michael Jackson is my favorite artist.”
“You’re big on eighties music?”
“I like all kinds of music,” I say as Alana puts the album back.
“Your place is so big and nice—better than mine anyway, even if it’s empty.”
“Why were you celebrating your birthday with some loser at the bar?” I fold my arms across my chest. Thinking about it pisses me off.
Face flushed with embarrassment, she says, “Everyone was unavailable. Crystal is out of town. Tate and Gunner had to work, so I decided to celebrate by myself.”
I want to tell her to get rid of Tate, but he is not the issue right now. “You coulda asked me.”
She sits on the couch and says, “You’re too busy trying to stick your dick in me.”
“You act like that’s a bad thing.” I sit next to her, and she slowly scoots to the edge of the couch. Love watching her squirm when she is around me. Glad I make her flush. “I’m taking you out for your birthday, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
She straightens her spine and asks, “What do you have in mind?”
You wrapped around my cock as I fuck you really good. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“Trust me, you will like mine.”
“Okay,” she says, “if it involves sex or anything of that nature, I will never go out with you again.”