Hostile Takeover
“That’s right, nigga; that’s how you do that shit. But you know that the word is gonna get around. But that’s what you want.” André laughed. “Emmet gonna tell everybody. He already called here a couple of times.”
“That’s why Emmet was first.”
“Smart. Now all the weak mutha fuckas will just roll over for you and you won’t have any problems with them. But the flip side of that tune is that the others, the ones that have muscle, they’re all gonna dig in.”
“We got this,” Bobby told him. “You know old Vicious Black there got a plan.”
I hate it when Bobby calls me that. I hate being called Vicious Black, like I’m some kind of fuckin’ animal, but it’s just worst when Bobby does it. But it works to my advantage sometimes, so fuck it. I did have a plan. I had the whole thing planned out to the last detail. I read somewhere that if you don’t have a plan, then you plan to fail. I wasn’t ever planning on failing at anything.
We left André’s office and we were about to leave when she caught my eye. She was dancing off in a corner for some guy and he was dropping money at her feet. “I’ll catch up with you later,” I told Bobby as I watched her.
He looked to see what I was looking at. “Short, big titties, fat ass, she got fuck me Mike written all over her. I’ll get with you tomorrow,” Bobby said, and left as I walked up on her.
What got my attention, other than the fact that she was fine as hell, was that she wasn’t letting him touch her. Either she’d dance away like any good seductress, or she’d move his hands when he did. There was something different about her, and that piqued my interest.
“This a private show,” he shouted over the music when I got closer. “Oh … I’m sorry Black.”
She stopped dancing and turned around. “Hi, Mike,” she said, and waved. “You want me to dance for you?”
“Maybe some other time … when you’re not busy.”
“I’m done dancing for him because he doesn’t know how to do what he’s told,” she said, and started picking up her money.
“Fuck you mean you done? Much money as I just dropped,” he shouted at her. I leaned forward and he sat back in his seat. “Uh … I’m sorr
y Black.”
“I’m all yours,” she said when she finished picking up her money. “Where you wanna go?”
“Outta here.”
She started putting her clothes on where she stood. I’m talking real clothes, not no cheesy stripper outfit.
“You ain’t said nothing but a word. I didn’t want to be up in here anyway.”
But here you are, I thought but didn’t say. “You ready?”
She put on her dress and spun around. “Zip me and we can go.”
We left there, went around to a couple of spots, and had drinks before we ended up back here. We drank some Rémy, smoked a couple of bobs, and we talked. She’s smart, so I liked talking to her. And then she came out of that dress, danced for me, and the next thing you know, I got her bent over the couch.
“Did you sleep in that position?”
“No,” she said quickly and with conviction and then she looked insulted. Then the look on her pretty face softened. “Well … kinda,” she said and giggled.
I laughed with her. “I won’t tell nobody.”
She moved closer, reached between my legs and began to stroke me. “I know just how to position my head so I don’t mess my hair up while I sleep.”
I had to admit, her hair did look nice, but— “It sounds uncomfortable.”
One second later than the second it was hard, she got on top, rubbed my dick up and down her lips a few times before she slid her body down on it.
I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling as she put her hands on my chest and rode me slowly. I massaged her soft thighs and she grinded that wet pussy into me, side to side, up and down and in circles until her mouth opened and her eyes rolled back in her head and I could feel her tightening around me.
When she jerked and then collapsed on my chest, I arched my back and pushed it in her as hard and deep as I could until she rolled off me and retreated into the fetal position.
“Don’t touch me.”