Man Swappers (26 page)

I smiled, reaching between his legs and cupping his balls, then stroking his dick.

“Yes,” I answered, honestly. “But—”

He kissed me again. “No ‘buts.’ I need you to give me some hope, baby.”

I stared into Emerson’s brown eyes and, for the first time since I’ve known him, I saw something I hadn’t notice before. I saw the soul of a man who wanted to love...
me
.

“...Don’t be mad,” Persia says, bringing me back to the conversation. “It wasn’t planned.”

“How come you didn’t wait for me?” I ask, knowing damn well I would’ve been in no position to fuck that horse-dicked buck. She tells me it was in the middle of the day. That he had texted her wanting to see all three of us, but things got really heated between the two of them so she decided to fuck him solo.

“Girl, he had my pussy so wet. There’s no way I was gonna be able to wait until later on when y’all got home. I wanted that dick, right then and there. And, girl, did he deliver.”

I smirk. “I’m sure he did. And did he smother that face of yours with more of that beauty cream again ’cause you need a ton of it with ya ugly ass?”

She laughs, giving me the finger. “Fuck you. You’re uglier than me, hooker.”

I laugh with her. “Yeah, you wish.”

“Whatever. And no, he didn’t smother my face in his nut. I learned my lesson. I did let him bust that first nut on my face because I knew it wasn’t going to be that much. But, the other two...” She shakes her head. “...No thank you, boo. I let him coat my titties and stomach with it.”

I smack my lips. “And what did you do with all that creamy milk?”

“Uh, what do you think I did with it? I sucked it off my titties, then scooped the rest of it off my stomach and ate it.”

I toss back my drink, swallowing down lust and envy. “Ooooh, you nasty, bitch.”

She laughs. “Don’t hate me, boo. You know I like to share.”

“Whatever. You need to give me his number so I can have on-call access to his sexy ass, too.” I say this not certain if that’s what I really want. Since I’ve started seeing Emerson behind Persia and Paris’s backs, I’ve been giving thought to scaling back on fucking some of these niggas. Not that he’s pressured me into doing so. But I have to wonder if all of these wonderful distractions will make it difficult for me to consider giving Emerson a chance. I’m still not sure if that’s even what I want. Persia reaches for her cell, then rattles off his number. “Wait, hooker,” I say, getting up, laughing. “I don’t have my phone down here. Let me get a pen and write it down.” I walk over to the credenza, opening a drawer, then pulling out a pen and pad. She repeats the number. I write it down, then fold the paper and slip it into my bra.

She laughs. “You a damn mess.”

“Please. I gotta keep this number close by until I can get it programmed into my phone. Anyway...now, that we got that outta the way. Where is Paris?”

She shrugs. “Your guess is...” The chirping alarm alerts us that she’s opened the door. “Well, there she is.” She yells for her to hurry up and get downstairs so I can tell them all about my night with Faruq. She picks up her phone, calling Paris. “And you might want to get you a chilled glass from out of the freezer and bring two down for me and Porsha...
whaaaat
ever, hooker...yeah, yeah, yeah...blah, blah, blah...and hurry up.” She disconnects the call. “Well, all I want to know is was he fine?”

I nod. “Fine ain’t even the word to describe his ass. That man
was
fucking
beautiful. His body was on point. He had these gorgeous hazel eyes. He kissed good, ate pussy good...”

“But?”

I laugh. “You’ll have to wait until Paris gets down here.”

She rolls her eyes.

It takes Paris almost ten minutes before she finally saunters her way into the room. She’s taken her clothes off and is now in her panties and a Howard U tank top. “Well, it’s about damn time,” Persia huffs, feigning annoyance. “This heifer here wouldn’t tell me about her night with the mystery man she fucked last Friday until you got down here. Now hurry up and pour your drink, then sit the hell down so I can get the juice.”

Paris gives her the finger. “Ugh, bite me. This hooker is so damn bossy.”

I agree. “Always has been, always will be. You know some things will never change.”

Persia laughs. “Whatever.” Paris pours herself a drink, then takes a seat next to me on the sofa. “Okay, lights, camera, let’s rock and roll. And don’t leave a damn thing out. I want to hear every detail.” I laugh. Then for the next twenty minutes, I dish them the 4-1-1 on the Little Engine That Could.

“Girl, noooooooooooo...say it ain’t so?” Persia cackles. “All that nigga could serve you is fifteen minutes of dick?”

“Well, twenty-five minutes, as long as I didn’t talk too dirty.”

“Mmmph,” Persia grunts. “That shit is sinful.”

Paris laughs. “Persia, your ass is a mess. Good sex doesn’t have to always be a long, drawn-out event. Everyone doesn’t need to have their pussies pounded for more than an hour.”

Persia clucks her tongue. “Says who? I don’t know about you, but—other than the times when I’m in the mood for a fifteen-minute quickie—I’m not completely satisfied unless my pussy’s
being fed at least forty minutes of dick. Anything less than that leaves me with a very wet, angry pussy.”

Paris and I laugh at her. “So now I understand the world crisis,” I tease, shaking my head. “It’s full of angry, wet pussies. Mmmm, I wonder what Obama can do about that.”

She chuckles. “You can joke if you want. But I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know you are,” I tell her, knowing her appetite for sex has always been insatiable. Even as a teenager, Persia was fucking long before Paris and me. Sure, we had boyfriends or guys we liked. And, yes, we bumped and grinded—and even sucked a little dick from time to time. But we weren’t
fucking
. Persia, on the other hand, was a real hot box and had already sexed seven different boys by the time she was a freshman in high school, two of them being Paris and my boyfriends. Don’t ask. It’s a whole other story for another time.

Persia grunts. “I know, different strokes for different folks, blah, blah, blah. But this sister here needs to be long stroked for more than fifteen minutes.” She makes a face as if she’s inhaled something dead. “Who in the hell fucks and doesn’t talk dirty these days?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. All I know is the brotha was fine as fuck, had a gorgeous body, a nice damn dick, and could hit it right as long as you kept your mouth shut. But the minute you opened your mouth and started spewing out filth”—I snap my fingers—“he was through.”

Persia gives me a disgusted look. “Mmmph. I need me another drink.” She refills her glass. “So after all that coaching, he still couldn’t last long?”

“He tried,” I say in his defense. I almost feel bad for talking about him like this. After all, I did enjoy myself with him...well, sort of. “I’m telling you, he’s a really nice guy and he has the potential to be damn good in the sheets.”

“Well, for someone else,” Paris states, taking a sip from her glass. “He might already be.”

Persia dismisses the thought with a wave of her hand. “I’m glad you didn’t bring him here; that’s for sure. If he could barely handle you, there’s no way he could ever handle the three of us.”

I nod, knowingly. “Trust me. When he came in six minutes—from getting head, I realized then I couldn’t bring him here.”

Paris shakes her head. “Believe it or not, if a man can’t hold out longer than you’d like, he can still satisfy you. We have to learn to be more realistic in terms of what a man is capable of bringing to the table, sexually speaking. And talk to them openly and honestly about what it is we need from them in the sheets.”

“So I’m supposed to accept a man who nuts quick, and be okay with it?” Persia asks, raising a brow. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I’m not saying you should be okay with it. But you should be okay with not making him feel less than a man. And you should be okay with encouraging him, and showing him how to do better. Look at Porsha. Instead of walking out on him, or embarrassing him, she showed him what she wanted. And he was open to trying to deliver what she asked for.”

Persia rolls her eyes. “Okay, Oprah. And he still came up short, or should I say, in his case, came too quick.”

“Yeah, but he tried. And that was only a one-night stand. Imagine if he was someone you wanted to invest some time in. There’s no telling what would happen with a little patience and understanding.”

Persia shakes her head. “You can have that. I’m not interested in teaching no man nut control. Sorry.”

“Well, nut control or not,” Paris continues, “between foreplay and the actual act itself, the whole experience can be stretched out to an hour or more, and still be extremely enjoyable for both.”

Persia agrees. “That’s true. Still...”

My cell dings. I reach for it off the coffee table, leaving Paris and Persia to continue their discussion. I have a text message from Emerson. W
AS THINKN ABT U. HMU WHEN U CAN

I text him back. Tell him how sweet and thoughtful that was.

I
WANNA C U 2NITE
. It doesn’t take long before I forget Persia and Paris are in the room and Emerson and I get caught up in texting each other back and forth.

Me: M
E 2

Em: C
UM
C
ME

Me:
2NITE
?

Em:
YUP

Me:
CAN
’
T

Em:
CAN
’
T OR WON
’
T

Me:
WON
’
T

Em:

Me:
LOL

Em: I
WANNA HOLD U. NO SEX

Me: Y
EAH RIGHT

Em:
I
PROMISE. I JUST WANNA LIE NAKED WIT U, AND HOLD U

Me: I
HAVE TO GET UP EARLY

Em:
STAY THE NIGHT

I blink, surprised that he is extending an invitation for me to come to his place; to stay the night. I can’t remember the last time I slept at a man’s place, let alone stayed the night. The thought of waking up in his arms entices me.

Em: T
HEN
I
CAN MAKE LUV 2 U B4 U LV 4 WORK

I smile.

“....Ummm, excuse us. Hello...”

I look up from my phone. Paris and Persia are staring at me. “What? Did y’all say something to me?”

“What, or should I say
who
, are you over there smiling about?” Persia asks.

“Oh nothing. Some silly text message,” I tell her as I text Emerson back, asking him for his address. I get up and stretch. “Listen, hookers. I’m going out for a bit.”

“Must be some text,” Persia says, eyeing me.

I gulp down the rest of my drink.

Paris smirks, a hint of mischief in her eyes, as if she has a secret of her own. “Have fun.”

“Don’t wait up,” I say over my shoulder, walking out of the room.

Passion
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

T
ank’s “Amazing” is playing in the background. The candles are lit. The mood is sexy. I slowly slip off my sheer robe. Allow it to slide off my shoulders, then fall to the floor. I’m standing in the middle of Emerson’s bedroom in a pair of red four-inch Christian Louboutin sandals. I run my hands seductively over the curves of my hips, up to my breasts, up my neck, then through my hair. I slowly twirl my body in a slow, seductive circle. With my back facing him, I glance at him over my left shoulder, stick my tongue out of the corner of my mouth, then bend over and grab my ankles. My ass cheeks peek out from under the hem of my negligee.

“Damn, baby...you gotta fat ass.”

I grin.
Of course I do, nigga,
I think, slowly turning back around to face him. I have no business fucking him. Have no business sneaking off to be with him. But his dick is good. So very good! “You wanna fuck me in it?” I ask, spreading it open to give him a closer peek.

My hands journey back up and down my body until they reach their destination, until searching, eager fingers find their mark, wet and sticky—between my thighs. I press on my clitoris, swirl my two fingers over my love button, emitting a low moan. Emerson’s hand snakes down to his ever-growing erection as he watches me
intently. He sits on the edge of the bed, hard dick in hand, as I slowly inch my way toward him. The thought of taking him into my mouth and pressing my nose into the thick patch of pubic hair that surrounds the base of his swollen dick causes my clit’s pulse to quicken.