Sex in the Hood Saga (23 page)

“C'mon.” Duke pulled Duchess' hand toward a door. “Let's take the stairs up.”

In the stairwell, their singing was still loud and their sex energy was just as strong. It made words and jealousy and fear shoot up from Duchess' gut so powerfully, her shoulders twitched as she spoke.

“Duke, we haven't finished talking about our agreement for me to work for you.” She was racing up two flights of stairs behind him. Were big Moe and Sunnie dead? And if so, was death the penalty for anyone who crossed Duke? “You need to tell me what exactly you do here besides have sex and get mad when other people do.”

“I don't have to tell you shit 'cept what you need to know,” Duke said.

Slam! Duke pushed the bar on the stairwell door marked 7. The sound echoed like a sinister exclamation point after his last word.

“Well, don't take it out on me,” Duchess snapped, following him into the stairwell. “This place is like all sex, all the time. All those girls! The sex in the gym! How can you blame anybody for wanting to fuck twenty-four/seven under the influence of this place?”

He turned, glaring down. “Bidness always come befo' booty.”

“Say business.”

“Bizz! Ness!” Duke tossed his head back. Deep laughter echoed up through the stairwell. “No, you the one who 'bout to get schoo'ed on Ebonics. The Duchess gon' speak the queen's English when she negotiate for Babylon, but here at home, you gon' learn to speak fluent homegirl.”

Duchess thought about the swarm of girls they just left. She put a hand on her hip, tilted her head forward with a slight neck snap, and said with a slow, controlled and very urban cadence,

“Den you gon' show me all yo' baby mommas.” Duke blinked. “Wait, lemme close your eyes an' you can hear it again.” She covered his eyes with her hands then repeated it.

“A-plus!” Duke smiled, leading her into the hallway. “But we still gon' have a Ebonics tutorial.”

“Answer my question,” she said. “Who are all these girls? I mean, do you fuck them? I am not tryin' to catch bumps, blisters, burning or some three-letter death sentence.”

The first time they made love, she had insisted on a condom.

The time in the shower and the office, she had not, even though Duke ejaculated on her ass or stomach.

Duchess remembered reading news articles about how Detroit was ranked one of the country's “most infected cities” with gonorrhea, syphyllis, genital warts, chlamydia, herpes, and HIV. And if Timbo took a dive in those infected waters, then I'd have that shit.
Oh my God.

“Duke, we have to use condoms every time if—”

Duke was walking fast, his jaw muscle flexing.

“Duke, tell me your dick is a hundred percent healthy. All these girls—”

He stopped at an unmarked door, turned. Something wicked glinted in his genie eyes.

“Whatever you're thinking,” Duchess said, “that's how the nannies and half those girls looked at me. Like they wanna slap me down a couple shades.”

“Ain't nobody gon' touch The Duchess.” His words sliced the air like knives.

“Who is Milan?”

“Somebody you ain't neva gon' meet.”

Duchess asked more forcefully. “Who is Milan?”

“She my first baby momma. Zeus an' Hercules, the two bigger boys.”

“Is she moving? Because I'm not.”

Duke pulled her close for a hug. They'd gone upstairs, showered—where they fucked some more—and changed into fresh clothes. She pressed her ear to the center of his chest as he said, “Damn, girl, I love yo' sassy ass. You come up in here two days ago, an' you rulin'!”

“Well, since I'm staying, but I'm never gonna meet Milan, then she must be leaving.”

“This a big building.”

“I don't like non-answers,” she said, pulling back to look straight up into his eyes. “So, Milan may or may not be leaving. Where is she?”

“Workin' here on the seventh floor.”

“Is this where you keep baby mommas during the day?”

“There you go,” Duke said with an equally sassy tone.

Duchess rolled her eyes, stepping toward the door as she said, “I guess I have to see for myself since you're so stingy with information.”

He swatted her butt as they stepped through the door.

“Miss Hot Booty,” he groaned, leading her through yet another hallway.

“So, Duke, tell me, if all these employees and ‘mommas' are your harem and they give you sex, then do I get to fuck those hot guys in the gym?” She shrugged and spoke in a stern tone. “I mean, I'm hoping that this tour includes an orientation period so you can clue me in on this new game of life. 'Cause so far, I'm playing without a rule book.”

“We makin' our own rules, baby girl!” His onyx eyes sparkled down at her, but something else flashed there.

Something that twisted wrong in her gut.

She added, “I take that as a Duchess-makes-her-own-rules kinda response.”

“There is no ‘I' in ‘we,'” Duke said, pinching her nipple through the aqua blue tank top, ruffled around the V-neck with tiny pearl buttons down the front. The quick pain punctuated what he said.

“Then let's agree right now. If you get to have sex with all those women, then I get to pick a dick or two and try that out.”

Duke laid his hand over his crotch, making his diamond “D” ring sparkle. “My million-dolla dick don't like it when Miss Celeste make him jealous.”

“Well, my clean, healthy pussy doesn't want Timbo spearin' bad meat that makes me sick. Or dead!” She cocked her head to one side. “I can't believe I didn't make you wear a condom every time. My head is so fucked up right now. You've probably screwed hundreds of—” Duke put his hand over her mouth. Her moving lips brushed against his palm. “You got the prettiest pucker-fish lips on the planet, baby girl, but they need to be still right now.”

Duchess' eyes got huge. She didn't even try to pry his enormous fingers off.

But now because of her hurniness she could end up on the fifth floor in a “baby momma” apartment with a wicked nanny and a job for life on the seventh floor of this mysterious place called Babylon.

Duke pressed his lips to her forehead. She closed her eyes, loving the warmth and tenderness, and knowing that her emotional state was so out of whack that she was going along with a guy who was literally muzzling her. But it was all an act on her part, getting her toward a mega power play in the grand finale. She still didn't have the details of how that would play out—she had a lot to learn here at Babylon—but someday, she would rule.

Now, she moaned the same way as when they'd made love.

Pressed her hips toward his. Spread her knees, squeezing his thigh between hers. He pulled his hand from her mouth, replacing it with his open lips. The hot wetness was like soothing balm on a cold sting. She ground her pussy into the top of his thigh, craving the mind-numbing slide down his tree trunk into timberland, where Alice could climb, swing, and bounce for as long as she wanted.

He squeezed her ass upward, thrust Timbo once—he was rock-hard even through their clothes, and whispered into her mouth, “Duchess gon' be queen o' the baby mommas.”

She froze from head to toe. Disgust zig-zaggged through her, even though she understood that being a Duke baby momma was a prestigious position. Being anybody's baby momma at age eighteen was just wrong. She had to go to college. Start her career. Get married. Then have a baby. The old-fashioned order of things.

She cast a playful stare into his eyes and let laughter explode through her lust trembling lips.

“Why you bust out laughin' when I'm dead serious?” His eyes were laughing with her, but his face was stiff.

“Because I am not having a child until I get my M.R.S. degree. If that happens to be Mrs. Duchess Johnson, cool. But I will not be a teen pregnancy statistic.”

“You a trip an' a half,” Duke said, shaking his head. “And you a whole bunch o' other statistics, now that you fallen way down below the poverty line.”

Duchess tilted her chin up. “But then I became Duchess just as fast.” She ran her fingertip over his beautiful lips. “Livin' in the lap of luxury with my Duke. Now, what's behind door number three?”

Duke put his hand on the doorknob.

Duchess smiled. “Let me guess. Is this the baby momma work zone?”

“Ding! Ding! Ding!” Duke imitated a game show host. “The triple bonus prize goes to the lady with the scorching pussy and sassy mouth!”

He opened the door onto a lobby-type area with hardwood floors. To the left, sunshine streamed through windows over a TV and plush orange couches. About a dozen men and women, a few who looked familiar from the sexercise on Sunday evening were lounging on the couches, reading magazines. Everybody sat up straight when they saw Duke. They were downright gawking at Duchess.

They turned to the left. A petite woman in a green silk pantsuit sprang at Duchess like those daredevils at the circus who shot out of cannons.

“White bitch!” the woman screamed. Two giant men, one on each side, grabbed her thin arms. She recoiled.

“Duchess, this Milan,” Duke said flatly. He nodded to the big men who were holding the woman. They picked her up and carried her through a door to what looked like an office.

Duke knocked on the door marked EXAM ROOM. That woman with purple glasses who'd given Duchess that disgusting smelling stuff to make her wake up this morning, opened the door.

Duke led Duchess inside.

“Doc Reynolds, Duchess need to hear 'bout the strict health code here at Babylon.”

The doctor nodded. “You're looking much better, Madame Duchess. Everyone, including The Duke, gets weekly checkups, on top of using condoms for any sexual contact. Anyone who becomes infected in the line of duty is either treated or given a reprieve until they're cured, or they're retired and tracked to make sure they don't return.”

Duchess' stomach flipped. “What do you mean, ‘in the line of duty'?”

The doctor cast a probing look at Duke, who sat on the exam table with Timbo in his hand.

“Doc, I need tests right now. Everything. An' show Duchess my HIV results from last week. Test her too.”

The doctor stepped to a computer on the counter. She clicked the keyboard for a few seconds, then a printer hummed as she went at Duke with several giant Q-tips. “Any burning, itching, discharge or odors?”

“I'm as perfect as I've always been,” Duke said.

“Good,” the doctor said. “How should I explain ‘in the line of duty,' Master Duke?” she asked while sticking a swab in his mouth.

He shrugged. “You could say ‘While fuckin'. While screwin'. While drillin'. While engaging in sexual relations.'”

“So, sex is their line of duty?” Duchess' brain was spiraling down, down, around a flashing pink neon sign in her imagination that said PROSTITUTION.

Drugs, she would've believed, or illegal gun trafficking, or that bodyguard story. But selling sex? Was that what all those people in the gym were practicing for? And all those men and women in the lobby, were they waiting for their weekly STD check-ups?

The doctor examined Duke's penis. He grimaced as she shoved a Q-tip into the tiny hole at the head.

Duchess asked, “Wait, is the sex for business or pleasure?”

“C'mon, Miss Daisy,” Duke said, zipping his jeans. “Don't go clueless on me again. You was really startin' to catch on.” He stood up then glanced at the doctor. “Doc Reynolds, you can do the whole deal on her. Blood culture, e'rythang.”

“I told you I'm a virgin,” Duchess said.

Duke laughed. “Not no more!”

“But I don't need to get tested because—”

“Any type of sexual activity can spread STDs,” the doctor said. “Even oral sex.”

“Wait,” Duchess said. She stepped to Duke, her boobs at the center of his chest. She was taller now in her red sandals. She stared hard into his eyes and accused, “So, you're a pimp? And the work you want me to do for you—”

Duke tossed his head back, his deep laughter ricocheting off the walls of the exam room.

Duchess was not laughing. She was numb. Ice cold. “You came to Gramma Green's house acting like you were rescuing me, just so you could put me on a street corner. As a prostitute! After you took me on a test drive for a Motor City minute!”

This was the curse. It was really happening.

“It's not funny!” Duchess screamed, pounding Duke's chest.

Stinging tears dripped from her eyes. She sobbed, hitting him. Hating him.