Sex in the Hood Saga (24 page)

He grabbed her wrists, pulled her trembling hands to his lips, kissing them.

“Sssshhh, baby girl, baby girl. Sssshhh.” He drew her into his chest, where his voice vibrated through her. “You got it so wrong, baby girl. Listen up!”

She closed her eyes.

“Excuse me,” the doctor said. “I'll come back when it's time for the test.” She opened the door and left the exam room.

Why should Duchess believe anything Duke said?

“Does Streetology include acting classes? Because Duke Johnson, you get an Oscar for most convincing role as a lover.”

She opened her eyes, glaring at him. “You tricked me in the worst way. And I was so naive!”

“Duchess,” he pleaded, gently cupping his hand around the back of her head.

“How stupid was that, believing you really wanted to help me! Your bogus good samaritan act, it was all a trick! The dinner, the ice cream, the sunset kiss, taking me to meet your mother!”

“Baby girl—”

“And making love,” she whispered. Her insides felt like they were melting with sadness and disappointment. “I thought that was real.”

“It is real.” Duke's glassy eyes radiated tenderness. His voice was raspy with a sort of desperate plea that she had not heard from him. “It's all real, baby girl.”

That needle in her arm was real, too, when the doctor returned a few minutes later to draw blood for the STD tests. She also did a pelvic exam and took a culture from inside her vagina. All that, the doctor said, would test for stuff like gonorrhea, syphyllis, genital warts, herpes, pelvic inflammatory disease, and chlamydia. Another swab in her mouth tested for HIV.

“As long as you've had no odors, burning when you urinate, itching or discharge,” the doctor said, “you're probably fine. You look perfectly healthy.”

“Madame Duchess,” the doctor said, “you know sexually transmitted infections can cause major damage to your insides but never give you any symptoms. That's why we're vigilant about testing every week.”

Victoria studied the woman in purple glasses. Her vibe was totally trustworthy. “Dr. Reynolds, do you think since Duke gets tested so much, it's safe for me not to use condoms with him?”

The doctor nodded. “Duke deals in sex. He is vigilant about health with himself and everybody here. So yes, I think you're safe. However, if you both have other partners, that creates some risk.”

Victoria's father always warned, the number one thing people lied about was sex. She could never know if the man she was fucking—even her husband—was being faithful. Her dad said she couldn't be with somebody around the clock, and it only took a few minutes, really, to sneak a screw.

Victoria wrapped her arms around her waist to hug herself, as if that would help her figure this out.

“You look worried,” the doctor said. “I think Duke will protect you.” She cast a concerned look down at Victoria. “But let me say, Madame Duchess, unless you're planning to get pregnant, I can prescribe birth control pills.”

Victoria nodded. “Definitely.”

The fresh scent of hot pussy rising up from Miss Daisy's flowering pussy made Duke smile as he inserted the security key into the golden door lock. It didn't matter whether Duchess was happy, sad or mad, her pussy always reacted before she did. If she got an attitude, like she had now, her pussy would be on swole. When she smiled, her pussy creamed. When she imagined crazy shit about what he was going to do with her here, her pussy shot flames.

She was jealous of all those hotties downstairs, but her pussy was curious as hell about how every one of them got their freak on. Now that she finally got some dick, she was like an undercover investigator trying to expose the who, what, when, where, why, and how of sex.

Right now, she was going to learn the five W's and H of Duke Love, along with her first official Ebonics lesson. They were already way behind schedule, but Duke had to let her know none of what she was saying in the exam room was true. He knew she was clean, but he wanted her to get tested just to show there was an equal partnership. And now he was going to use body language to tell her just how much he loved her.

“We gon' talk in here,” Duke said as the little green light flashed in the silver box on the gold door. “This the Cleopatra suite.”

“I love how the door is just like the Babylon offices upstairs, but this is Cleopatra's mask, right?” she asked, staring up at the enormous gold-and-black mask of the Queen of the Nile. “I've dressed up as Cleopatra every Halloween since third grade when I wrote a paper on her. She was so sexy and confident and powerful.”

Duke smiled as he pushed open the door. “Just like you. This where I was gon' have you stay, but now that you made yo'self at home in my penthouse. . . .” He laughed, remembering how she hadn't hesitated saying “our room” this morning. “I'm gon' have Knight stay here when he come.”

“No one would believe this is here.” Her voice echoed with her footsteps. Her juicy booty bounced as she stepped onto the 3,000 square foot suite. She gawked at the open loft with high, exposed ceilings, brick walls and sunshine shooting down through all the high paned windows. “I love this place.”

“All them windows new,” Duke said. “Three years ago, jus' before Knight took a fall, we sandblasted all the walls, redid all the plumbing. This building a hun'ed years old.”

Shiny hardwood floors stretched to a black marble fireplace framed by a mantle that was a huge version of the Egyptian mask on the door. Plush white couches faced it around a zebra-skin rug.

In the corner was the sleek kitchen with stainless steel appliances, black marble countertops, dark cherry cabinets, and an island with black stools with black-and-gold striped satin cushions. Next to that was a dining table with similar seats and a huge gold bowl overflowing with fresh fruit on the glasstop.

Nearby, a beautiful desk and computer.

“Oh my God,” Duchess said, running her fingers over the frosted glass wall leading to the bedroom. “This etching of Cleopatra, her flowing white gown, her elaborate headdress. Oooh, love that!” She pointed to Cleopatra and the two men in Egyptian-style loin cloths and two ladies in waiting. She traced the design to the edge of the glass door, touched the gold hinges, and went inside.

“Duchess.” Duke touched the back of her upper arms.

She jumped.

“Ah! I didn't hear you. Don't do your panther walk up behind me!” Her pucker-fish lips pulled back into the prettiest smile. She glanced at the bed and smiled bigger. “So, you brought me in here so you can explain”—her voice got hard and loud—“what the hell you want from me?”

He pressed his fingertip to her pretty lips. “Damn, I wish I had a camera,” Duke groaned, running his hand over the tent that Timbo was making of his jeans. He adjusted his gat in his waistband under his black shirt. “The way yo' hair fannin' out all ova them white pillows, an' yo' body all stretched out, you look like the mos' innocent an' sexy playmate ev'a.”

“Duke, what do you want from me? Is this like a mini honeymoon where you fuck my brains out then toss me into the masses of girls you keep here?”

Duke pulled his gat from his jeans. Her eyes got as big as her fist. He laid the gun on the nightstand beside a big vase of white flowers.

“I know you ain't that naive, baby girl,” he said, pulling another gun from his left black gator cowboy boot, which he set beside the other.

“Tell me your daddy didn't have security.” Duke lay beside her, his left elbow on the pillows, his chest pressing into her right shoulder. “I know, as high profile as he was, y'all had at least one gun in that big-ass palace in the middle o' the woods. On yo' own lake!”

“And in his office,” Duchess said softly. She closed her eyes.

Her lashes were so long, thick and black, they looked like fringe against beige china. “Actually, Daddy loved guns. He had a cabinet full in the house, for hunting, target practice. He even went on a safari in Kenya, after Mommy died.” Her voice cracked in a way that stabbed Duke's heart.

He kissed her forehead. “I'm sorry, baby girl. Let's talk about somethin' happy.”

She opened her bloodshot eyes, looking at him like he was crazy.

“Duchess, I know this sound whack as hell, since we been knowin' each otha forty-eight hours, but I know you my soul mate.” Duke's lips felt hot. His eyes felt extra big, and his heart was banging.

Her eyelashes lowered so her eyes were half-closed, staring down at his mouth. She raised her hand to the back of his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him like he had never been kissed.

Like his mouth was hot loaf of fresh-baked bread, split down the middle and steaming, and her lips were the sweet cream butter, melting right into him, making the perfect flavor so one wouldn't taste right without the other. She tasted it too, because she was kissing him for what felt like forever.

They were naked in a Motor City minute. Duchess stood over him, one foot on each side of his hips, staring down at Timbo like he was the chrome exhaust pipe on a Harley she was about to straddle and ride into the next millennium.

She took a long step toward his head, putting her right foot beside his ear, then she moved her other foot to his other ear Duchess' knees folded down, lightning quick. She squatted so his face was right at her opening. He inhaled the scent of sweet-salty incense.

“Talk to the pussy.” Duchess' voice was hard, like every word came out dipped in gold. She said it just like the sistas would hold up their palms and say “talk to the hand.”

“Celeste wants to hear it straight from the source,” Duchess said, but he couldn't see her face because a big, wet pussy was blocking his view, “what this urban sex lord has to say about The Duke and The Duchess.”

He couldn't talk right now to save his life. His eyes got big, like hers did in the hall when he put his hand over her mouth.

“I didn't think you'd have anything to say,” Duchess said in that same sista-girl-power way. She made her hips circle so the pussy went 'round and 'round in his face. Not touching, just going 'round and 'round like she was going to hypnotize him with it.

And ain't nobody ev'a been hypnotized by somethin' so pretty.

Duke felt like his heart was going to explode. It was pumping so hard and fast with fear, with adrenaline, with excitement, with rage that this lily white girl was mackin' The Duke!
I gotta get up. Get on top. Dominate!

But that pussy, going in circles in his face . . . the scent . . . the hot dampness like a warm washcloth, the thrill that this was where every motherfucker wished he could stay twenty-four/seven, face to face with a hot, hungry pussy, had him paralyzed

Slam!

A groan like Duke had never heard from his own mouth shot out from between his wet lips because she just slammed down on Timbo like she was a big cube of filet mignon poking herself on a skewer. Ready to sizzle.

The shock of hot, tight pussy that was so wet he just slid in, made his whole body shiver and convulse like he was cumming, and she just got down on it. Her blue blowtorch eyes shot down at him in a way that was hotter than ever. She took a position like she was leaning forward on a motorcycle, so her ass pooted up.

Timbo was deep up in the pussy. Damn, Celeste was sucking him in, squeezing him around, steaming right through this thick dick.

“I'm gonna ride you,” Duchess moaned, “'til you beg me to pull over an' let you rest.”

She pumped her hips at just the right angle so Timbo slid in and out. Faster, faster, faster.... She bounced now. That ass on his thighs, slapping.

“What cha wanna tell me, Duke?” she teased. “Thought you wanted to rap.”

She fucked him harder, and he still couldn't talk. Didn't want to talk or think.

Her whole body glistened with sweat now, from her long, pretty neck to her titties pressed between her fingers, her toned stomach, her thighs. Clumps of hair stuck to her shoulders. Some strands fell and caught between her fingers. He couldn't have scripted a more sensuous scene if he were Hugh Hefner.

“Rap,” she whispered, keeping a steady beat of her butt pounding his thighs. “I wanna rap as I slap my ass.”

He smacked her butt, one hand on each cheek. It was so loud the slaps startled them both. She laughed but didn't stop fucking.

“Yeh, I'm crass. Jus' ask the mask.” She nodded at the Egyptian artwork over the bed. “Witness this kiss”—she leaned to suck his mouth—“as I whisper my love like a glove on Timbo. I know he's so fat, so I sat like a cat, with my pussy soft and squooshy . . .”

Her pussy was pulsating like she was about to cum.

“Oooohhhhh, yaaaaay-yaaaaahhhhh.”

Celeste squeezed so hard around Timbo, it was like the head was going to pop off. Duchess was cumming so hard, it felt like an earthquake was shaking up inside that temple, threatening to break off this great black obelisk.

“I love this dick,” she moaned. She sounded just like Duke would be thinking while he fucked, whether he was with Duchess or any other of the hundreds, if not thousands of pussies he'd had. Some were just OK, but right now Duchess was saying “I love this dick” the same way he would rate some really good pussy, even pussies that he couldn't remember the name or the face they were attached to. Just good-ass pussy.

“I love this dick.”

“I loooooooove this Duke.”

It felt like fire was spreading all over his skin. In a bad way.

Like she had just lit a match on The Duke.

He grabbed her thighs. He would just raise her up, now that she was weak from cumming, and tackle.

“Seems like the better angle,” she whispered, glancing back at his knees. “Yeah.”

Before he could grab her thighs, she spun on his dick like a toy top and faced his feet. It looked like two moons were rising over his stomach.

Duchess tried a stroke, thrusting her hips forward.

“Oh yeah, tha's it,” she moaned, sounding all black now.

She made some round motions, like her hips were going in circles. Her ass was just grinding into him like she would never get tired. Then she moved faster, looking like a rabbit up there. His fingertips danced up her back, tickling her flawless skin. She shivered, moaned. “Ooohhhh, touch me so good.”

Duke wanted to ask, “Damn, how can a girl be so erotic she shiver when you just touch her back?” But he still couldn't talk.
I ain't even tryin' to spend a ounce o' energy on anything but gettin' fucked wit'out movin' a single muscle.

She raised up so her upper body was upright all the way. She moved her feet out at his sides, put her hands on her knees, and raised up in a squat position, just like she had seen the Sluts do in the gym.

Duke smiled. She couldn't wait to try this shit. Without letting Timbo out of the pussy-vise grip, she squatted down, up, down, up.

Dis da bomb!
Faster, faster, she was shaking, moaning and crying out like she was cumming, banging down on his dick like she was nailing her soul to his.

“Ah,” she sighed like her muscles were sore. She slid down to her knees and bent just a little bit, sucking Timbo up in that creamy pussy tunnel. Her hair was all clumped on her back. Sweat dripped down her ass, onto him, making a pool of hot, salty sweat in his belly button.

Ma'fuck me!
Something jolted through him so strong, his head suddenly filled with the image of sticking Timbo in a big electric socket.

He would be a kitten in her lap as she sat at the throne of Babylon with just a shell of The Duke at her side. She could rule and just have him fuck her whenever she wanted.

Slam!
She was ruthless, bouncing that booty, taking all of this dick and all of The Duke.

“Ddddd . . .” Her name came out through his mouth as a grunt. “Ddddduuuuu . . .” What was worse, saying nothing or sounding retarded when he tried to talk?