Zane's Busy Bodies: Chocolate Flava 4 Page 6

  “This must be my lucky night,” Kamara offered. “I can get you to kiss me anywhere?”

  “Sure,” he responded.

  “I want you to kiss me here—on my tattoo,” she said, lifting her T-shirt to reveal a small, flower-shaped tattoo on the left side of her right breast, just above the fabric of her bra.

  For a moment, Grant stared, taking in her flawless, caramel-complexioned skin. The T-shirt had been loose fitting, but now he could see her full breasts, in all of their glorious splendor, perky and awaiting his attention. He leaned in slowly, enjoying the view as his body proceeded to close the gap.

  His tongue immediately danced upon her skin, tracing the outline of her tattoo as she raked her fingertips lightly across the back of his head. In his eagerness, he gently pulled down her shoulder strap, exposing her nipple. He took it into his mouth, his tongue fluttering along her areola. This time she moaned.

  For a moment, he moved back and forth between her breasts, his tongue leaving a faint trace from nipple to nipple. When Kamara’s hand pressed his chest, pushing him back, he had trouble leaving her topless form. He started to ask why she was pushing him away, until he noticed that she was pointing at the bottle lying on the floor off to the side.

  “My turn,” she said, as she adjusted herself. Her bra and shirt remained on the floor beside her as she leaned over and spun the bottle again. This time the bottle rotated back toward her as if magnetically drawn to her skin.

  A smile spread across Grant’s lips.

  “So where do you want me to kiss you?” she asked, her beautiful body illuminated by the mild glow of the streetlights trickling through the bedroom blinds.

  He knew where he wanted her to kiss him, but he didn’t want to be too forward. As he hesitated, Kamara crawled over to him and began to unfasten his jeans. Propping himself up with his hands, he lifted himself so that she could remove them. With his eager erection straining at the fabric of his boxers, he watched as she lowered her face to his waistband, tugging at it with her teeth. When she unleashed his manhood into the darkness of the room, he closed his eyes, leaning back. He could feel her envelop the head in her warm, wet mouth, massaging the length of his shaft with her hand. Patiently, she ran her tongue along the length of his erection. He had not been this hard in a long time, and he wanted only for her to take her time—bottle be damned.

  Once he could feel the buzzing glow of an orgasm collecting between his legs, he stopped her. There was only one thing he wanted more than to cum and that was to return the favor.

  Pulling himself away from her, he leaned over and kissed her passionately on the lips, rejoicing as her tongue met his. As he placed the palm of his hand along the side of her face, just beneath her flowing hair, he whispered for her to lie down.

  Kamara lay down, lifting her hips from the floor so that he could remove her jeans and panties. Even in the darkness, Grant could see that she had trimmed her hair down low. Gently he tugged at her outer lips, allowing the hood to slide gracefully over her pearl. He continued this for a moment, drawing as much excitement to that area as he could, before he lowered his face and allowed himself to taste her. The salty-sweetness of her moist flesh invited him to run his tongue along the length of her vulva and into her vagina, before returning to her clit, careful not to put too much pressure on her sensitivity. As she began to rock herself against his face, he moved with her rhythm, matching her beat for beat.

  He could feel her contracting against his chin as her legs tensed. He looked up, hoping to make out her facial expression in the dim light. All he could see was her head lean forward and then tilt back, her face lifted toward the ceiling. As she shook her head, moaning from the sensation, Grant began to massage his erection as it returned to its full glory.

  Taking him in her mouth once again, Kamara began to massage his balls with her fingertips. Lifting her head to face him, she asked, “Are you ready for this?”

  Grant nodded, his smile bright, even in the darkness. “Hell, yes!”

  As he approached her, she lifted one leg high, holding it up near her ear.

  “Damn, you’re flexible,” he said, positioning himself over her.

  She smiled.

  He entered her slowly, savoring every inch of his manhood entering her soaking wet walls. His triceps tightened as he held himself above her, allowing her to rock back and forth into him. As she enveloped and released him, he cursed himself silently for having never made a move on her before tonight.

  Slowly, Kamara began to lower her leg onto Grant’s shoulder, lifting her other leg onto his other shoulder. He cupped her soft, round ass in his palms and began to raise and lower her body so that he entered her in repetition.

  “You feel so good,” he uttered.

  “Say that shit again. This time louder,” she said, surprising him.

  “You feel so good!”

  “Yeah, baby,” she responded, stretching out her legs. “I want you to hit it from the back, G.”

  Not wanting to lose a moment of her warmth massaging him, he lowered one of her legs and grabbed the other, turning her slowly onto her stomach. As she began to work her way to her knees, he ran his hands along her side, gradually resting them on her full hips. As she rocked back into him, he plowed into her until he heard her gasp.

  “Fuck me,” she moaned, as he thrust himself into her, his hands gripping her voluptuous ass.

  He wanted nothing more than to stay inside her indefinitely, but as sweat trickled down his chest, he wondered how much longer he could last. He leaned over her, planting kisses along her back, as she rotated her hips in small circles.

  “No, don’t do that,” he whispered breathlessly. “It feels too good.”

  “I want you to cum for me, baby.”

  He lifted himself so that his body was fully erect, and as she shifted, he withdrew, releasing himself onto her lower back while she moaned, her ass still moving, sliding lazily beneath his spent erection.

  Barely able to feel his legs, Grant said, “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” He struggled to his feet and walked into the bathroom, returning with a few squares of paper towel. Kneeling down beside Kamara, he began to gently wipe her skin. When he finished, she lay down on her side, facing him while he reclined, propping himself up on his elbows.

  “So what now?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll be leaving in the morning. I wish I could take you with me.”

  She smiled. “You know what? You’re a sweet guy. You’re gonna make some woman very lucky.”

  Grant’s brow furrowed as he watched her begin to dress. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was hoping you’d stay the night.”

  “Close your eyes,” Kamara said, kissing him gently on the lips. “Dream of me.”

  Grant followed her to the door, the air conditioner beginning to cool his nude body. He watched her leave as quietly as she had come, and as her car backed out of the parking lot, he realized that of all the things he’d miss about Atlanta, he would miss her most.

  After Dark

  Niyah Moore

  Pigalle Palace was a notorious hot spot, an epicenter of sizzling sex shops, erotic peep shows, and dazzling strip clubs. It was an adults-only, X-rated, pleasurable adventure for the more risqué crowd and home to one of Paris’s most famous cabarets, Moulin Rouge. After my first few weeks of studying abroad, I was ready to find out what really happened there after dark.

  My roommate and I squeezed into the backseat of a tiny taxi to go bar-hopping one Friday night.

  Once the door was closed, I asked, “Have you ever been to the red light district?”

  She responded in her thick, French accent, “Pig Alley?”

  “Pig Alley?” I repeated with a confused look on my face. “I’m talking about where all the freaky things happen. You know, topless bars? Nude strip clubs . . .”

  “Oui. Pig Alley,” she said, and laughed in her cute, girlish manner.

  �
�Why do you call it Pig Alley?” I asked with a scowl.

  “A lot of pigs tend to wallow in all the filthy diversions.”

  The fire inside of my curiosity grew wilder. “Let’s go. How far is it from here?”

  “Not too far.” She shrugged while lighting a cigarette. “Are you sure you want to go?” She rolled down the small window to blow out a lungful of smoke.

  “Positive. I won’t rest until I know.”

  “What will you do once there?” She raised her eyebrow with a sleek grin appearing on her face.

  I thought about that and, honestly, I had no idea what I would do.

  “I don’t know what to expect. I’m just going as a tourist.”

  Colette nodded and then smiled before taking another drag from her cancer stick. “Take us to the infamous club on the Boulevard de Clichy,” she said to the taxi driver. “I have a spot in mind first and then, from there, we’ll explore.”

  A sly, naughty grin appeared on the driver’s pale face. With rose-colored cheeks, he knew exactly what spot she had in mind and had a hard time trying to conceal his discomfort, but he didn’t say a word or yield a warning. Pulling away from the curb, the taxi drove through the wet streets toward the north side of a town called Montmartre.

  Once in the red light district, I wiggled in my seat like a five-year-old kid going to McDonald’s. From the taxi window, I stared out at all the colorful lights reflecting off the raindrops that remained on the car after the rain. In red and blue lights I read: DVDS, PEEP SHOWS, NUDE, NEW GIRLS, and SEX. I was in adult playland. Electric excitement filled me completely and I could feel my toes tingling in anticipation. I crossed my legs to stop myself from squirming.

  “Reminds me of San Francisco,” I noted aloud.

  “Do you miss home?” Colette asked.

  “I do, but studying in Paris has always been a dream of mine.”

  The taxi stopped in front of one of the clubs along the strip of a dark, unlit alley. The line to get inside stretched down the street.

  “This joint is off the hook, huh?” I asked, placing my cold hands in the pockets of my peacoat as soon as we were out of the cab.

  Colette laughed and nodded her head. “Oui. It is very popular.”

  There were diverse groups of people waiting in line. Some smoked cigarettes and others chatted while the line moved quickly.

  After tossing her cigarette on the ground, Colette stepped on it, sprayed her favorite peach-smelling perfume from her purse—something she did every time she smoked—and then adjusted her black bikini top underneath her coat to prevent her breasts from popping out.

  I stared down the dark, foggy alley we came through. There was no way I would be able to walk down that alley alone. It was definitely too dark and scary, plus the smell of the soggy sewer left an unsettling feeling in my gut.

  I moved my eyes up to the club’s vivid flashing red sign above our heads.

  “Vaisseau,” I read aloud. “Nice . . .” Vaisseau meant “vessel” in French. “Does this spot crack?”

  Colette laughed at me again. “The American slang is so strange. What does crack mean?”

  “You know, jumpin’, like is this where people have a great time?”

  “I like this place. The drinks are superb and there is plenty of yummy eye candy.”

  My pussy pounded. I was looking for some fun, ending with me having a few orgasms before the night was over. We walked to the end of the line with our three-inch boots clicking against the wet pavement, causing small puddles to splash away from us.

  Lightning lit up the gloomy sky, which caused me to jump a little. A roaring thunder accompanied the shortened sparks of quickened light. I was glad we’d worn our coats to protect us, in case it started raining again.

  The line moved so fast that we were at Vaisseau’s entrance in a matter of minutes.

  The bouncer immediately caught my eye. “Wow,” I said to Colette. “He’s nice . . .”

  I couldn’t see him from the alley as we’d walked up, but I was glad to know he was a fine, bald brother standing a little over six feet. His skin was the color of café au lait.

  “Oui, he is one of the owner’s sons. This is the only black-owned place in all of Pigalle.”

  “Welcome to Vaisseau,” he uttered with his sultry, deep voice as he took my I.D. first. He looked at me to see if the picture matched. “Wow, all the way from United States? California? Your name is Essence?”

  “Yes to all you just asked,” I replied in a flirty manner. “What’s your name, handsome?”

  He smiled and bit on his lower lip. That’s when I spotted the small but noticeable dimple in his right cheek. He was too adorable for me not to swoon in front of him.

  “Onyx,” he stated proudly.

  “Onyx? Like a precious black gem? That name fits you.”

  Laughing casually, he showed off his pearly whites. “Thank you. Enjoy your evening.”

  He took a look at Colette’s identification and then removed the red rope from in front of the door.

  As soon as we were inside the highly energized club, the music thumped through my chest like a strong heartbeat. The air inside was so crisp it caused me to shiver a little. Topless go-go dancers were in each corner of the dark club with red lights flashing all over them. The couches and chairs were red. Even the bubbling water in a fountain behind the bar was red. All the red accents against the black walls gave the effect of blood pumping through the veins of the building.

  “Bonsoir,” a tall young woman with smoky eye shadow greeted us. “Nineteen euros.”

  I rummaged through my purse looking for euros, finding nothing but lipstick, old receipts, and American cash. “Colette, I left my euros in the room. What am I going to do?” I whined, waving my U.S. dollars in her face.

  “Fifteen of your dollars,” the woman interjected. “We welcome you. You can also check your coats and purses here.”

  I handed her the money and all of my belongings with a huge grin on my face. Bouncing to the beat, I took a ticket and hand stamp. I looked at the small black “V” that marked the top of my right hand before I placed the claim ticket in the back of my skintight jeans’ pocket.

  We made our way over to the bar through the howling dance crowd. Watching sweaty bodies pressed up against one another, ready to fuck, made my nipples harden. I bit on my lower lip to hide my arousal.

  I nodded my head to the music and began to move my hips. The big fans flowing made the air blow, causing my wild curly hair to sway. I closed my eyes and imagined that I was a sexy video vixen waiting to dance with the hottest guy. I adjusted my halter top to make sure my boobs were pushed up just right.

  My eyes immediately fell on the flashy bartender with long dreads who was spinning some bottles, juggling glasses, and engaging everyone around him. From the looks of it, he could have been another member of the family that owned the place.

  “You weren’t lying. The eye candy is unbelievable,” I said to Colette. “Who’s the sexy man behind the bar?”

  “Oh, that’s Legend.”

  “Legend looks like a god!”

  Just when I thought I was in love with the muscular, dread-headed bartender, a taller, dark-skinned stud appeared from under the bar. His efficiently lined goatee and flawless haircut sent me over the edge. He looked a lot like a younger version of the actor Idris Elba.

  “What can I get you ladies?” he asked as he leaned over the bar. Dimples in each cheek framed a perfect grin.

  My heavy breathing halted as soon as I laid eyes on his shirtless, sculpted upper body. Sweet, honey brown eyes locked with mine and I clutched my heart because it skipped a beat.

  Colette spoke up. “Can you give us two shots of vodka, s’il vous plaît?”

  As he poured the liquor, Colette placed some money on the bar.

  “Girl, I have a weakness for chocolate,” I said into her ear, feeling my knees buckle.

  I had to plant my feet firmly and lean up against a barstool to stop mys
elf from fainting.

  “Trés magnifique,” she said.

  He slid the two shot glasses in front of us with well-practiced fluidity, not wasting a single drop on the glass-topped bar.

  “Bottoms up!” I yelled before downing my shot. Colette downed hers as well.

  Before I could set the glass down, two more shots were in front of us.

  “This one is on the house,” he said with a wink before he made his way to the other end of the long bar.

  The two bartenders worked so masterfully that I was entranced. All of the women were spellbound, fixated by the way they commanded all the attention in the room.

  “Oh, my God!” I shouted, bouncing up and down, feeling the music propel through me. “What is Mr. Chocolate’s name?”

  Colette grinned widely as if she knew I would ask. She let me hang on to her silence for a moment before she said, “Rain.”

  “His name is Rain? Like from the sky? Okay, what’s up with their names?”

  “Onyx, Legend, and Rain are brothers.”

  “I take it their mother doesn’t like traditional names.”

  Colette giggled and raised her hand to order another drink. “I’m ready to get drunk.”

  “Me too.” I couldn’t keep my eyes off Rain. I wanted him. “Do you think I can have Mr. Rain tonight?”

  “I don’t know . . .” Colette’s glossy eyes glanced over in his direction to find that he was stealing stares at me. “From the looks of it . . . you might do just that, Madame Essence.”

  Rain was back in front of us after he mixed more drinks for the other thirsty ladies farther down the bar. Legend covered him by taking over the end he’d abandoned.

  “Encore du vodka, mademoiselles,” he said with his left eyebrow raised.

  “Give me one with cranberry juice,” I replied.

  “Encore!” Colette exclaimed as she shook her ass to the music.

  Rain poured the drinks, smiling, as I admired his well-manicured fingernails. Everything about his appearance was perfect. He licked his lips before asking, “Do you like what you see?”

  “I do,” I admitted timidly.

  When he smiled wider, I felt my skin grow hot from the inside.