Scandalicious Page 2

  But there was something to be said about the human touch. Where could she find the kind of intimacy she desired? She had neither the time nor inclination to go club hopping or cruise local bars. Besides, experience had taught her that the men who frequented meat market environments were the bottom of the barrel, not even worth a sleazy one-night stand.

  Solay wanted sex—on her terms. Having to check in with anyone with a text message or a phone call to keep them from feeling insecure was asking too much of her. Women were accused of being clingy and needy, but from Solay’s experiences, men were the ones that needed to be reassured with text messages and phone calls. Men were the ones calling her and asking, “How was your day?”

  “Busy as hell!” she’d reply, allowing the stress to ring loud and clear in her voice.

  “I was thinking about you.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” she’d say, with uncomfortable laughter.

  “Were you thinking about me?” the one-night stand would ask, totally testing her patience.

  Hell, fucking no! she’d scream in her head, and then dryly respond, “Uh-huh.”

  At the point when he’d start to hint that he was interested in seeing her again, Solay would have already labeled him a nuisance, and her fingers would begin rapidly tapping, as she deleted him from her contact list.

  Call her selfish, but it was what it was. Solay was married to her business, and had scant time for an extramarital affair.

  Everything about Scandalicious screamed sex, from the intimate French bistro décor to the provocatively sexy names of her cupcakes, and now Solay was feeling somewhat fraudulent, running a sex-themed business when she wasn’t getting any action.

  There had to be a way to get the sex she desired without the complications of a relationship. After a few minutes of pondering her options, she went online.

  Wearing a naughty smile, she Googled the phrase, “rent a dick.” Her smile broadened when numerous possibilities popped on the screen.

  She clicked on “Rent-A-Man Escort Service.” A variety of muscle-bound hunks represented the available offerings of that service. Solay was pretty sure that the beautiful images on the website were merely stock photos and not part of the actual selection. Undeterred, she perused the site, and learned that she had the option of hiring a man by the hour or renting his services for the night.

  An hour’s worth of no-strings-attached sex was all she needed to improve her attitude, and give her some of her swag back. Wheeling and dealing in the business world, required her to exude confidence and sex appeal.

  Credit card in hand, she called and boldly requested a one-hour date, making it clear that she didn’t need a dinner date, and she wasn’t going to a business affair. All she wanted from her hired man was to be escorted straight to her bed!

  As she swept through the dining area, Solay noticed that the place was jam-packed. Not one available seat. And there was a mob of people waiting at the counter. Business was good.

  Vidal was entertaining the customers, joking and making quips as usual, enjoying the spotlight, and working the front as if it were his personal stage. Vidal had survived the kitchen war and had emerged without any noticeable battle scars. His clothing and his appearance were as impeccable as always.

  “Here you go. A dozen Passionate Kisses,” Vidal said to a female customer. “I threw in a free Screamin’ Orgasm to complete your sinful night,” Vidal said, giving the patron a conspiratorial wink. The customers who were in line waiting for their orders were not impatient. Thoroughly charmed by Vidal, the customers were completely entertained while waiting.

  “What’s the Screamin’ Orgasm?” someone in the line asked.

  “Check out the menu.” Vidal pointed to the chalkboard menu that hung on the wall behind him.

  Solay’s eyes wandered upward. Melanee’s Delectable Special: Screamin’ Orgasm (orange/ginger cupcake with tangy orange butter cream frosting) $5.00 each.

  Solay was appalled at Melanee’s willfulness, and intended to put her on a one-day suspension. Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the next customer’s request.

  “I’ll have a dozen cupcakes,” said a woman carrying a briefcase and dressed in a conservative business suit. “I want four red velvet, four double chocolate, and four vanilla,” she said, carefully avoiding the provocative cupcake names.

  “Do you want the free Screaming O?” Vidal asked, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he put the businesswoman on blast.

  “Sure, I’ll try it,” she said, lashes lowering in embarrassment, face flushing red.

  Helping out in the front, Solay began packaging the woman’s order.

  “We’ll have a half-dozen Screamin’ O’s,” said two giggly college girls.

  “Coming right up!” Vidal disappeared into the kitchen and then came right back, carrying a tray of six gorgeous creations.

  Customers glimpsed the pastel orange-colored delights, and murmured, “Wow!”

  The caramelized orange slice embellishments gave the cupcakes an award-winning look. “Folks, we’re down to the last half-dozen of Screamin’ O’s.”

  The customers released a collective groan. The two college girls clapped their hands as if they’d won a prize and then shelled over thirty dollars, plus tax.

  While helping out in the front, Solay witnessed numerous customers who had gotten the free cupcake, returning to buy more.

  “Those Screamin’ O’s went like hot cakes,” Vidal told a customer. “We’ll have more tomorrow.”

  “No we won’t,” Solay disagreed. “We’ll be back to our regular menu tomorrow.”

  “You must not like money,” Vidal muttered under his breath.

  Solay let the comment slide. Vidal had no idea how expensive and time-consuming it was for Melanee to create those cupcakes. She’d have to hire more help if she kept those Screaming O’s on the menu.

  By closing time, Solay had gotten over her anger and realized that she’d be only hurting herself if she put Melanee on suspension for even a day. Unfortunately, Melanee was right; to Solay’s dismay, the Screamin’ O’s were a success.

  “Good night, ladies, it’s been fun,” Vidal said, after tying his dramatic, fringed scarf around his neck. Before leaving, he bent and reached under the counter behind bags and cupcake boxes. “Voilà!” he said.

  “Ooo, you’re such a sneak,” Melanee said, laughing.

  “And you’re the Picasso of pastry,” he said, eyeing the cupcake with admiration.

  Flattered, Melanee smiled. “Thank you, Vidal.”

  “I have to have at least one Screamin’ Orgasm after all that fore-play I put in today!” Vidal twirled around and headed for the door.

  After Vidal left, Solay and Melanee cleaned up the kitchen. “In the future, you need to ask permission before you tamper with the menu. Nothing should be on that chalkboard or baked in my ovens without my explicit permission.”

  “But we discussed it…”

  “Yes, we had a conversation, but nothing was finalized. Your cupcakes were a huge success, but I don’t see how I can afford to allow you to bake anything other than the items on the menu.”

  “I can come in an hour earlier. Or stay a few hours later…start making up the batter for the next day.”

  “Why would you put yourself through that? I can’t raise your pay.”

  “I’m bored doing the same thing every day. I need to express myself creatively.”

  “Well, that’s something you can do on your own time. Seriously, Melanee. I can’t afford to buy those ingredients…even at five dollars a pop, I’ll only break even.”

  “Okay,” Melanee said with an indifferent shrug, but Solay could see something that looked like anger in her eyes.

  CHAPTER 3

  She was so fuckin’ beautiful. His dick was rock hard and ready to burst. Though his eyes were closed, he could see her incredible, sexy body behind his eyes. He cupped her ass cheeks, tugging her closer, until his dick was embedded to the hilt.

&nbs
p; Gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he forced back the load that swelled his shaft.

  She squirmed beneath him, urging him. Her moans were almost too much to bear; he pulled back and then deepened his stroke. Going hard. Disregarding self-control.

  Getting a grip, he shook his head. He wasn’t ready. Desperately, his lips found hers. He put some tongue into the kiss, taking his mind off the juicy pussy that enveloped his dick. He stopped his stroke and lay motionless. Further movement would cause a premature eruption.

  His mouth moved downward. He buried his face in her breasts, brushing his cheeks against the softness of her satiny skin. Licking, tasting. Lips hungrily surrounding the aching tips.

  Overcome by her womanly softness, his dick throbbed urgently, straining for release. It took every ounce of his willpower to deny himself her womanly pleasure. She felt so good, so wet and creamy, he wanted to stay inside her forever. With a soft groan, he withdrew himself. Palms pressed against the mattress, he slithered downward until he was kissing her inner lips. Making her moan. Causing her to spread her legs in helpless invitation.

  His tongue slashed between her thick folds, and thrust toward the tiny entrance to her sex. Inside her walls, he daringly explored the moist and softly padded confines. Her pussy clenched and spasmed around his gliding tongue.

  “This is good pussy, baby. So sweet,” he uttered, as his finger began toying with her clit, creating unbearably pleasurable friction. He knew her body well. Could feel the pulse of an ongoing orgasm.

  She writhed violently, her moans becoming shouts of pleasure. Her body bucked wildly. She cursed. She prayed. And then her womb spasmed in grateful relief.

  And then she came.

  It was his turn now. Sweat soaked her skin as he repositioned her languid body, pulling her to unsteady knees. He wanted to mount her… fuck her doggy style. One hand flat against her back, the other holding his swollen dick in his hand as he steered himself into her gently at first. Good pussy, he thought as he thrust with a pounding force, until he spurted his seed and collapsed. Drenched with perspiration, his chest molded to the curve of her back.

  Good pussy motivated men to achieve their dreams. Good pussy was the reward for working your way through school and obtaining a college degree; it was the just desserts for making a good living and enduring the pressures that come with a successful career. Good pussy was constantly on his mind. But keeping this pussy happy was becoming next to impossible.

  Chevonne shifted. “You’re smothering me, honey. Get up,” she said with a grunt.

  Lincoln opened his eyes. He was back in his bedroom, no longer in paradise. He closed his eyes again, unprepared to return to the reality of his life.

  A career in peril. A dying marriage. An unhappy wife.

  CHAPTER 4

  Though Scandalicious faced busy South Street, Solay’s apartment could be accessed by a narrow side street. The cobblestone path was a pain in the ass when it came to parking, but for an unconventional date with a male escort, the isolation and privacy were appreciated. At the thump of the door knocker, Solay braced herself. She had no idea what kind of a freak was going to be standing on the other side of the door. She hoped her escort hadn’t shown up, dressed in some silly stripper costume. Does it matter? As long as the man had an erection and possessed stamina, his appearance, personality, and fashion sense were totally irrelevant.

  A glimpse through the peephole revealed a young, brown-skinned brother. She frowned at his thugged-out attire. Beneath a multi-colored hoodie was a T-shirt bearing the image of Notorious B.I.G. He was wearing sagging jeans, sneakers, a baseball cap, and two flashy chains hung from his neck. Is this a joke? I paid good money to rent some dick. If I wanted a young hustla, I could have taken a spin around the hood and picked up this fool. That Rent-A-Man agency must have jokes, but I’m not laughing. I’m calling their asses to demand every cent of my money back.

  Before grabbing the phone, Solay took another look. Through one squinted eye, she noticed that her escort was kind of cute. With more scrutiny, she decided that “fine as hell” was a more accurate assessment. And from his expression—the sensual set of his generous lips, the knowing glimmer in his dark eyes, and his confident stance, she guessed that he could tear it up in the bedroom.

  Her mouth suddenly watered.

  Dressed for the occasion, Solay had on a black stretch lace slip dress. At five-foot-five, Solay weighed 140 pounds. She was thick in all the right places. She ran smoothing hands over her rounded hips, and then pulled back the chain and let the male escort in.

  “Solay, right? My name’s Deon,” he said in a silken voice. He looked Solay over, his eyes gliding over ever inch of her voluptuous frame. “You ain’t even gotta answer my question. From the looks of things, I can see that it’s all good with you.”

  His compliment felt like a gentle caress—every word, a sensual invitation. She could tell that Deon was street smart, slick, and overly confident, but she couldn’t stop herself from blushing under his gaze. From her estimation, Deon was over a little over six feet tall. His baggy clothes were draped over what appeared to be around 190 pounds of lean, rock-hard masculinity. The man was oozing all kinds of sexy thuggishness, and he knew it. He’d entered her apartment with his guns blazing.

  Solay was enthused. Her boring life could use a dose of edgy excitement.

  In the real world, Solay’s male acquaintances were more mature and refined. But in this fantasy life, where all she was expecting was some stiff dick, a thug was just as good—perhaps even better, than the kind of man with whom she usually became romantically involved.

  He glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “Smells good in here, like cookies or cake.”

  The aroma of the dozens of cupcakes she’d baked earlier still hung in the air. And no doubt, the lingering fragrances from her bakery had wafted upstairs. But none of that information was any of this hired hand’s business. “Oh, that’s a cookie candle burning,” she said, motioning toward the bedroom.

  “Is that right?” His words emerged slowly…lyrically, and with a hint of seduction. As if prompted by the word, “bedroom,” Deon came out of the hoodie and his T-shirt. He casually tossed the garments on a chair. Bare-chested and flaunting a six-pack, Deon moved in Solay’s direction. What a body! She’d only seen men that looked like Deon in photographs. Deon was so cut…so ripped…he didn’t look real; he looked like a piece of golden-hued sculpture. He wasn’t dark and he wasn’t a redbone; he was a golden-honey color—gorgeously delicious.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off his tattoo—a wide strip of black ink. Some sort of Chinese writing was draped over his right shoulder and traveled down his back. So sexy!

  His stride was fluid and rhythmic, as if he were slow dancing toward her.

  He had swag, and the word “trouble” was written all over his gorgeous face. But Solay didn’t have to heed her inner warnings. Thank God she was only renting Deon for his stud services. She pitied the woman who thought she could get anything that closely resembled a relationship with this kind of man.

  “You’re real pretty, Solay,” Deon said with a smile of appreciation. His flirty words caught her off guard, causing heat to creep along the back of her neck. And his lips…they were some kind of sexy. Plump and succulent, provoking a hot, melting sensation between her legs. Damn, I must be hornier than I realized. Embarrassed by her reaction, Solay cast her eyes to the floor.

  With a gentleness that he didn’t appear to possess, he pulled her into his arms. He pressed the back of her head until her cheek rested against his bare chest. His fragrance was sensual, masculine. “Mmm,” she murmured, momentarily letting down her guard. In those split seconds of defenselessness, she was filled with an extraordinary sense of well-being and bliss.

  “Did you miss me, baby?” Deon whispered.

  Huh? What kind of game was this? How could she miss someone she didn’t know? She supposed that pretending that Deon was her man was part of the fa
ntasy she’d paid for. In a way, though, she really did miss him. Well, maybe not Deon in particular, but she missed what he represented—a man who cared. She missed having someone to hold her at the end of a long, eventful day.

  “Yes, I missed you,” she finally said, looking up and meeting his gaze. Then she felt a sudden impulse to explain. “Calling an escort service…well, that isn’t something that I normally—”

  He cut her off with a kiss, nudging her mouth open with the sweetness of his lips. As he kissed her, his hands slid down to her ass, caressing and squeezing the twin mounds. The heat from his mouth and his hands made her squirm with need. Releasing a deep gasp, her arms looped around his neck; her hungered body sank into his. Smoldering heat shot through her, settling between her legs. Her clit was hard and aching; she could feel it throbbing against his stiff dick.

  “Let’s take this to the bedroom.” It was more a command than a request.

  Solay nodded. She sensed that Deon’s performance was going to be well worth the money spent. It took a lot of effort not to push him onto the sofa, hop on top of him, and take the dick right there and then.

  Pull yourself together. Calm down, be patient, she lectured herself as he led her toward the bedroom.

  She lay on her back. Deon, a large and beautiful mass of nakedness, straddled her. It was hard to concentrate on the sensual massage while the heat from his hefty and curved dick pulsed against her flesh.

  “Let’s skip the massage,” Solay murmured, feeling hot from the touch of his hands on her bare skin.

  “Relax. Lemme help you get rid of all this tension.”

  “But—”

  “Shh.” He silenced her. And with skillful seduction, he rubbed her back.

  Annoyed that she’d allowed some thugged-out dick-for-hire, to talk her into getting something she didn’t want, Solay lifted her head to protest. “Seriously, I don’t need a massage. I just want—”