Gunz and Roses (3 page)

“Nah, damn that. Sit yo' ass the fuck down.” He pushed her back onto the bed and lay on top of her. “Ain't nobody tryin' to play you.” His full lips were inches away from hers. “And all that slick shit you was just kickin' ain't even for you, so act right, ma. A nigga could see you as his wife, but if you keep showin' yo' ass, I'ma quit fuckin' wit' you, you dig?”

“Gunz, get off of me.”

“Nah, you bad. Talk that slick shit now.” He slid down her body, kissing her stomach and navel along the way. “You don't want the money, Gray?” he asked, pushing her thighs back. “You don't want me?”

“Gunz.” She squirmed as he parted then licked the lips of her pussy.

Instead of responding, Gunz sucked her clit. Gray's body was paralyzed with pleasure. His tongue was on a mission to please, as his mouth rotated between stroking and sucking.

“Gunz,” she moaned, rubbing the top of his head. “Baby, stop.”

“Nah, you gon' let me suck this fat-ass pussy.” He licked even faster.

“But if you keep it up, I'ma cum.” Gray could feel sticky cream building between her legs.

“That's what we want, ain't it?”

“Yes.”

“A'ight now, get used to it. A nigga finally found home, ma.” He ran his tongue across her stiff clit before gently biting the lips. “This my new home.”

I
t was the middle of the night and Gray lay in the center of her bed dressed in only a nude panty and bra set. Thoughts of her steamy night with Gunz ran rampant through her mind. For the first time in a year, she had thrown caution to the wind and let go. Gray was tired of being cautious and always doing the right thing. That night, she had decided to live life and not worry about the repercussions of her choices. It was time to have fun and allow herself some pleasure; but now, as she lay alone, she wondered if she had made the right decision.

A week had passed, and she hadn't seen or heard from Gunz. And even though she felt some kind of way about it, no matter how hard she tried, all she could think of was him. For the past seven days she ate, slept, and drank Gunz. Every night, she lay dreaming about what they could be. Either she was envisioning his sly grin, dreaming of his sweet kisses, or dying for his touch.

Sometimes she swore she even smelled the scent of his cologne. In her dreams, she could feel his firm hands gripping her waist and pulling her close. She just wanted to be next to him, bathe in his touch, drink in his smile. The only thing she could think was
Why did I fuck him so soon
? Rolling her eyes, Gray tossed and turned under the white sheets, which cascaded over her body like ripples, until she felt somewhat comfortable. As she lay gazing absently at the ceiling, she wondered if it was possible that Gunz could be thinking of her too.

“He couldn't be,” she spoke out loud as she sat up and ran her hands through her thick, curly hair. “He hasn't even called me yet.”

Restless, Gray got up and headed downstairs. Her two-story loft was huge; two thousand–plus square feet, to be exact. She'd decorated it beautifully with a mixture of her two favorite design concepts: artistic but edgy. In her living area, the walls were an electric shade of blue. Gigantic windows and a black and white photo of Gray dressed in nothing but a pair of jeans, cupping her breasts, consumed the walls.

Also in the living area was a zebra print chaise with yellow throw pillows. In front of it was a steel fireplace with an L-beam mantel. A two-toned black and white sofa, two sleek '60s-inspired chairs and a crystal chandelier finished off the room. With thoughts of Gunz consuming her mind, Gray looked out the window and admired the sky. It was one of those nights where the horizon was darker than usual. Not a cloud was in sight, and millions of stars twinkled, shining a stark light onto her face.

I wonder should I call him,
she thought, but then quickly nixed the idea.
This is too much. Shake this nigga off, girl. You barely know him. Get it together, bitch!

Gray knew her conscience was right. She needed to get over the feelings that tortured her heart and plagued her mind. It was just that their one night together had made a strong impact on her life. Although she didn't know Gunz that well, he was the first person she'd slept with in over a year. Never before had she behaved that way. She'd never been that aggressive, but she liked it. She liked that Gunz brought out the bad girl in her. She was almost sure he was a no-good-ass nigga, but there was just something about the chemistry they shared. If given the opportunity, she had to give him one more chance.

 

Gunz stood at the window of his luxury condo, looking upon the city as the sky dripped heavy drops of rain. His perfectly sculpted physique stood tall while he puffed on a freshly lit see-through blunt. The sun was just beginning to peek above the horizon. It was 5:55
AM
and he hadn't slept a wink.

Gunz rarely slept more than two hours anyway, but on nights like these, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep at all. He hated the way darkness fell each and every night. It only served to remind him of his own mortality. Gunz didn't fear much in life, but for some reason, dying was one thing he did fear. He didn't understand why, especially since he'd ended so many lives.

Maybe it was because as a young child he realized that you didn't have to be grown to go. When he was eleven, his sister died in an accidental drowning. Gunz couldn't pinpoint when the fear had set in. All he knew was at night, while he tried to rest, he'd awaken, jumping out of his sleep at the thought of his life slipping away. So, instead of sleeping, he grinded hard in the streets or preoccupied himself with unnecessary company.

That night, Devin, the pecan beauty lying in his bed sleeping peacefully was his diversion from reality. She was a brave girl that was down to do brave things. For an hour and half, she did nasty things to Gunz that most men only dreamed of.

They met five years ago. He'd been in the club with his mans when she approached. From the look in her eyes, he could tell that she was a project nympho. His theory was proven true when after only one drink they were in the bathroom and she was giving him head. Gunz was a sex fiend. Getting pussy was like Kryptonite; it made him weak.

That morning, after winning a couple of grand at the casino, he met up with Devin back at his place. She'd cum multiple times, and he'd enjoyed turning her out, but in a couple of hours, it would be time for her to go, just like all the rest. Being with only one woman didn't excite him. If anything, it scared the shit out of him. After the death of his sister, Gunz's heart was permanently cemented under his foot, so it meant something that, while banging the pecan beauty's back out, visions of Gray's face flashed before his eyes. There was something about the half-black and Korean mami. He loved the way she snapped her fingers, rocked her hips, and bit her bottom lip.

She was the perfect size and weight. There was no fighting it. His every thought was of her. He could see her bouncing up and down on his dick, feel her nails scratching his back, and hear her calling out his name. Her feisty ways only made him think of her more.

He wasn't trying to be rude or disrespectful by offering her money. Gunz was only trying to show her love. That's how he got down. What he couldn't say with his mouth, he showed through his pockets, and although he didn't know her that well, he was almost sure she wasn't a ho.

With thoughts of Gray drowning his mind, Gunz picked up his cell phone and called her.

“Hello?” She answered on the first ring.

“You been on my mind all week. You miss me?”

“No.”

“Damn, that's fucked up.” He chuckled. “Here I been missing you like crazy, and you ain't even been thinking about me.”

“Gunz, please.”

“Well, if you don't miss me, I know ya li'l mami do, 'cause I been missing the hell out of her.”

“She miss you. Now, why you up so early?” Gray turned over to her side, happy as hell.

“I don't sleep.” His mind went back to thoughts of death.

“Why not?”

“I just don't. Now, what you got on?”

“Nothing,” she lied. Gray could almost bet his dick was hard.

“That's what's up?” Gunz adjusted his hard dick. “Can I come I see you tonight?”

“Yeah. What time?”

“Umm, around eight.”

“That's cool.”

“When you open the door, you better be naked,” he joked.

“Bye, Gunz.” She laughed.

“A'ight, ma. One.”

Gray hung up the phone with a huge smile spread across her face. She was smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. She couldn't wait to see Gunz later on that night. Closing her eyes, she hoped and prayed that he wouldn't be like all the rest and live down to her expectations.

 

Jitters filled Gray's stomach, causing her lips to quiver as she made her way through the doors of
Haute Couture
magazine. It was just as she thought it would be: vibrant, full of possibilities, and fast paced. The walls were stark white, and the furniture was mod yet very contemporary. Swallowing the huge lump in her throat, she held her head high and prepared for her first day at work.

She'd landed her dream job as the assistant to the creative director of style, but first Gray had to have a sit-down with
Haute Couture
's editor-in-chief, Sienna Saint James. Sienna was the black Anna Wintour of the fashion industry. Black Hollywood looked up to her. Her words were like gospel written from the Bible. With one word she set trends and jumpstarted careers.

Besides her mother, Soon Yee, who now lived in Korea, Sienna was Gray's only other role model. She prided herself on the magazine. Gray had been reading it since she was ten.
Haute Couture
was the go-to classic, edgy fashion magazine that African American women from the ages of sixteen to forty-five read religiously. It covered the most coveted designers, up and coming models, runway trends, beauty concepts, and A-list celebrities.

Gray could vividly remember as a child waiting in line for the next edition to hit newsstands. Once she got her copy, she would race home, lock herself in her room, and fantasize about being one of the models in the magazine. When she was little, Gray wasn't comfortable living in her own skin. It was hard for her growing up being of mixed races, because she didn't have her father, who was African American, in the house to teach her his culture. All she knew was her Korean heritage and traditions.

And to make matters worse, there were no other Korean kids in her neighborhood. So, all she had to relate to were the African American kids, but they felt as if she weren't black enough. Gray didn't know what to say, what to do, or how to prove herself. Nothing she said or did helped. None of the girls liked her, and the boys from around the way constantly teased her; but to be poor on top of that made life even worse. Every day she was taunted by her peers for not being able to afford the latest fashions. Her mother couldn't afford to buy her expensive clothes, so instead, she sewed or shopped at thrift stores.

Gray despised going to school, until she met Kema in junior high school. They instantly became friends. Kema didn't judge her for being biracial. She respected Gray for who she was, and in turn, this made Gray feel comfortable in her skin. She realized that she didn't have to prove herself to be liked. All she had to do was be who she was. No longer being a social outcast, Gray got on the grind.

She worked her ass off through high school and college so that she could live out her dream of working with the fashion elite. She wanted nothing more than to be able to afford the one-of-a-kind pieces of clothing she saw in
Haute Couture
magazine. She didn't want to struggle anymore. Gray knew there was more to life than the confines of her neighborhood, and to be working for Sienna Saint James proved her point even more. Dreams really did come true.

With her hair filled with loose, free-flowing curls, Gray walked to the front desk, dressed in a sleeveless black scoop neck bubble dress and black patent leather open-toed heels.

“Hi. Welcome to
Haute Couture
. How may I help you?” the perky front desk clerk spoke.

“Hi, my name is Gray Rose. Today's my first day. Sienna Saint James should be expecting me.”

“She is. Take the elevator up to the twenty-fifth floor and then make a right.”

“Thank you.”

Once upstairs, Gray checked in with Kema, Sienna's personal secretary, and then stepped into her office. To her surprise, there was a homey feel to the space. Gray was in awe. Sienna's office overlooked downtown St. Louis. Tons of black and white photos of her and her famous friends adorned the wall. An array of flowers scented the room. A crystal vase filled with fresh calla lilies sat in the corner above an antique mirrored desk. Behind it, sitting in a matching chair with her legs crossed was “the” Sienna Saint James.

She hadn't uttered a word, but she was still everything Gray thought she would be. There was an air of confidence and power that oozed from her pores. She was forty-six years old, but with the help of dieting, exercise, and Botox, Sienna didn't look a day over thirty.

“Hellooo,” she spoke dryly, giving Gray a once-over look.

“Hi, I'm Gray.” Gray stuck out her hand.

“Sorry, dear, I don't shake hands.”

“Oh.”

“You're late.”

“Umm,”—Gray glanced at her watch—“I was told to be here at eight o'clock. It's eight o'clock on the dot.”

“Being on time is late. I never arrive on time. I always show up at least fifteen to twenty minutes early. Remember, the early bird gets the worm. Have a seat.” Sienna sat back in her chair and squinted her eyes.

Taken aback by her attitude, Gray quietly sat down.

“So tell me, what is it that brought you to
Haute Couture
magazine?”

“Since I was a child, I've loved
Haute Couture
. I grew up on the magazine, and I've followed your career since you took over in ninety-nine.
Haute Couture
was almost extinct, then you came along and singlehandedly revamped the magazine and made it the fashion leader it is today. Without your influence,
Haute Couture
would be just another magazine that folded.”

“So you've done your homework?
Haute Couture
caters to women on the go, the type of woman that is glamorous, chic, sophisticated, and thin. Tell me, Gray, where do you think you fit in to that picture?”

Gray felt as though she had been sucker punched in the stomach. Unwilling to let Sienna see her crumble, she chose her words carefully before deciding to speak.

“First of all, I am glamorous, sophisticated, and chic. The only thing I am not is thin. I'm a size fourteen, and there are a lot more women in the world that look like me than the models in your magazine. Maybe that's something that
Haute Couture
should look into.”

Impressed by her answer, Sienna simply pursed her lips and inhaled deeply. “You know that working for this magazine is not an easy task. In the last month alone we've fired six assistants. Are you really sure that you can handle the demands of this job?”