Read Nude Awakening II Online

Authors: Victor L. Martin

Nude Awakening II (7 page)

CHAPTER

Eight

Blame it on the Henny

Killing someone was easy when it was fully thought out and planned. Fritz was alone at an undisclosed location in the Northwestern area of Miami. In the one bedroom apartment, the wall in the tiny bedroom was covered with pictures of his new target. Fritz was shirtless, smoking a thick, genuine hand rolled Cuban cigar. Smoke wafted up near the stained popcorn ceiling marred by three bullet holes. Sitting up on the queen-size bed, Fritz took a close study of the man in the pictures. Rick had supplied the pictures and all the vital information that Fritz had requested. In the coming days he would begin tracking his new target to get a deeper knowledge of his daily movements. Being close but unseen was an easy task for Fritz to accomplish. Committing an act of murder seemed the norm for Fritz. There were men and a few women who took their last breath with Fritz's grinning face in their vision. The others died by what was deemed as an accident. From the ungoverned streets of Zimbabwe, to the flashing lights of Hollywood, California, Fritz had proven his talent. A professional killer is how he viewed himself. At times he couldn't determine what drove his urge to kill. The money, or the rush of stalking his target and seeing fear pooling in their eyes when they realize their life on earth has ended.

Yeah, killing was easy in Fritz's mind. The muted TV on a fake wooden stand was tuned on a bland sitcom that Fritz gave no attention. The cheap, outdated TV was being used for lighting in the stuffy bedroom with brown carpet torn in various spots. This dwelling was only temporary for Fritz. It would suit his needs until the job was done.

Inhaling on the cigar, he picked up his cell phone. After dialing a local number, he placed the cigar in a chipped glass ashtray. His call was answered after the third ring. Knowing his number was known on the other end, he made no attempt to introduce himself. He also knew the person on the other end was strictly business as himself.

“I need a new vehicle by tomorrow night,” Fritz explained. “And I don't need anything flashy.” Fritz was flawlessly speaking without an accent now.

“Not a problem. You'll find what you need parked at our normal spot tomorrow at 7 pm. The keys will be taped inside the front left wheel well.”

Fritz ended the call and then massaged the tight tendons in his neck. He was reaching for the cigar, when a knock rattled the iron cage on the front door. In the blink of an eye, a silenced Glock 19 appeared in his right hand. Easing off the bed, he moved quickly into the unlit living room with the Glock held in a steady two-handed grip.

“I gotcha chicken, so hurry da hell up and lemme in!”

Fritz relaxed his grip on the pistol upon hearing Jenny's irritating voice. “Show some patience!” he shouted, thumbing the safety on the Glock and tucking it away behind his back.

Unlocking the two doors, he stepped aside as Jenny flounced into the apartment in a glinty pair of black leather five-inch spiked booties. A heavy, cheap pineapple perfume and fried chicken filled his nose, causing his stomach to growl. “Anybody follow you?” he asked, scanning the streets outside.

“Nooo . . .” she complained, rolling her green contact covered eyes. “Ain't nobody important, and I don't have no pimp runnin' after my ass. Now let's eat. And maybe we can have some fun after we finish.” She whirled her wide ass, unaware that her blonde wig was slightly crooked on her head.

Fritz locked both doors and then joined Jenny on the tattered green cloth sofa. Like every man, Fritz had likings that he filled his downtime with. In Fritz's case, his mind was at ease when he could entertain himself with a willing prostitute and chicken.

***

“This was an excellent idea, papi,” Jurnee said, curled up on the sofa with her heels off. She kept her eyes on Trevon while sipping her third glass of Ciroc and Sprite.

“Life's a bitch, ain't it?” he said, lounging back on the sofa with a bottle of Rėmy Martin VSOP between his legs.

“Life is what you make it,” she replied, raising her glass in the air with a small grin. “Words from my girl, Mary J. Blige.”

Trevon lifted the bottle to his lips to finish it.

“Easy, papi,” Jurnee warned as Trevon gulped the drink until it was empty.

Trevon savored the sweet cognac and the airy feeling it induced over his mind and body. He was feeling mellow. “Wh-what's that song you got on?” he asked Jurnee. “Sounds so relaxin'.”

“It's called ‘Nothing Can Come Between Us' by Sade,” she said, softly.

“I like it,” he said with his eyes low.

“Really?”

“Yeah, but—” He paused, sliding a hand down his face.

“But what?”

“Nah, I was ‘bout to say sumthin' stupid.” He grinned.

Jurnee giggled. “Are you drunk?”

“Not yet, but I'm damn shole' tryin'.” He sat up, placing the empty bottle of Remy Martin VSOP on the floor. “What that Ciroc taste like?”

“Like me,” she flirted, knowing full well that the cocktail was making her tipsy.

“You're crazy.” He smiled, reaching for a second bottle of Remy on the table.

“Hey. I got a question,” she said, handing him her empty glass. “Say, if you were like . . . alone on an island with one famous woman . . . um, who would she be?”

Trevon paused a second from opening the bottle of Remy. “Um . . . just one?”

“Yes.” She giggled, tucking her feet up under her body.

With a wide grin he said, “Um, I'll have to pick the MSWA, Paula Abdul.”

Jurnee exploded into a fit of laughter.

“Why is that so funny?” he asked, enjoying the sight and sound of her mood.

Jurnee couldn't speak until her giggling ceased. “You're just saying that because you said I favor her.” She nudged him on his knee.

“So.” He shrugged, removing the wooden cork from the bottle.

“And what does MSWA mean?”

“Most sexiest woman alive,” he said, filling her glass with the new drink.

“You love yourself some Paula Abdul,” she teased him. “Well, if I was alone on an island. I swear I'd love to be with Tyrese, and it ain't because you look like him,” she lied.

“Yeah, whateva.” Trevon handed Jurnee her glass.

“Thank you, papi.” She waited until he filled his own glass before she spoke again. “Let's um make a toast.”

“For what?”

“Um . . . to the future.”

Trevon lifted the VSOP that filled his glass. “Why not? ‘Cause the past ain't shit.”

“Moving forward,” she said when their glasses clinked.

They kept the mood laid back while consuming glass after glass of Remy. “What time is it?” Jurnee asked, rubbing her forehead.

Trevon had to study his watch for a moment. “Uh, ten minutes past ten.”

“I can't drink another drop.” Jurnee stretched her legs out in Trevon's direction. “Rub my feet.” She wiggled her neon blue coated toes.

“What I look like?” he asked as she laid her feet on his lap.

“My personal masseur,” she said with a slight slur.

“Ain't nothing free.”

“And what is your fee?” she asked, lifting her eyebrows.

“I'll let you know when I'm done.”

Jurnee pulled her feet back, grinning. “Well, if I have to pay then I might as well get my money's worth and um . . . enjoy myself.” She giggled easily.

Trevon remained seated as Jurnee slowly eased to her feet. His eyes roamed over her plump ass and small waist. “Hey. What are your measurements?”

“Hold that thought, papi,” she said, steadying herself on the cushioned arm of the sofa. “Relax and give me a few minutes.”

“Ain't movin' from this spot.”

“Who said I wanted my foot rub in here? Since I have to pay, I get to set the um—guidelines and stuff like that,” she said with a sexy smirk.

Trevon nodded. “Fine by me,” he said, undressing her with his eyes.

Jurnee tottered with her first step, but caught herself, giggling. “I'm okay.” She motioned for Trevon to remain where he sat.

When he was alone on the sofa, he kicked his shoes off and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. His pain over LaToria was slowly drowning by spending time with Jurnee. His eyes stayed closed. There would be no more tears. Even in his current intoxicated state, he realized that Jurnee had spoken the truth about moving on through his loss of LaToria. Stress kept his eyes shut. Sleep  crept up on Trevon several minutes later.

Within fifteen minutes, he snapped awake when his smartphone rung. Sitting up rubbing his face, he retrieved the ringing phone off the table between the three empty bottles. “Yeah?” he answered, without taking the time to see who was calling him.

“May I speak with Señor Trevon?” Jurnee giggled.

“Speakin',” he replied, grinning at the seductive tone of her voice.

“I'm ready for my massage, and I hope you won't keep me waiting.”

Trevon could see where the night was heading. “I guess I should go and handle that, huh?”

“That would be a good idea. I'm in my bedroom waiting for you.”

***

Jurnee lay on her stomach when Trevon entered the bedroom. She had taken the time to set the mood by lighting seven mango passion scented candles around the room. After a quick shower, she coated her skin with some luminous gold dust body lotion that had her glowing.

“Smells good in here,” he said, closing the door.

Jurnee didn't speak until she felt him sitting on the bed. “You like what you see, papi?” she asked as “Sweet Lady” by Tyrese played softly in the room.

Trevon nodded at the sight filling his eyes. Jurnee was clad in a black honeycomb lace and fishnet teddy that exposed the bottom part of her phat bare ass. Looking at her back, he didn't see a bra strap.

“Can you start on my shoulders?” she asked, turning her head on the pillow in his direction.

“I think I can do that,” he said, moving up on the bed.

Jurnee knew she was putting herself on front street by wearing the sexy short teddy without any panties. She told herself she wouldn't shelter any regrets tonight. No matter how far things went.

“Mmm, that feels soooo good,” she moaned when his hands began to knead the area around her neck and shoulders.

“Been a crazy day, ain't it?” he voiced, kneading her shoulders.

“Life ain't never perfect,” she said with her eyes shut.

“Shit. We both back to being single.”

“I won't miss him,” she said, being honest. “Nor the sex, because I was making him wait.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. I guess he assumed I was easy since I'm a former porn star.”

Trevon pressed his thumb along her shoulders, moving them in circles. “Um, when is the last time you had sex with a man?”

“That would be eight months ago.”

“And women still do it for you?”

She shrugged. “Why do you ask?” She opened her eyes.

“Just wonderin',” he said, grinning at her.

A few moments moved between them. Jurnee spoke first.

“You ever think about that night I schooled you on the art of oral sex?”

“Puttin' me on the stage, huh? But yeah, it crossed my mind from time to time.”

Jurnee smiled. “Mine too, papi, and I can still taste your cum sliding down my throat. I really, really, enjoyed sucking your big dick that night. Did it feel better when I sucked it slow or fast?”

Caught off guard by her bluntness caused him to stutter. “I-I um—guess I'll say both.”

She blushed. “I wanna tell you something, papi.” Jurnee turned over to her side. “That night I was with you. I wanted to feel your dick all up in me, but your contract wouldn't allow it.”

“You know you're so damn sexy, right?” he said, sliding a hand up her thigh.

Jurnee sat up. “Can you take your clothes off? I want to see all of you tonight.”

“We don't have to do—”

“Shhh . . .” She laid a finger on his lips. “It's just the two of us tonight, and I know you want to fuck me, Trevon.” Smiling, her lips brushed against his ear. “We can do it all night long, papi. I wanted you the very first day you walked inside my office at Amatory.” She stuck her wet tongue out and licked the back of his ear. Without warning, she lowered a hand between his legs, gripping his solid erection. Keeping the mood going, she pushed him to his back, pushing her fingers under his clothes. In the scented candle lit room, their lips met in a long, slow, tongue-clashing kiss.

Trevon found the softness of her breasts within seconds of their contact. By her heavy breathing, he knew the line of friends was about to be crossed. With their hands moving quickly, Trevon was undressed piece by piece. They met in the middle of the bed.

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