Sexual Healing (16 page)

Cruze simply laughed, and Arabia could see the beginnings of fresh lust flickering in his eyes. “Oh word?”

She licked her lips. “I'm not here to talk, boo,” she said saucily.
I'm here to get fucked.
“So either dance, or walk on by.”

Without another word, she thrust her pelvis at him, then spun around and threw her ass back into him—making her intentions very clear.

“Goddamn,” he hissed under his breath at how
fat
her ass was, at how soft it felt. He tightened his one-arm grip around her waist, then moved his hips into her. He grinned as she threw her ass up on him. Heat splintered through his groin, the crease of her cheeks fitting perfectly in the center of his crotch.

Yeah, fuck what you heard. He was taking this fine piece of ass home with him tonight, and dicking her down. Something came over him and he had the overpowering urge to run a hand up over her thigh, to touch her silken skin.

When his hand brushed up over her skin, then inched dangerously up her thigh and under her dress, Arabia closed her eyes, and grinned.
Yeah, boo, I knew you wanted this.
By the time “Comfortable” played, the two of them had become just that—comfortable. They danced like old lovers, as if they'd known each other's bodies forever. Cruze and Arabia slipped into a zone and got lost in the music, in the building heat between them, in each other's rhythm.

Shit. She felt good. Cruze loved the way her warm body felt against his. She had him rock-hard, the head of his dick swelling for release. And Arabia let out a moan over the music at the feel of his ever-growing cock up against her ass. She felt her body melding into his, a sweet ache building in the wells of her cunt, swelling her pussy lips.

She spun out of his grasp, and faced him, her arms up over her head, her eyes flickering with lust. She slid a leg between his legs, and grinded and humped her pussy—daring him to thrust back. Oh, yeah, she was bold as fuck to play with him.

She was playing with fire. Cruze was a grown-ass man, and if she didn't watch herself, he was about to fuck her until her cunt went up in flames. Oblivious to his thoughts, Arabia tossed her
hair, then slid down his thigh, looking up at him through thick lashes. Cruze looked down at her, and grinned—the flash of his dimples causing her juices to seep into her thong.

Yeah, her fine ass is a real live freak-bitch,
he thought, trying to contain the thick swell of his dick from busting through his underwear as Arabia boldly felt him up. Grabbed at the fabric of his pants. Then squeezed.

Oooh, he has a nice big dick—mmm, yes.

Cruze blinked, stunned, and was turned on, by her aggressiveness.

Oh, God, yes—she was going to give in to her baser needs. Her pussy was wet for him. She was going to take the dick. Ride it dirty. She swept her eyes around the dance floor. She didn't need his name, or telephone number. Only what hung between—what felt like—muscular thighs.

Cruze didn't know how much more of her seductive moves he'd be able to take before he lost it right here on the dance floor. He felt his seed surging up from his balls, through the length of his shaft. His breaths came quickly as they moved in sensual harmony to an August Alsina song. He glanced around the club's dance floor. He blinked.
Oh shit.
He hadn't realized how packed it had gotten, or that—little by little—he and Arabia had been pushed further back into the crowd.

He hadn't realized any of this until he felt his back pressed up against a wall of mirrors, and Arabia had spun around and reached for the fly of his pants, yanked his zipper down, then boldly raised her gaze, licked her sexy lips, and said, “Fuck me.”

Caught up in the heat and his burning need for release, Cruze—all hot breath and slicked tongue, groaned at her words. Then pushed out, in a voice so thick with lust that it didn't sound like his, “Take it, baby. It's all yours . . .”

Seventeen

H
e woke up with thoughts of
her
heavy on his mind, and the first thing he did was reach for a blunt. Had last night really happened? Cruze wondered, filling his lungs with the potent vapor.

Fuck me!

Those two words had come from her mouth, dripping with lust as they oozed into Cruze's ears, provoking him to act the damn fool.

Pulling on the blunt, he closed his eyes and began reminiscing, and hearing her say that sexy shit, once again.

Fuck me!

Her voice had been soft and sensual, yet demanding and guttural at the same time, rendering him powerless to deny the brazen request.

From afar, he'd been watching her lovely silhouette. Enjoying the sway of her luscious hips as she danced solo while bathed in a rainbow of strobe lights. Her seductive movements had enflamed his loins, causing his dick to stretch out and grow rigid with a savage-like desire.

The mystery woman seemed to be caught up in her own sexiness and didn't require a dance partner to get her groove on. As if bewitched by her, Cruze had been transfixed and unable to look away as he observed the mocha-colored goddess undulating and gyrating in time with the music—moving that cute ass around in a provocative circle.

Not only did she seem to be lost in the music, but she also appeared to be self-aroused, turned on by her own sensuality. His eyes had zoomed in on her with laser focus, like being a voyeur using a telescope to spy on a woman who was masturbating in the privacy of her bedroom.

Tauntingly, she had thrust her pelvis at him as if daring him to come and get the pussy. At that point, Cruze's dick was so painfully swollen, it felt as if it were about to burst open if he didn't hurry up and jam it inside her.

The bitch was asking for it and she was gonna get it.

Entranced, he scrutinized her for a few more moments. Then, lured by the flick of her tongue against her lips, he could no longer control his urges and he found himself moving slowly toward the dance floor. Like a predator. With the singular intention of fucking the broad's pussy hard and mercilessly until her walls collapsed and her guts spilled out on the dance floor.

With his back against a mirror and with her round ass pressed against his groin, Cruze, usually a private person, had come completely out of character, whipping his dick out in a public venue, like a depraved savage.

Thinking back to last night, Cruze couldn't believe that while he was trying to pound the life out of her velvety-soft insides, other couples were all around him, dancing and oblivious to the fact that his thick cock was entrenched inside a batch of syrupy pussy that was so overheated, it was leaking hot slush that splattered and sizzled against his balls.

The loud club music drowned out their fuck sounds. Cruze emitted a grunt that sounded like a primal call, erupting from deep within his soul, and his fuck partner softly whimpered and moaned before releasing a siren's scream that went unnoticed as it blended perfectly with the blaring, manic music.

Sweat poured off Cruze, drenching his Givenchy shirt as he pounded the pussy, grunting and groaning like a wild heathen. The sexy bitch had not only taken the harsh dick-down, but had thrown the coochie right back at him, effortlessly gobbling up his thick shaft and bathing it in a gooey pool of nectar.

Mmm. The memory of that juicy pussy was starting to fuck with his libido, motivating his cock to harden and pulse beneath the bed covers.

Who was that sexy bitch and why hadn't he gotten her number? Clearly, she wasn't like the clingy Philly women who readily offered him a set of their house keys after the first fuck. Nah, that self-involved, pretty bitch didn't give a damn about romance; she was all about getting deep dick-strokes, and hadn't bothered to give out her name or number. And after she got what she wanted, she readjusted the hem of her dress and bounced.

Being left on the dance floor with his pants gaped open and his dick hanging out was a first for Cruze and he hoped nobody had seen the look of surprise on his face when that erotic, little ma-ma danced away from him. If he hadn't had to straighten up his pants and get his shit fixed inside his drawers, he might have run after her—to at least find out her name.

But, without giving Cruze a second thought, the enigmatic beauty wove through the crowd, still shaking her ass and swaying her hips in time with the beat, while Cruze lay slain up against the mirror, covered in perspiration and struggling to catch his breath.

Whoever she was, she'd completely captivated him. The way she'd reined him in and then controlled the situation, it was a good thing he didn't have any way to contact her. That pretty bitch possessed some bomb-ass pussy, and as good as it was, if he did bump into her again, he might fuck around and hand her the keys to both cribs and all three of his whips.

Nah, that'll never happen. I learned at a young age that bitches ain't
shit.
Cruze laughed bitterly, thinking back to how young and dumb he once was.

• • •

At the mall, Ramona had Cruze holding bags from about six different
stores, and she still wasn't finished spending his money. But he didn't mind. He loved seeing his girl looking fly. Sitting on a bench outside Victoria's Secret, Cruze started getting antsy, thinking about the block and all the money other niggas was getting while he was fucking around at the mall.

But when Ramona came prancing out of the store with her cherry-red lip gloss, skintight jeans, and a crop top that revealed her belly-button ring, he forgot all about the block and asked her if she wanted to stop at the food court and get something to eat.

“No, boo. I'll order something when I get to the club.”

At the mention of the strip club, Cruze's cheerful disposition instantl
y turned sour. Brooding, he turned around and began walking in the direction of the exit sign.

“What's wrong with you, Cruze?” Ramona called from behind. Wear
ing stilettos, she couldn't keep up with his long strides as he headed for the parking lot. “Cruze!”

Ramona kept yelling his name and Cruze kept walking faster with Ramona's shopping bags knocking together. Furious that no matter how much he spent on her, she still wouldn't stop shaking her ass at the strip club where all kinds of random niggas rubbed on her intimate body parts that should have been reserved for his touch, alone.

When he reached the red Pontiac that he'd helped her pay for, he leaned
against the passenger's side, waiting for her to unlock the door.

Huffing and puffing, Ramona approached, hitting the keypad, but before Cruze opened his door, she threw the Victoria's Secret bag at
him. “Here, fuck you! Keep all the shit you paid for because I don't want
it. Walking off and leaving me running after you like I'm some skeezer.”

“Fuck you, too, and fuck all this bullshit,” he lashed out, flinging the armful of bags he'd been carrying onto the ground and then kicking the contents as they spilled out.

“Cruze! Stop fucking up my new shit,” Ramona cried, quickly dropping
down to her knees, picking up her purchases, dusting them off, and then
stuffing the bags in the trunk of her car. “You need to do something about
that temper of yours.”

He scowled. “And you need to quit that fucked-up job of yours.”

“I am gonna quit.”

He raised a brow, skepticism etching over his face. “When?”

“As soon as we get enough money saved to move out of that rat trap we live in.”

He sighed. “We're never gon' be able to save the way you like to spend money.”

“Look who's talking . . . the boy who buys a new pair of sneakers every day.”

He leveled an evil look at her. “I told you about calling me that shit. I ain't no damn boy.”

She rolled her eyes dismissively. “Well, the man who buys new Nikes
every single day has a nerve complaining about what I spend money on.
”

“One pair of sneaks a day don't compare to three and four, full-on shopping sprees every week.”

“And that's why I have to keep working,” she said sassily.

“But I thought you were off tonight. That's what you told me, yesterday.”

“I was, but my girl, Blue Diamond asked me to work her shift. Her little boy's in the hospital, and—”

Cruze's gaze narrowed. “And you ain't even bother to check with me and see if I had plans for us.”

Ramona gave Cruze a sidelong glance and burst into laughter. “Check
with you? Boy, you better kiss my ass; you ain't nobody's father.”

“Tell me to kiss your ass again, and you gon' be picking your lil' ass up off the ground.”

“Damn, why you so touchy lately? No matter what I say, you catch an attitude.”

“'Cause you be on that bullshit. Just watch your mouth and don't be disrespecting me, that's all I'm saying.”

“Okay, Cruze. So . . . are we good?”

Cruze rolled his eyes and exhaled loudly. “You might be good, but I'm not.”

“Why you still mad?”

“Why you think?”

“I think you sexy when you mad, babe,” Ramona said, bunching up her lips and making a kissing gesture.

Unmoved, Cruze glared at her.

“Is the baby mad at Mommy?” she teased.

“Stop fucking with me, Mo,” he cautioned, giving her a deadly look.

“Aw, come on, boo. Where they at?” she asked.

“Where the fuck is what at?”

“Them sexy dimples that pop out when my baby smiles at me.”

Taken off guard, Cruze blushed and broke into a smile. Both mad and fiercely in love, he grabbed Ramona and kissed her. “I fuckin' love you so much, I hate you.”

“I love you, too, you jealous-acting bitch.”

“Watch your mouth.”

Ramona shrugged. “Well, that's how you act, sometimes.”

“You make me act that way,” Cruze said, grabbing two handfuls of her hair and yanking her head forward.

“Ow, Cruze. That hurts.”

“Good. I want it to hurt. Now, shut the fuck up,” he said, and then kissed her again. As their tongues lashed together, violently, they both were well aware that the fire that had ignited between them could not be snuffed out by a mere kiss.

Ramona gazed at Cruze and brushed her fingertips against his rock-hard cock.

“Damn, baby. My dick is bricked up,” Cruze grumbled, his face scrunched
up as if in pain.

“You want me to give you some head in the car?” Ramona asked, caressing the hardened lump in his jeans.

“Nah, that ain't gon' work. I wanna fuck. You know how I get when you make me mad,” he explained, pushing down his throbbing dick.

She nodded. “Soon as we get home, okay?”

“I need some pussy now, Mo,” Cruze demanded.

Ramona glanced around the parking lot nervously. “A'ight, come on,”
she said, opening the car door and climbing in the backseat. “But you gotta
be quick.”

“I will,” he promised, undoing his belt.

Fifteen minutes later, as Cruze and Ramona pulled out of the lot, a call came through from his boy, Sameer. He started to ignore it until he noticed that Sameer had called five times, already.

Cruze put him on speaker just to let Ramona know that it wasn't a chick blowing up his phone. “Yo, whaddup?”

“Where you been at all day, man?”

“Out with my girl.”

“Umph. Somebody's nose is wide open.”

“Whatever. Wha'sup?”

“Yo, the big man came through the block today. He was looking for you.
”

“For what? I'm all paid up. I don't owe Moody nothing.”

“It ain't about that. He said you and me is the only young niggas in our
territory that got potential, so he invited us to some type of get-together at one of his cribs.”

“Whaaat?” Grinning, Cruze adjusted the passenger's seat and leaned
back even further.

“Yeah, man. Moody got a couple cribs, so I don't know which one. It's
on the low, so he ain't giving out no address. I don't give a fuck where
it's at as long as we invited.” Sameer let out a burst of the goofy laughter
that he was known for. The way he laughed sounded so stupid that nobody
could hear it without laughing, too.

Everybody except for Ramona, who couldn't stand Sameer. Rolling her eyes and popping gum, she navigated through traffic, waiting for Cruze to ask her what was wrong, but he was invested in the conversation with Sameer and wasn't paying her the least bit of attention.

“So how we gon' get there?” Cruze asked.

“They on some espionage shit, man.”

“Whatchu mean?” Cruze asked, finally cutting an eye at Ramona and noticing that she seemed upset.

“Somebody gon' text me about the meet-up spot and then somebody gon' drive us to the crib. But check this . . .”