Sexual Healing (25 page)

There was an art to sucking a dick. And somewhere, somehow, she had perfected it. A part of him silently wondered how many dicks she'd had sucked down into her neck over the years; how many muhfuckas' nuts she'd let coat the back of her throat. Then there was that part of him that didn't care. He wasn't about to make her his girl. So she could suck as many muhfuckas as she wanted. It was her mouth, her business.

Arabia's tongue swirled around his balls, making his toes curl once more.

“Shit,”
he hissed, grabbing her head again, holding it steady as he slowly thrust his hips and fucked her mouth until her mouth grew wetter, hotter. She sucked him harder, grabbing his dick at the base, then fisting him up and down, from the base to her lips; her mouth locked on the head of his dick, her tongue doing figure-eights over and around it.

Cruze groaned as his climax neared.

Goddamn.

He closed his eyes, and made a guttural sound that escaped from his chest, losing himself to the sensation. He felt his nut surging up from his balls, and he wasn't ready to bust. Fuck no. He wanted to revel in it. But Arabia was making it difficult for him to hold out.

“Aah, shit . . .
mmm
, fuck . . .”

She glanced up, saw his head thrown back, his abdomen muscles rippling with strained pleasure, and she smiled around his shaft. She pulled back, then with wet-sucking noises, nursed the head of his dick for several toe-curling moments, before popping Cruze's dick from her mouth. Determined, she planned on giving him the dick-suck of his life, the kind of sloppy head he'd never forget.

“Oh shit, oh shit . . . fuck, fuck, fuck . . .”

He'd had his share of mind-blowing head by some top-notch dick suckers in his life, but, thus far, none had compared to Arabia. She knew how to make love to his dick with her mouth, lips, tongue
and hands.
Goddamn
. She sucked it like she loved it. Sucked it like she had a purpose. What the fuck was she trying to do to him?

She made his dick feel like it was the best dick she'd ever topped. And the shit was driving him wild. Her skills were addicting, the scent of her aroused cunt, intoxicating.

“Aaaaah, yeah. Suck that shit . . .
unh
 . . .” His voice was almost an unrecognizable growl. Slyly, Arabia slid a wet finger along the center of his crack, then pressed it against his asshole. His dick jolted inside her mouth. And then a burst of liquid heat hit the back of her throat and quickly flooded her mouth.

Primal lust overtook him, and Cruze's whole body shook. He'd never come so hard, so fiercely, his entire life.

Arabia swallowed and gulped. And swallowed some more as he continued thrusting, grunting, and spurting. His creamy seeds bathed her tongue, the insides of her cheeks and the back of her clutching throat, filling her with the very essence of his tormented soul.

Slowly, she pulled him from her mouth, and lovingly bathed him with her tongue, licking his dick clean of his release, leaving him spent.

Twenty-Six

P
ulse steadying, Cruze blinked through his lust-induced fog, wondering
what the hell
had just happened. Had this freaky broad pressed a finger to his ass? Had she tried to stick her finger in him? Or had he imagined it?

He closed his eyes, slowly rewinding his mind, the memory still fresh, the sensations all coming back to him.

Nah. He hadn't imagined that shit. It
did
happen. His jaw twitched. Lucky for her, she hadn't tried to push it in him, or he would have probably spazzed out and punched her dead in her forehead. He groaned inwardly.
Shit.
The fucked-up thing was, there was something about the sensation of her finger being
there
that had unexpectedly intensified his orgasm; made him explode in fierce waves of toe-curling pleasure.

Still, he frowned. That slick shit she pulled was disrespectful. He didn't play them ass games. He didn't know what type of freak-shit she was into, but he wasn't down with it. So why hadn't he stopped her when he'd felt her finger go there?

He breathed in, then slowly exhaled, his hand languidly sliding to his groin. The answer was evident, the remnants still on his sticky dick. Because she'd been sucking his dick so damn good, that the shit had caught him off guard. He'd been too wrapped up in the moment, in the heat of it all—on the verge of busting, to shut it down. It was an unnerving sensation, one he wasn't sure he liked or not.

Still, he felt . . . violated.

Then to make matters worse, the stingy bitch hadn't let him get up in them guts.

So why hadn't he thrown her the hell out yet?

Why was she still in his bed?

And why was he lying here all up in his feelings?

He sighed inwardly. He knew the answer to that as well. She unnerved him and piqued his curiosity at the same time. His gut told him she was a problem. A headache. Hell, she was everything he'd spent his life avoiding. Yet there was something about her that aroused him. Arabia made him hot. There was no denying it, and that shit fucked with him.

Nevertheless, he was a man—a horny man that was. And he wanted some pussy. Nah. Pussy he could get anytime, anywhere. He wanted
her
pussy. Wanted to lose his dick in
her
rippling pussy. Wanted to fuck her one last time, before showing her kinky ass to the door.

Freak bitch.

Yeah, that's what he'd do. Fuck her deliriously.

Then toss her the hell—

Arabia rolled onto her side, and blinked. Cruze lay inches from her on his back, his eyes closed. He seemed to be in deep thought. She eyed him—her eyes still hooded with the unmistakable look of arousal. Her simmering gaze drifted down his chiseled frame, then fastened on the thick meaty slab of veined flesh shining in the glow of candlelight. She swallowed back the drool beginning to pool in her mouth. Then took in his face. He had beautiful chocolate, kissable lips. Yet, she had to remind herself that he didn't eat pussy, lick pussy, kiss pussy, or do anything else with that beautiful mouth of his.

Still, that didn't stop her from wanting to feel them pressed
against the ones between her thighs. Oh, God, yes. Curiosity had her pussy aching for the feel of his tongue, caressing and soothing the slow throb still pulsing there.

But she'd leave here with her pussy angrily clutching before she allowed him the pleasure of being back inside it
without
his tongue in it, first. He'd have to take it because she damn sure wasn't offering it.

Still, she felt like climbing atop him and smothering him with her cunt, smearing it all over his lips, grinding her pussy into his mouth, forcing him to eat it up—lick it up. Then beat it up.

But that would be real smutty of her.

She sighed.
Bitch, what is going on with you? Why are you still lying here? Get your ass up. Get your things. And go.

No. She wasn't ready to leave. Not yet. She felt like they still had unfinished business. Ugh. What business though?

She had no idea. All she knew was, there was something about this mysterious man that aroused her, piqued her curiosity. He unnerved her, intrigued her. Yet, looking at him, she surmised he was a womanizer. A player. Egotistical. Perhaps even a whoremonger.

Cruze inhaled. He felt her heated gaze on him, but he willed his eyes shut. He wasn't ready to look at her. Not after she'd put her finger in his ass. He knew if he did, he'd snap on her. And he didn't really want to do that. But why did he care about some random broad's feelings? If this were any other female, he would have blacked on the spot, tossing her out the front door.

But here he was. In his bed, sulking
and
feeling satiated—conflictingly at the same damn time—from only having his dick sucked, a first for him.

And here
she
was.
Still
in his bed, breathing in his air—naked. He could feel the heat radiating from her body. He inhaled, savor
ing her smell. Remembering how good her mouth and tongue had felt on his dick. Now he wanted to be reminded of how wet her pussy could get, how hot and tight it was.

He silently groaned.
Shit.
He had to get her out of here, out of his bed, out of his space, before he fucked around and . . .

Arabia couldn't fight it any longer. She had to touch him, feel his muscled flesh.

So she touched him.

Her warm hand pressed lightly over the hard wall of chest, and then—

Cruze's eyes flew open and he roughly grabbed her wrist. “Yo, what the fuck you doing?” he demanded in an icy tone. He hadn't meant to have so much bite to his voice, but—oh well. He didn't like being touched. He wasn't touchy-feely. And he didn't indulge in that cuddle shit, either. Besides, she'd already overstayed her welcome and he hadn't done shit about it, thus far.

Shock registered on Arabia's face. Before she could process what the holy hell he was doing with her wrist in his tight grasp, she yanked out of his grip, matching his glacial stare.
“Oww!
What the fuck is your problem?” she clipped, her eyes flashing wide. “How dare you try to break my damn wrist! I thought you were asleep.”

Shit, shit, shit.

His stare softened. “My bad, for grabbing you like that,” he said, more gently than before. “I wasn't tryna break your wrists, ma. Or frighten you.”

She huffed. “Well, you could have fooled me. Grabbing on me like that.”

“It was instinctive reflex; that's all.”

Arabia rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I only wanted to feel your chest.
Not
maul you.”

“No disrespect,” he said apologetically. “It's not you. I'm just not beat for being touched. I don't know you like that.”

She hurled herself out of his bed, yanking the bed sheet from off him and the bed, leaving him gloriously naked.
“Really?
You're not
beat
for being touched?” She let out a sardonic laugh. “Boy, bye! How convenient.” She wrapped the sheet around her, her body heat and scent swooping up with her. “Mighty funny
you
didn't know me when
you
had your dick inside me that night in the club. And
you
didn't know me when
you
invited me out to dinner, sniffed my damn panties, then fucked me in that bathroom stall. . . .”

Cruze bit his lip, the memory rushing back to him, causing his dick to stir.

“And you
still
don't know me,” Arabia continued, stabbing a pointed finger in the air. “Yet,
you
called
me
to come here, and
you
didn't—Mister I Don't Know You Like That—seem to have a problem with
me
touching all over
you
while having your dick in my throat.”

Cruze scowled. “Yo, hol' up. Don't come at me like that.
You
didn't have a problem throwing the pussy at me each time, either; or hopping your hot ass in your whip ‘n' driving down here for this dick, either. Now did you?”

Arabia blinked.
Ooh, this cocky motherfucker!
“Yeah, I came for the dick.” She tilted her head. “And
you
called for some more of this pussy. But we both see how that turned out.” She slipped her feet back into her heels, then turned and faced him. “If you don't like anyone invading your personal space after they get you off, cool. Say that. But you don't go manhandling them.”

Now Cruze felt like shit. And this thing—whatever it was, was starting to turn into an unnecessary beef. He wasn't built for a bunch of arguing, or back and forth, especially from some random pussy. She was acting like she was his girl and he wasn't feeling it.

Bottom line, he didn't play that touchy-feely shit after sex. Unless they were fucking, there was no need for any wandering hands on his body.

He sighed. Yeah, it was definitely time for her ass to bounce.

Fuck.
Maybe he'd given her the wrong impression by letting her linger around after he'd popped his nut. But he hadn't wanted to be a total ass.

Still . . .

Looking at her smooth, silky thighs, his mind wandered lasciviously to the idea of having them wrapped around his waist and him pummeling his dick inside her juicy, wet cunt.

Cruze sat up in bed and eyed her as she began snatching up her bra.
Shit.
His gaze settled on her bouncy breasts and, and . . . those mouthwatering, thick, chocolate drop nipples. He had to fight the urge to hop up and throw her down on the bed and pop each succulent nipple into his mouth.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Shit. He needed a blunt. Now.

She caught his gaze and slung the sheet at him, baring her sexiness in all its glory. He swallowed, reaching for the sheet and covering his growing erection.

“I'm not sure what type of women you're used to having in your bed,” she continued as she fastened her bra, “but I'm
not
 . . .”

She paused, but Cruze was still eyeing her, though his icy expression had already melted and had become replaced with bemusement, as though he didn't quite know what to make of her.

Truthfully, he didn't.

But the one thing he did know was, she was a freak who needed a hard dick in her life—to be fucked often. Hell, maybe, daily for all he knew. She was thirsty. Dick hungry. Greedy.

And it fucking turned him on.

Still, females like her were only good for a night of sucking dick and wild sex, nothing more. Hell, she'd sucked him off and swallowed his nut, licked around his balls, before finally licking her
lips like she'd just finished eating a chocolate-dipped ice cream cone less than ten minutes ago. How many other muhfuckas' nuts had she gobbled up? Not that he judged, but he typically kept females like her strictly in the freak zone.

Still, his eyes went liquid with a strange mix of lust and heat, his dick pulsing to a level of hardness he couldn't comprehend. He grabbed the pillow she'd lain on and placed it over his now rock-hard dick.

He couldn't understand why he was so inexorably drawn to her. She was nothing more than a mere stranger. A random broad he'd fucked in a nightclub—no name exchanges, just music, body heat, and an unexplainable connection. Then he'd fucked her again—in a bathroom stall, no less.

Just the sight of her made his skin heat. But he wasn't about to let his dick or his desires cloud his judgment.

Cruze reached over and retrieved a half-smoked blunt lying in an ashtray on his nightstand. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a lighter.

“You're not what?” he pushed, trying his damnedest not to drool at the sight of her heart-shaped ass as she bent over to snatch up her lace panties.

“I'm not the one to be manhandled unless
I
want to be. And you grabbing me like that was uncalled for.” She shimmied into her crotch-less panties.

He swallowed a thick knot of lust. “You're right. My bad.” He lit the blunt, and inhaled, filling his lungs with weed smoke, trying to distract himself from looking at her, her ass, them hips. He shook his head, blowing a white billowy cloud of smoke up into the air.

Arabia glared. “Are you serious? You're going to smoke that nasty thing
now?”

Cruze shrugged, taking another deep pull.
“Pssft.
My crib, ma.”

Smug sonofabitch!

And to think she'd left her purse with her pepper spray in his living room. She'd do his eyes up real good, burn out his retinas for being so damn fine and cocky and goddamn desirable.

He kept his eyes on her as he held smoke in his lungs. The shit burned along with the ache in his groin.

Arabia rolled her eyes, quickly picking up her multi-print dress that had been tossed on the other side of the room.
Shit.
She held the dress up and shook it. Then cursed under her breath. Her dressed was a wrinkled mess. Now what?

There was no way she'd be caught dead walking the streets looking like some displaced vagrant.

“Do you have an iron?” she asked curtly. But the way he sat there all bare-chested and badass and cocky, made the pit of her pussy churn in desire.

Cruze smirked.
Fuck you ‘n' ya wrinkled-ass dress . . . dick-teasing ass
.
“Nah,” he coolly said, eyes now half-lidded from the weed.

Arabia huffed, twisting her hair up in a bun. “Well, I need something to put on, if you don't mind.”

Cruze raised a brow and stared at her. Oh sure. His closet was stuffed with bitches' clothes for days like this. Get real.
“Not my problem. You better put on that wrinkled shit ‘n' take ya ass on,”
he heard himself saying in his head.

He inhaled more weed into his lungs. Eyed her as she paced around his room, her ass swaying in them skimpy-ass, lace panties. She felt his hot eyes on her, roaming all over her, his gaze searing over her skin.