Luxe (20 page)

“Come on, Detroit,” China urged.

Bleu looked back and saw Cinco drawing near. She shook her head. “I've got to go. I forgot I have a paper due tomorrow morning,” she lied. She looked over her shoulder and could see Cinco crossing the room. Her skin crawled as she thought of him between her legs. She cringed. “I'm out of here.”

“Are you even okay to drive?” Aysha yelled, concerned.

Bleu nodded, but she was unsure of that herself. An entire bottle to herself had her stumbling through the crowd. She could barely walk a straight line as she made a beeline out of the club in her stilettos, but she would take her chances. She just wanted to get out of Cinco's sight. She had made the mistake of getting too close to him before, and as she slipped out of the club she vowed to herself that it would never happen again. She had forgotten that this was his world, he reigned supreme … she would have to tread lightly to stay off of his radar. She knew that she should go back to campus, but when Iman's name illuminated her cell phone, she found herself hopping on the highway, headed his way. He hadn't invited her, but she wanted to do more than hear his voice. She wanted to see him, feel him … she needed comfort and, more important, she wanted to show him that she could compete with all the fancy girls who had owned a spot in his heart before her.

*   *   *

As she pulled her new car up to Iman's home she quickly checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Smudging her MAC-covered lips, she inhaled sharply. She was a whole new bitch. Iman was a high roller around town and had countless women auditioning for the main role in his life. She now looked the part, and she couldn't wait until he laid eyes on her. There was something to be said about $1,000 extensions and Italian threads. The enhancements seemed to bury the old Bleu. She was happy to put the homely version of herself to rest for good.
That girl didn't have a chance in this world,
she thought. She feathered her hair with her hands and shook it into place as she stepped out of the car. Confidence on 10, she was riding a natural high as she sashayed in her new Loubs until she reached Iman's door. Instead of knocking, she called him. He wasn't expecting her and she wanted to surprise him. He had hit her up only once while she was away. She figured he wouldn't be the type to chase, and in all honesty she hadn't given him much to pursue. She wasn't the most beautiful girl he had ever been with. Her body wasn't the best. Her smile wasn't the prettiest and she definitely wasn't the most glamorous. Little did he know she was working on becoming all of those things. Money had opened up a world of possibilities. As she stood on his doorstep, butterflies dancing in her stomach, she realized that she had never been this girl. She wasn't the pursuer; she didn't make bold moves. As a result her dating life had been put on pause. She had never been down to let a nigga pay to play or up for competing with chicks over one guy, but here she was on Iman's doorstep, throwing her hat in the ring for his time and affection.

“Hello?” he answered.

The sound of his baritone melted her face into a smile. “You wouldn't believe how many times you crossed my mind these past few days,” she said.

“Is that right?” he replied. “I find that hard to believe, seeing as how you're just now hitting me back. I was starting to think you wasn't feeling me. You quit fucking with me already, ma?” His tone was playful and she chuckled softly, blushing as memories of his face between her thighs came rushing back. She wished that they had taken things all the way that night. She wanted to feel him inside of her. She wanted him to make love to her … so that she could lock him down and get rid of all the other girls who were undoubtedly in his life. She needed to prove that she was better, prettier, more loyal. She just wanted to be his girl. Her Flint mentality had her thinking that she wasn't good enough by L.A. standards. But as she tossed her twenty-four-inch weave over her shoulder she reminded herself that she now looked the part. There wasn't a bitch in town giving her a run for her money, not tonight at least. She wore her new money well.

“I don't think I could ever quit fucking with you, Iman,” she admitted.

“Don't speak too fast. There's still a lot about me you don't know,” he said, suddenly serious.

“Doesn't matter,” she said surely. “I know how I feel when I'm near you, and that's enough for me.” She rang the doorbell and then said, “You expecting company or something? Am I interrupting something?” She placed her hand over the tiny camera that was within arm's reach above her head. She didn't want him to know it was her. Surprising him, drunk and sexy, in the middle of the night was more spontaneous. She couldn't wait to see what he thought of her new look.

She heard the hesitation in his voice as he replied, “Nah … nobody even knows I rock like that out here. Hold up a minute.” He paused and she frowned as she heard him moving about on the other end of the phone. “Let me hit you back.”

CLICK.

Bleu looked at the phone, taken aback, suddenly feeling like a pop-up visit wasn't a good idea. She was playing games, trying to be coy and cute, but clearly Iman took his privacy very seriously. “I should have called first,” she whispered.

She raised her hand to ring the bell again, but before she could, the door flew open and she found herself staring down the dark barrel of a 9mm pistol.

“It's just me!” she screamed, terrified, as her hands went up and she dropped her new Louis clutch.

Iman immediately lowered his gun and breathed a sigh of relief. “What you doing, ma? I almost blew your fucking top off,” he said in exasperation.

“I'm sorry. I was trying to surprise you!” she shrieked. Her voice was shaky as her heart raced.

He looked her up and down, noticing the dramatic transformation. She held out her hands with a hopeful smile. “Well, surprised?” she said unsurely. Embarrassment flushed her face as she suddenly felt like a little girl playing dress up. “You like it?”

“I like,” he replied, not knowing how to take the drastic change. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the house, swatting her gently on the ass as she walked by him. The smell of her perfume awakened his senses as he felt his manhood jump. He admired the view of her voluptuous ass before walking up behind her and putting his arms around her small waist. He pulled her into him and placed gentle kisses on the back of her neck. “I love the heels, the dress, all that, but I also really really
loved
the skinny jeans, flip-flops, and backpack. That simple shit is sexy, ma.”

“When I'm standing next to you I want to look like I'm supposed to be standing next to you,” she replied. She turned toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “It looks good, though, right?” she asked as she pulled her head back so that she could stare in his eyes.

Iman could have told her that he found the slick ponytail she normally wore prettier than the weave. He could have said that when she didn't try so hard she drew his attention more. He could have just spoken up and said he preferred her plain face to the one before him that seemed to be hidden under makeup. She was like a Barbie. Everything in place, sucked in, tucked, drawn on, accentuated. What she didn't realize was that he loved her simplicity. She was trying to fit into the crowd and she did it well. She looked fine, but it was just more of the same. He wanted to tell her, but he didn't want to embarrass her. She had tried to up the ante for him and he wasn't in the asshole business. He would roll with whatever she liked; as long as the inside didn't change he could deal with whatever aesthetics she preferred.

“It looks good, ma,” he replied, giving her a reassuring kiss.

She felt like an adolescent, because whenever he put his hands on her she creamed instantly. She could feel the silk as it melted from the folds between her thighs and she shuddered. Her body was his. He owned it, and not just because he had claimed it first. He moved with expertise, and as he reached down and began to rub on her pearl, she shuddered, wrenched with pleasure, and found her orgasm without even trying.

“What are you doing to me?” she whispered, amazed at how she reacted to him.

“Pleasing you, Bleu,” he replied. “Can I have you, ma? Tell me you're ready.”

The way he said it made it seem as if he would die if she deprived him any longer. “You can have me, any way you want,” she whispered, the liquor in her system making her bold.

Her taut nipples were now victims to his fingers as he used her own wetness to tease them. She didn't even know how her dress had gotten on the floor. He moved with such finesse and skill that he had disrobed her without her even noticing. He had her drunk with lust. He got on his knees; she gasped, and her chin hit her chest as he pulled her throbbing cherry into his mouth. As her head fell back in complete bliss she realized there wasn't much she wouldn't do to keep this man. He was new, exciting, and she had a feeling that he was more dangerous than she thought. The thought alone made her come on the spot. He stood and scooped her up like a caveman, tossing her over his shoulder, causing her to shriek as he ran with her upstairs. She laughed uncontrollably as he tackled her onto his bed. The last time she had been in it they had kept it PG, but tonight things would be R-rated.

“Play with it for me,” he said as he removed his clothes. He wasn't shy, and for good reason. His body was amazing and she silently wondered if he would hurt her with what he was packing.

Lust thickened the air, making it hard to breathe. Nerves made her body feel electrified as butterflies danced in her stomach. He eased between her legs, parting them like the Red Sea. He was her Moses. Her body needed no prepping. She had been waiting for this moment for eighteen years. She was wet, ready, wanting, but still she trembled.

“You okay?” he double-checked.

She nodded.

“No head movements, ma. Tell me yes,” he whispered as he kissed behind her ear.

“Hmm,” she moaned. “Yes…” was her reply.

He thought about putting on a condom, but he wanted to feel every depth of her unspoiled treasure. If he put a baby in her, it would only be a plus. Iman wanted her … forever. He knew that as her first official lover, however, he was setting the stage for how she would allow a man to handle her afterward. For that reason alone he paused and reached into the nightstand by the bed. Iman was clean. Iman meant her no harm, but he couldn't say the same for the men she might encounter should they not work out. He ripped the foil package and slid it over his length. “Make me strap up every time, ma. This is your temple. Make a nigga respect it,” he whispered as he positioned himself over her. He was an unselfish lover, as he slid into her gently. When he felt her tense, he paused. “Relax, Bleu. Just talk to me. Tell me how I'm making you feel,” he said, distracting her.

“It feels so…”—she wondered if it would be as good as she anticipated—“good,” she whispered breathlessly as he pushed his way inside of her. She gasped; so did he at the tightness that enveloped him.

“Oh shit,” he moaned as he ground in … then out. Bleu felt the addictive mixture of a little pain and a lot of pleasure as she matched his thrusts. They were hungry for each other and sounds of passion filled the air. No one had ever made her feel this way. His body inside of her made them feel like they were synced. This was the ultimate exchange of energy, and it was in that moment that she realized what she had just given him. She couldn't understand how women slept with man after man with no remorse. To have a man inside of you was giving him a part of you. To spread herself thin by giving herself to everybody would be absurd. No wonder bitches had no idea who they really were. Some had given away so much that they had nothing left for themselves.

Bleu could feel his heart beat as it thundered against her breasts. She had never experienced the earth-quaking sensations that he was causing. Somehow he was the conductor to her body's orchestra and together the melody they created struck the perfect chord. She was love struck and he made her feel wanted. He made her feel … feel—

“Agh!” she cried out as something erupted inside of her. Not all men could bring a woman to her peak, but Iman was skilled in his lovemaking. He made her orgasm and he didn't go for his until he felt her body go limp beneath him.

He lay behind her, their sweaty bodies spooning as he breathed in her ear. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for what?” she asked as she looked back at him, confused.

“For giving me you,” he replied. He kissed her lips and then reached around to play with her clit. It was time for round two, and Bleu had no complaints at all as her body turned to putty in his hands. It was going to be a long night indeed.

 

17

Late nights and early mornings only felt good in love songs. As Bleu pulled herself out of Iman's empty bed she groaned. Her head banged with the onset of a hangover, and before her feet could hit the plush carpet she felt the liquor in her stomach. She didn't remember much. She was surprised she had even made it to Iman's home. “Faded” was the understatement of the century.

How the hell did I drive?
she thought.
And where is Iman?
She turned to see that half of her face had been left on the pillowcase. She was missing a false lash and everything. She shook her head as she tore the linens off the bed and piled them in a heap on the floor before rushing into the adjoining master bath. One look in the mirror told her the story of the night before. She was a wreck. Her once flawlessly beat face now looked like a clown show from a rough night's sleep and her hair was all over her head. She showered quickly, peeling the layers of insecurity off of her face until there was nothing left but Flint-town Bleu. She then stepped out of the shower, borrowed the robe that hung on the back of the door, and wrapped it around her body. When she stepped back into the room, Iman sat on the edge of his bed. His presence always took her breath away.