Sexual Healing (24 page)

“All the kids here are your problem, Cruze. You can't enrich the lives of a select few and treat the rest like second-class citizens.”

Cruze pondered Bret's statement for a moment. “Let me ask you something. Outside of HYPE, do you and your wife donate to any other charities?”

“Of course. Martina is passionate about supporting the National Breast Cancer Foundation.”

“Why breast cancer as opposed to . . . prostate cancer?” Cruze asked.

“Her mom is a breast cancer survivor.” Bret wrinkled his brows. “Where're you going with this, Cruze?”

“I was a young ragamuffin playing b-ball on glass-littered courts with metal hoops and I'm passionate about giving the young kids I'm coaching a better experience than I had. They're my pet project. You're the head of this organization, Bret, and if you want the teen league to rock new sneakers, if you want them to wear fly uniforms, and travel in style, then I suggest you and their coach get some funding that's specifically earmarked for that cause.”

“Coach McKinney is not into fund raising. He's doing enough by coaching the teens free of charge.”

“Oh, well,” Cruze said, hunching up his shoulders. “Stop trying to make your problems mine, Bret. If you want the teens to look fly, then that's on you.”

It felt good speaking his mind, and with nothing more to say, Cruze stood up. Hovering over Bret's desk, an impressive-looking business card with embossed, gold foil lettering caught his eye.
He made out the name of Arabia's agency and his heart took a quick dive. The card represented her flair perfectly and for a fleeting moment, he was tempted to zoom in on the glittery card and memorize the phone number. But that was stalker behavior. The bitch knew where to find him the next time she was in the mood for more raunchy, public sex.

There was a sudden burst of rowdy noise out in the hallway and Bret rushed out the office to go investigate. Cruze was about to follow, but had a better idea. The moment Bret left, Cruze grabbed a Post-It and jotted down Arabia's personal number that was listed beneath her office number.

He jammed the sticky note in his pocket and joined Bret out in the corridor where a fight had broken out. Cruze gripped up one of the troublemakers by the scruff of his neck and Bret grabbed the other.

With both Bret and Cruze towering over the boys, wearing menacing expressions and threatening to take them somewhere private and jack them up if they didn't calm the fuck down, the two brawlers eagerly called a truce and shook hands.

• • •

Later that evening, relaxing in bed and smoking a blunt while the TV kept him company, Cruze bolted upright when he heard a breaking news story. Anthony Crockett aka Big Crockett had been murdered behind bars. The anchorman reported that investigators had no suspects in custody at this time as it appeared to be an inside job.

Well, I'll be damned. That old Italian bastard came through!

Cruze felt a mixture of profound joy and overwhelming grief at the same time. The killing had only just begun, and there would be a lot of bloodshed on the streets of New York. Innocent people
that were at the wrong place at the wrong time would probably end up as collateral damage. And no matter how many bodies he'd accumulated over the years, Cruze still couldn't make peace with the man he'd become. And tonight, he wouldn't rest easily.

He hated being alone right now. He needed his dick sucked and wanted to pump into some hot pussy in the worst way. Tanji was probably available. If he let her, she'd come running with her mouth wide open, happy to swallow several splashing loads of hot cum.

But he didn't want that horny bitch knowing where he lived, nor sucking his dick. And he wasn't in the mood for the funky pussy she was offering. He thought of Arabia's sweet-smelling drawers and his dick swelled up so big, it felt like it was about to pop.

He got out of bed and took the jeans he had on earlier out of the hamper. He rifled through the pockets, and fished out the yellow Post-It. Although when it came to women, rejection was never something he had to face; they willingly came when he called. But, for some strange reason, when it came to Arabia, something about her made him so terrified of being rejected. His heart knocked in his chest as he picked up the phone and quickly pressed the ten numbers imprinted on the card.

Fuck pride. Fuck acting like a stalker. He needed Arabia, and no matter how wishy-washy the broad acted, he knew in his heart that she needed him, too.

The phone rang four times before she picked up.

“Hello?” she answered in her hot, silky voice.

“What's good, Arabia? It's Cruze.”

He heard the surprise in her voice. “Oh. Cruze. Isn't this . . . Wait. How did you get my number?”

“I have my resources,” he answered coolly.

“Mmhmm,” she purred. “I bet you do. So now that you've found me, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

“I was hoping we could link up . . .”
I need some pussy.
He paused. “Uh, tonight.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was expecting her to say something slick, before cursing him out.

Instead, a deadly silence ticked between them, and he felt the hammer of rejection about to come slamming down on his plans, when she sliced into the quiet and breathed out, “I'll come to you.”

Cruze hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until that very moment. A slow grin eased over his lips. “Cool,” he said, before giving her his address, then telling her he'd see her when she arrived.

“And Cruze?” she said, low and husky.

“Yeah, what's up?”

“I hope you're not planning on getting any sleep.”

With that said, she was gone. The line disconnected.

And Cruze felt his dick stretching, along with an unexpected smile.

Twenty-Five

C
andles flickered, their flames dancing seductively across the walls, as Arabia's heated breath cascaded over Cruze's dick, and she parted her lips, stretching wide to accommodate the girth of him. She whimpered around the long, rigid column of flesh, and pleasure pulsed through him.

Oh how she loved sucking dick by candlelight. There was something sensual about flames flickering, something soothing, something sexy and wild. And Arabia felt wild—wild for fire, wild for cock, wild for delicious sin.

She breathed through her nostrils as Cruze tangled his fingers into her hair and palmed her head with his hands. Slowly, he thrust in and out of her mouth. Her mouth was hot and silky and so very wet. She peeked up at him underneath her lashes to see his face etched in ecstasy. She decided to allow him to take her mouth. Give him control—something she rarely did when it came to fellatio. But she'd give it, only for a moment.

Mmm.

His grip on her head tightened and his hips moved fluidly in and out, his dick sliding over her tongue again and again and again. His thrusts deepened. Then he started fucking her mouth as if he was fucking her pussy, and she hadn't choked or gagged. Yeah, this broad was a pro.

Arabia blinked, her eyes brimming with tears.
Oh hell no!
He
was trying to gut her throat, smash out her tonsils, beat up her uvula. She reached up and grabbed his hands, prying them from her head, then smacking them down.

She shot him a telling look, one that warned him to keep off her damn head, and out of her hair, then sucked him back into her mouth.

Cruze frowned.
What the fuck?

He wasn't accustomed to having his hands slapped away, or some pushy-ass broad trying to be in control. He wasn't used to a female being so aggressive and commanding in the sheets. But, Arabia took the dick, sucked it, like she owned it.

He clenched his fists at his sides. Fuck it. If she wanted to control how she gave him head, then have at it. She could suck him until her jaws locked for all he cared.

Unh, shit . . .

Her tongue and mouth moved synchronously over his dick. Cruze shut his eyes, and allowed himself to get swept up in the heat. He hadn't expected to be laid up with her
again
. It'd been two weeks since he'd seen her last—the night after their pseudo-dinner date, the night she so boldly invited him into a bathroom stall of a busy restaurant for
dessert
. And, damn, that had probably been the best dessert he'd had in his life. The memory alone hardened his dick.

She was wild as hell. And—
yes
—a sexy-ass freak.

Still, he hadn't wanted to see her again. Truth was, all she was good for was a good fuck. And he'd fucked her good—damn good—twice already. A third time wasn't usually his thing; although Laila had been one of those rare exceptions where he'd pushed up into her guts regularly; more out of convenience than anything else. Still, they'd been fuck buddies up until the night he fled New York. Other than her, giving out the dick had to be rationed. Or
smashing out some broad more than twice would end with dire consequences. Like some bitch unraveling and stalking him.

Nah, he wasn't built for the bullshit. After all the shit he'd been through, he was good on that. He'd learned a long time ago that broads usually started feigning for the dick after the first night of him fucking the shit out of them. By the second round, they were already planning a wedding, trying to chain a muhfucka down. And
if
they got the dick a third time, they officially became straitjacket crazy right after about the fifth stroke.

With that in mind, Cruze wasn't sure how stable, or
unstable
, Arabia was. And he wasn't interested in finding out what level of nutty she was on. He planned on shutting this—whatever
this
was—down, before shit got hectic, right after he got his nut. Truth was, he thrived off of variety. And loved an assortment of pussy at his beck and call. All he wanted was some occasional companionship, good pussy, good head—a different face, a different hole. Nothing more.

Bitches couldn't be trusted for anything else.

But he couldn't deny it. There was something about
her
that had him . . .
shit . . .
she had him bugging.

And he didn't like it, not one damn bit.

Cruze always prided himself on having self-control—over pussy, over drugs, over alcohol, over anything that would become a distraction in his life. Distractions could get a muhfucka killed. So he learned to do everything, except stacking paper, in moderation. He never wanted any of it to become his kryptonite.

He'd already experienced that shit once with Ramona. Being all fucked up over some broad. That shit was crippling. No way in hell he was about to go there again. Bomb-ass head game or not, it wasn't going to happen.

Period.

So what was it about
her
that had him stretched out on his bed, naked, with his dick disappearing in and out of her mouth, and him wanting more of
her?

Shit.
Damn if he knew.

And that bothered the hell out of him. There was definitely chemistry between them, he'd admitted to himself before he'd called her—sexual chemistry that thickened the air, and made him lightheaded and almost swallow his tongue.

Wait, then again . . . maybe it wasn't
that
—the carnal attraction—that had his head spinning. Maybe it was the fact that Arabia suddenly did some kind of trick with her tongue that sent chills reeling through his body.

Her fingertips skittered along the trail of hair that led from his navel to his magnificent dark-chocolate cock, lightly brushing over his skin—while licking under his balls, unexpectedly making him moan and shiver. She bounced them up on her tongue, curling and swirling the wet organ over and around his swelling sac, savoring the taste of him—the manly flavor of his skin, the hint of musk, his maleness on her tongue. So delicious.

Arabia moaned, her tongue and lips sliding up the side of his dick. She licked over the two thick veins that roped over the top of his shaft, and cupped his heavy balls. Every inch of him felt like heated steel. Arabia stroked the length of him once . . . twice . . . thrice, grazing the head of his dick with her thumb.

Cruze grunted, and her lashes fluttered before her gaze eased upward and his dark eyes flew open and met hers.

“Get on your knees. I want some pussy.”

Her body tingled, her clit and nipples swollen and aroused. His dark tone; the commanding look on his face, made her shiver, slightly. But not enough to take heed to his order, or his want. She simply flicked her tongue over the slit of his dick, swiping at the
pre-cum drizzling out of its tip, before her tongue teased the sensitive spot just under his crown.

Groaning, Cruze tried to pull free from her tongue. His balls tightened as his need spiked. He had enough of her tongue teasing. He wanted to sink deep into her silken heat.

“Yo, c'mon. I wanna fuck.”

Too bad.
She slid her lips up and down, up and down, her mouth growing wetter as she made him wetter and wetter, sucking him in a slow, heated rhythm that was making him feel crazed with pleasure.

He didn't like—
uhn . . . ah
—feeling out of control like this.

His teeth clenched. “Aah . . . yo, stop. Hold up. Wait, wait . . .”

There was no waiting with Arabia; there was no holding back. She did what she wanted, how she wanted. And then his dick was between those heavenly breasts of hers, sliding wetly, hotly—as she cupped them in her hands and pressed the soft flesh around his throbbing shaft. Her breasts blanketed his cock in slippery heat, her tongue lolling out every so often and flicking over the head, capturing his heated arousal. Ah, damn—fuck yes. The shit was maddening.

No, he wasn't wild about giving up his control. She had him rushing toward the edge of nirvana. And he wasn't ready . . . not yet. He liked to control how and when he came. But Arabia was relentless.

Damn her greedy-ass . . . unh. Shit . . .

Instead of stopping, her tongue cradled his dick, and then she took him to the back of her throat—all of him. Cruze nearly lost his mind. He rocked his hips, gliding his shaft over her tongue.
Oh shit! She 'bout to make me nut!

In less than twenty seconds, she was bringing him dangerously closer to the edge. Forgetting her warning, once again, he fisted his hands in her hair as desire swelled. He didn't want to come in
her mouth. He wanted to nut in that pussy. Yeah, that's where he needed his dick to be. Deep.

“Yo, stop,” he growled, trying to pull her off his dick. “Hold up, hold up. You about to . . . make . . . me . . . nut . . .”

Oh well. Come for me, boo.
Arabia was in her own zone, on a mission. And had no intentions of giving him pussy. Not today. Yes, she'd made the almost two-hour trek down the turnpike to Philly for another round of his aggressive dick. But, now, she'd changed her mind. No pussy for him. Still, she felt conflicted. She didn't know what the hell she was doing
here
between his legs, her jaws stretched with his cock when his selfish ass had, yet, to lick her, kiss her—
nothing.
It was obvious he didn't eat pussy, lick ass, kiss, or indulge in any other foreplay. Arabia wondered if he even knew the purpose of a woman's clit. Or where to find her G-spot, or what the hell foreplay was.

“Unh,
shit . . . let me fuck you.”

If her mouth hadn't been full with cock, she would have sucked her teeth. Apparently, somewhere in the middle of all those bed sheets he'd helped a slew of hoes soil over the years, someone had failed terribly at teaching him the art of seduction and making a woman's toes curl. Sure he fucked like a wild bull, but he seemed to lack the wherewithal to know his way around a woman's body. All big dick, and no lovemaking skills made for a lousy-ass lay.

He'd never turn a woman like her out. Ever. But, luckily, she had no interest in teaching him, or telling him. He was simply a
fuck
,
a deep pounding of turgid flesh inside her hungry walls. Nothing else mattered. But he'd only be fucking
her
if—and when—
she
wanted to be fucked.

Honestly, any other man and she would have already tired by now. He obviously thought having a big dick was good enough. Well, maybe it was for those other bitches he fucked. But, Arabia, wasn't
the type of woman who could ever be okay with some man simply pounding in and out of her pussy regularly without so much as a tongue swipe over her clit, her slickened pussy lips, or along her slit.

He wasn't freaky enough; that was the bottom line.

Then why the hell was she naked in his bed?

She hated admitting, even to herself, that she'd come to the realization that Cruze was unlike any other man she'd ever known, and she wasn't sure what to do with that.

Except—for now . . . keep sucking his dick.

“Oh, shit,” he hissed, feeling his desire rising incredulously fast. He looked down at her through lust-filled eyes; watched her as, she meant for him to. The sight of her head rapidly bobbing between his legs, along with the wet-suck sounds her mouth made, had his skin prickling with heat.

Arabia looked up at him, a coy smile drifting across her mouth. “You like that?”

“Ah fuck, yeah. Suck that shit,” he murmured, momentarily forgetting, only seconds ago, he'd tried stopping her so he could get inside her. He tried to palm her head again, and she slapped his hands away, before she pulled him from her mouth, then kissed and licked her way up his abdomen, dipping her tongue into his navel, pushing his knees farther apart with her shoulders. She climbed up over him, grinding and sliding her pussy up and down the length of his wet cock, slicking it with her juices.

Cruze tightly pressed his lips together to keep in a groan as her mouth enveloped his right nipple. She swirled her tongue over it, then lightly blew over it. Cool air escaping between her lips, turning his nipple hard.

“You like that?” she whispered, her lips grazing his throat.

He grunted his answer, cupping her ass and squeezing. “You gonna let me get in that pussy?”

Arabia ignored him, her tongue laving over his shoulder, then his chest, then—oh, fuck, yeah—her teeth grazed over his nipple, nibbling, sucking it into her mouth.

Cruze bit his bottom lip.

Neither of them had expected to
still
be in lust with the other, still wanting more of the other. But this shit had to end. It had to. For the both of them.

Arabia looked up at him through a veil of lashes, and seductively licked her lips. “I'm going to suck your soul out.”
Then walk out of here and never look back.

Her whisper rasped over his skin, his senses, even as she enveloped him, and he felt the back of her tight throat, her tongue swirling around him. Suddenly, pleasure seemed to saturate the room, filling the air around them as she laved the head of his dick with her wicked tongue, one palm at the base of his erection, the other holding his balls, lightly grazing over his sac with her fingernails.

Oh, shit . . .

She knew exactly what to do to take him there. Fast. Her lips dragged up and down his shaft again, and Cruze watched, relishing the view. He let out a deep sigh of approval as she took him all the way back inside the sweet heat of her lush mouth, inch by hard, pulsing inch. She had his breath coming hard and fast, so fast he felt the room spin. She was a beast.

“Unh,”
he groaned. “Aaah, that mouth . . .”

He wanted to keep shit between them light, no pressures. No expectations. No hard feelings. No more ongoing encounters; just this one last time. But Arabia's wet mouth was slowly making a liar out of him. He wasn't trying to get caught up. He knew a broad like her would disrupt shit in his life. But—
fuck
, he was loving the way she gave him head, kissing and licking, then swallowing him whole, taking him to the back of her throat, before extending her tongue and lapping at the center of his balls.