Sexual Healing (31 page)

But now . . .

He rose up and looked down at her. “Yo, you see how big my dick is?”

Arabia looked up at him through her lashes, and smiled. “Uh, yeah. I see it. And?”

“And aren't you scared that shit's gonna hurt?”

“No.” Arabia moaned and wrapped her arm over his chest. “It'll be a sweet burn. It'll hurt, but it'll be the kind of pain that brings me to pleasure. My ass is already clenching in anticipation.”

Cruze laughed, shaking his head. “Yo, you a freak; you know that, right?”

She nodded, running a hand over his nipple. “Yeah. And now I'm your freak.” Oops. She hadn't meant to say that. Had she? No, no. She really hadn't, even if she'd thought about it over the last few days. But there was no way to take it back. Still, she couldn't really be his. Could she? Oh, God, he and his dick had her so, so, damn confused. She had some loose ends in her life. There was Wellson. And lest she forget about that pesky-ass Eric still lurking in the shadows, trying to break her resolve to take him back.

She lightly pinched Cruze's nipple, and a quivery breath left him. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“I'ma handle it,” he admitted, curiosity slowly spreading through him. If she wanted him to fuck her in her ass, then he'd have to man-up and fuck her shithole loose. “But, I'm sayin' . . . you gonna have to make sure that ass is cleaned out good if you want my dick in it.”

Now it was Arabia's turn to laugh, and she looked up at him.
“Boy, stop. I stay clean. And I stay ready. And when you stay ready, you don't ever have to get ready. You just make sure
you're
ready when I put this ass up on you.”

He arched his eyebrow at her and shook his head.

“Yeah, a'ight. We'll see.”

Arabia ran her hand over his chest again, then kissed his shoulder. Her hand shamelessly glided down over the ripples of his abdomen, then brushed over the thick thatch of hair that framed the base of his dick, before settling over his shaft. Instantaneously, she felt him thicken beneath her touch.

Cruze closed his eyes for a moment. He'd come a long way from the last time she'd been in his bed, when he'd grabbed her wrist and told her he wasn't beat for broads touching him. But now he
liked
her touching him.
Wanted
her touching him.

He fucked. Hard. Making love wasn't his thing. So when had he become that dude who wanted, craved, to make love to a woman as badly as he wanted to make love to Arabia?

The shit was mind-boggling.

“Where did you learn to be so nasty?” Cruze asked.

A laugh burbled up from the back of her throat. “I'm not
that
nasty,” she said, feigning insult. “I happen to be a woman who is very comfortable in her skin, in her sexuality. I love sex, and lots of it,” she admitted. “And I take what I want. Is that a problem for you?” She slid her warm hand up and down over his abs and his chest. Her touch made him shiver, and his dick stretch.

He grunted in answer. Hell no. It wasn't a problem for him. He wanted sex with her—lots of it. And right now he wished she'd shut up this talking and take his dick. Take it and fuck it. Ride it. He wanted some pussy. More of it, to be exact, but for whatever reason, she was being stingy with it. What the fuck was up with that? He didn't want to be the one to take it—again, but fuck if he
wouldn't—because he knew, at the end of the day, she wanted him to have it. Own it. Possess it.

“You ever been in a threesome?” he asked, unsure as to why he asked or if he really wanted to know the answer to that. But the question was asked, and now it hung in the air between them, dangling like a noose.

The Weeknd's “As You Are” began to play, and Arabia sighed. To tell, or not to tell . . .

She knew—and now he knew, she could be a wanton. Could be a sex-crazed slut. But she wasn't sure she wanted him to know her dirty secrets. Wasn't sure she wanted him to know her darker, dirtier self—the one who frequented sex clubs and fucked on the side of abandoned buildings.

No. He couldn't know. She didn't want him to know.

And, yet, she shifted her body, rolled on her side, then looked at him and admitted a part of her truth. “Yes,” she whispered. And somehow, when she nodded her head, Cruze let out a breath—one he hadn't realized he was holding.

She propped up on one of his pillows and Cruze rolled toward her, too, as she continued, “I was fourteen.”

Cruze's eyes went wide with surprise. Damn. She'd been giving out her pussy like that? His face was expressionless, but inside he was looking at her crazy. “Say what? You were fourteen?”
Fucking grown-ass lil' heifer.

Arabia nodded again. “Yeah.” She sighed, then closed her eyes and allowed herself to slip back in time. “My boyfriend at the time was nineteen. And—”

Cruze frowned.
“Nineteen?
Damn, he was old as hell.”

Arabia agreed. “But I always liked older guys.” She swiped a strand of hair from her face. “Anyway, Efrain and I were together for almost a year. And we'd been having sex for about three months, when
one night I was at his house down in his basement. The lights were down low. He was between my legs, eating my pussy, fingering me, getting me ready for him . . .”

Cruze cringed inwardly. But said nothing.

Arabia pushed out a breath. “Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. And when I looked over, it was one of Efrain's cousins and another guy coming toward us, their dicks out.”

Cruze frowned. What the fuck?

Arabia pulled in her bottom lip, shaking her head. “They'd been in the room watching us.”

“And you didn't know?”

She slowly shook her head. “No. They came from out of nowhere. But later, I learned they'd been in the closet the whole time. But then, I didn't know. And when I asked Efrain why they were in there with us. He told me . . .”

“I wanna fuck you with my cousin and my boy,” he murmured. “You gonna let us fuck you, baby?”

“No,” she said, trying to get up. But Efrain held her down with his body weight, and crashed his mouth over hers, kissing her, tonguing her, his fingers in her pussy.

He nipped at her ear, then whispered, “Be daddy's slut for me. OK? Let me ‘n' my boys get this good pussy.”

Arabia tried to wriggle herself free, tried to push him off her. But then his cousin yanked her by the wrists and had her arms stretched out over her head, holding them there, his grip cutting into her flesh.

And then Efrain's friend leaned in and sucked on her nipple, while Efrain dipped his head back between her legs and sucked her clit into his mouth. Arabia wrenched and cried out in pain and unexplainable pleasure. Frightened and disturbingly turned on, she stopped fighting and gave into the sensations, her legs spreading wider, her pussy growing wetter, welcoming.

“Yeah, that's it, baby. Take that big dick. You my freaky bitch . . .”

“And then they took turns fucking me,” she whispered, looking directly into Cruze's eyes. Something stung her eyes. Tears. And she blinked them back. “They held me down and fucked me for what felt like hours. And—once they started, I didn't know how to stop them.”

Cruze felt his nose flaring. His jaw twitched. “That's some fucked-up shit,” he hissed. “Word is bond. If I ever ran up on them muhfuckas, I'd . . .” He stopped himself, feeling his blood boil. He'd put a bullet in them fuck-boys. There was no way he could let that shit slide if he'd had known her back then. He despised pussy-ass niggas. He would have definitely dropped them.

“Yeah, it was,” she said softly.

Cruze pulled her into his arms, and she nuzzled against him. He placed a kiss on her temple, surprising himself at this new show of affection.

“But what was even more fucked up,” she said softly, swallowing back a knot of shameless heat. She took a deep breath and shook her head.

“What?” He had to know, needed to know. So he used one bent finger to lift her chin to make her look at him. “Tell me.”

She took Cruze in; his brown eyes on hers. She bit her lip. She'd already told him more than he needed to know, but there was no stopping now.

“I liked it,” she whispered.

Thirty-Four

C
ruze had been thrown off completely by Arabia's confession. When she'd admitted that she enjoyed having a train pulled on her, his first reaction had been:
What kind of twisted shit is this?!
And he was about to kick her out of his bed, but after thinking about it, he had to admit that he was no angel, either. With the body count he had on his hands, who was he to judge her? Regardless of the fact that Arabia was a classy slut, he dug the shit out of her, anyway.

But those muhfuckas that had fucked her over . . . Mmph! They'd better hope Cruze never ran into any of their punk asses, 'cause they were guaranteed to get some hot lead straight to the dome if he ever did.

So far, Cruze had seen three sides of Arabia: classy slut, arrogant bitch, and playful woman-child. And keeping up with her different personas kept him on his toes.

Like tonight, for example. They were strolling along touristy South Street and approached an art gallery with a sign in the window, announcing that couples' painting would be held in a half hour. On a whim, Arabia wanted to try it and persuaded Cruze to join her.

He'd never heard of couples' painting, and not knowing what to expect, he made a quick dash into the Rite Aid and bought a pack of condoms. Knowing Arabia, there was probably something freaky involved.

In his mind, Cruze pictured him and Arabia in a private room inside the gallery. He envisioned himself holding a paintbrush and an artist's palette, and covering Arabia's beautiful, nude physique with body paint. He didn't have any artistic talent, but he was capable of drawing pictures of easy shit like the sun, a flower, or a heart. He'd decorate the shit out of her titties, her pussy, and her naked ass with his artistic creations.

Afterward, he'd fuck her good and hard, the way she liked it. But he wasn't too happy with the idea of accidentally getting paint on his clothes. Fuck it, though. For Arabia, he was willing to ruin his expensive ripped jeans and T-shirt.

It turned out Arabia didn't have anything kinky in mind. They shared a relaxing two hours together, painting and drinking vino. While Cruze was buying condoms, Arabia had gone to a liquor store and bought a bottle of red wine for the occasion.

Ever since Cruze had been old enough to drink, he'd been a cognac man, but Arabia enjoyed good wine and he'd shared the bottle with her. Along with six other couples, Cruze and Arabia were being instructed on how to work with acrylic paint on canvas.

Although Cruze's only artistic talent was in rolling breathtakingly beautiful blunts, after the two hours were over, he'd somehow completed a picture of a pair of lovebirds sitting together on the branch of a tree that had hearts and colorful circles for leaves.

Cruze's picture didn't look bad at all. But Arabia's finished canvas was amazing and looked like it had been created by a professional artist.

“You got skills, babe. Let me find out your artwork is hanging in galleries all over the world,” Cruze teased as he and Arabia made their way down South Street with their canvases wrapped in plastic and tucked under their arms.

“Honestly, I've never painted anything before.” Upbeat, Arabia
gestured animatedly as she spoke, then she suddenly assumed a sour expression. “But I probably would have done a much better job if we hadn't gotten stuck with the instructor-bitch they assigned to us.”

Cruze wrinkled his forehead. “Why she gotta be a bitch? I thought she did a good job, and she was extremely accommodating.”

Arabia arched a brow. “Too accommodating, if you ask me. The way that big-titty ho kept flirting with you, it seemed to me she should be working for tips at Hooters instead of being an art instructor.”

“I didn't peep anything. Trust, I know women, and I would have picked up on it if she was trying to hit on me. You got it wrong. She was only doing her job, and being helpful. Besides, I would have checked that bitch if I thought she was disrespecting my gir—” Cruze caught himself and rephrased his words. “I wouldn't sit there and allow any woman to disrespect you, Arabia.”

“You couldn't see what she was doing because she was being sneaky about it, but I saw her.”

Cruze came to a halt and clasped Arabia by the arm. “Now you got me curious. What exactly was she doing?”

Arabia's eyes wandered to Cruze's crotch and lingered there. “Exactly what I'm doing right now—scoping out your dick. Measuring it in her mind, salivating over it, and imagining herself sucking every drop of cum out of it.”

Cruze was shocked. “Whaaaat?”

Arabia burst into sudden laughter. “I'm only kidding. But she was helping you a little too much for my taste.”

“Man, you had me going. Why you bullshitting? I was about to turn around, go back to the spot, and go in on that bitch.”

“What were you going to say?” Arabia asked, falling out laughing.

“I was gon' say, ‘Yo, bitch, keep your eyeballs off my shit. My dick
ain't up for public scrutiny. This is for my girl's eyes only.'” Cruze had slipped up, again and referred to Arabia as his girl, and this time it was too late to take back the words.

Laughing, Arabia didn't seem to notice. “Ooo, you're stupid, Cruze; I had no idea you were so silly.”

It had been a long time since he'd genuinely laughed or had caused anyone else to laugh for that matter. And it felt good.

When Cruze and Arabia resumed walking, they both reached for the other's hand. An unconscious act, as natural as breathing. But after realizing they were holding hands, they both lapsed into an awkward silence, acutely aware that yet another shift had occurred in their relationship.

As they headed for Arabia's car that was parked in a lot a few blocks away, the pavements of South Street became more and more congested with hordes of people, many acting wild like college kids on spring break. Some were talking loud, singing, and drunkenly staggering around, while others argued and broke into fistfights. Yet with all the craziness transpiring on South Street, Cruze and Arabia felt like they were the only two people in the world.

“What's that smell?” Arabia inquired, sniffing the air.

“Onions. Jim's Steaks is at the end of the block,” Cruze informed.

“I've heard so much about Philly cheesesteaks, but never had one. Have you?” Arabia asked, looking wide-eyed and adorable.

“Yeah, I've had my share. They're kind of greasy, though. Might be a lil' too messy for you.”

“I don't care. I can get messy,” Arabia said with a smirk.

“A'ight. Let's do it.”

When they reached the restaurant, Cruze let go of Arabia's hand and opened the door. As she entered ahead of him, his palm went to the small of her back. He hadn't gone so far as to put his arm around her waist, but he was protectively touching her . . . keeping
her close. All of his senses were on high alert. If any one of the South Street parade of fools even thought about bumping into her, stepping on her feet, or causing her any kind of harm, they'd have to get through him.

Seated at the table, Cruze took a couple of bites and pushed his plate away.

“You don't like it?” Arabia asked, chewing and talking at the same time.

Cruze couldn't help from smiling. He liked that she could get down and put her elbows on the table, plus, the way she was tearing into the cheesesteak was so cute. Even though he wasn't all that crazy about cheesesteaks, seeing Arabia so relaxed and carefree made him feel good. Shit, there was no point in bullshitting about it; whenever, he was in her company, he was happy as fuck.

Without realizing what he was doing, he picked up a napkin and wiped ketchup from the corner of her mouth.

Their eyes locked and Arabia gently grasped his wrist and brought his fingers to her lips, and kissed them.

It was a sweet and simple gesture, yet Cruze's heart sped up as if she were sucking his dick. “Arabia,” he rasped in a deep voice.

“Yes?” She released his wrist and smiled at him, waiting for him to continue.

“I dig you.” His voice came out tortured, like it was killing him to express any kind of emotion.

“You do?” Her smile widened. “Well, guess what? I dig you, too. A lot. And I'm gonna show you exactly how much when we get back to your place.”

“Oh, word?” Cruze grinned back at her, but in the back of his mind, he was thinking that admitting that he dug her was only putting it mildly. His black ass had fucked around and fallen in love with Arabia. He was sure of it. But it was too soon to men
tion it. He couldn't risk scaring her off by confessing some corny shit like that.

The last time he'd given his heart too soon and too freely, it had been crushed and torn apart, changing him from a sweet, warm-hearted young man to the cold-blooded brother he later became.

Nah, he couldn't admit to Arabia what he was really feeling. He'd continue to let her set the pace, and simply go along for the ride. Whatever they were doing made them both happy. No need to fuck up what they had by placing labels on it.

Not yet, anyway.

• • •

Cruze cracked an eye open and looked over at Arabia's empty side of the bed. She'd kissed him goodbye about an hour ago, and he missed her already. Sitting on the side of the bed, he glimpsed a black silk scarf on the floor and shook his head. It was the scarf he'd allowed Arabia to bind his hands together with last night. Thank God, his leather headboard had prevented her from tying him to the bed. He wasn't ready for all that.

There had to be a certain amount of trust to allow someone to render you helpless, and for some reason, Cruze trusted Arabia completely. He smiled thinking back to their wild night. Getting his dick sucked and asshole licked while his hands were tied up was all kinds of freaky. Damn, Arabia was doing shit to him that had never been done. Tongue in the ass had a weird effect. Had him gritting his teeth and curling his toes. It took all his willpower not to whimper in pleasure like a lil' bitch.

But he was going to have a talk with Arabia about all this ass play. If he didn't lay down some ground rules, she was liable to show up with a strap-on, and try to make him her bitch. He laughed to himself and then immediately frowned when his phone rang and Ramona's name appeared on the screen.

She'd been calling nonstop for over a week now, and he couldn't avoid her any longer. It was time to deal with Ramona's ass, but he had to smoke a blunt, first.

He hit the ignore button, and then cut open a Dutch. As he emptied the cigar, his mind went back to the time period from age eighteen to twenty-one when Ramona had possessed his mind, body, and soul. He'd been young and dumb back when he'd allowed Ramona to make him her side dude while she was with Moody.

Through Ramona's influence, Cruze had moved up the ranks in the organization, and he soon became Moody's right-hand man. He was also one of the groomsmen at Ramona's and Moody's lavish wedding and became godfather of their firstborn child—Chancellor—the son he hadn't known he'd fathered.

It wasn't until after his twenty-first birthday that Cruze's feelings for Ramona finally changed. He was no longer a lovestruck teenager, and was able to look at her through the eyes of a grown man. And what he saw was a selfish and manipulative bitch that had preyed on his innocence and stolen his youth. He wanted to hate her, but for some unknown reason, he couldn't. He felt bound to Ramona as if she were blood.

No matter what, he always had her back. Comforting her over the years when Moody started treating her like shit, and not only started fucking a slew of other bitches, but also developed a penchant for bringing them to the house and fucking them while Ramona was in another part of their palatial home.

Cruze was the one who had accompanied Ramona and the kids to Disney World and other vacations while Moody was back in New York laid up with several of his bitches. Unbeknownst to Moody, Ramona had given Cruze his own set of keys to their crib, in case of emergency. There was nothing Cruze wouldn't do for Ramona, except give up the dick. That's where he drew the line, and up until the night of the shooting, Ramona had been desper
ately trying to find a way to get back into Cruze's heart—and back in his drawers.

But she sealed her fate at the kids' funeral when she confessed that Cruze had fathered Chancellor. All the love he'd ever felt turned to pure hatred. Then disgust. And finally, he was left with no emotions for her except pity.

Cruze dreaded making the call to Ramona, but it had to be done. Procrastinating, he went to the bathroom and peed, and before dialing her number, he took a swig of Henny straight from the bottle.

Ramona picked up on the first ring. “Why'd it take you so long to return my calls?”

“Been busy,” Cruze responded dismissively, blowing out weed smoke.

“I guess you heard about Big Crockett.”

“Yeah, I heard,” he said dispassionately.

“Well, aren't you excited? You can come back to New York, now.”

“Nah, I'm good where I'm at.”

“But I need you here. Things are really getting bad with Moody. He's much worse since you came over, and the doctor is pushing me to put him in a nursing home. I can't make that kind of decision by myself, Cruze. That's the kind of thing we need to discuss together.”

“You're a big girl, Mo. Handle your shit,” he said coolly.

Hearing the coldness in his tone, Ramona was briefly quiet. Then she took an audible breath. “Are you gonna hold Chancellor against me for the rest of my life?”

“Yeah, I am. I despise you for what you did.”

“I lost both my children; how do you think I feel?”

“Look, you know as well as I do that Moody brought all this shit down on himself, and it kills me that
my
son . . . and Niyah, too,
had to pay for his mistakes.” Cruze went silent, thinking about Chancellor—seeing the bullet hole in his forehead. Once again, all the breath left his body. “It's time for us to cut ties, Ramona,” he muttered in a broken voice