Smoke and Mirrors (26 page)

“Does it require me to have the police on speed dial?” he joked.

“No!” She chuckled. “I was always thinking about you, felt happy when you’d call…I’d wait for that moment. And sometimes I’d stand a bit longer outside, hoping to see you looking at me from your window.”

“You couldn’t see that far. You’re putting me on.” He smirked.

“Yeah, but you told me a while ago you liked watching me, so, I would imagine you there. Over time, I knew when you were because the curtains would be open…always in the mornings.”

He laughed lightly and nodded.

“Yeah, so I’ve been enjoying you for a while now.” She paused, took a deep breath, and smiled. “I cherished our conversations. You have no idea. I never got tired of talking to you. You make me laugh, make me happy. Those phone calls made my day and over the course of time, seeing you, talking with you…” She swallowed. “I knew it was
more
than like. I knew I’d ventured somewhere else…and now, I’m glad.”

The corner of his upper lip lifted ever so slightly into his customary smirk. He stroked her hair, no doubt wild and out of control from all of their romping about.

“So, are you staying the night?” she inquired, feeling like a young girl with a huge crush on the captain of the football team.

“Yeah, if you want me to.” He yawned. “Let me call my security department and Felicia, and make sure they know I won’t be making my usual rounds tonight.”

“Okay.”

He slowly slipped away from her and got to his feet. She couldn’t help but continue to stare at that man’s glorious naked physique as he crossed her massive bedroom and retrieved his neatly folded pants from a chocolate brown and tan striped Papasan chair in the corner of the room. Reaching inside the pocket, he pulled out his cellphone.

“Hey Felicia, what’s up? Look, I need you to watch the cameras tonight. I won’t be back for awhile… You have an appointment? What time? I didn’t schedule you for anything tonight for a reason. I told you I was goin’ out.” She could hear the agitation in his voice, and inside, she feared he’d have to go back to his ho house and put in work.

“I don’t give a shit about that. Why in the fuck would you do some shit like that?” The man’s voice rose, but his icy tone jarred her the most. “You did this shit on purpose… What do you mean where the hell am I? I better do
what
?! Who do you think you’re talking to like that? I’m
at
where the
fuck
I’m
at
! You’ve lost your goddamn mind. Stay the fuck out of my business!”

Paris slowly rose from the bed, gripping the sheets to her body as her anxiety grew. She wanted to reach out and touch him, tell him it was okay, to simmer down.

“You cancel that shit or give it to another girl!” He pointed ahead of him, as if the woman stood right in front of his face. “I rarely put you on dates at night on the weekends anymore because I need you as an additional set of eyes and ears. We’ve already gone over this. I’m about to call Reggie. Never mind… Felicia, stop it!” He put his hand up like a stop sign. “I’ll deal with you later, and I
mean
that.” He angrily disconnected the call, then dialed again.

Paris sucked her teeth and mulled over the shit she was hearing. Smoke’s bottom bitch was definitely out of pocket, and this was the second damn time Felicia had thrown some fit she was a witness to. She’d had a serious attitude when she showed up at his brothel for the first time, and she didn’t much care for it.

“Hey Reggie, what’s up? I need you to get over to the apartment, a.s.a.p. and stay the night, watch the cameras. Seven of ’em have dates late tonight, and I need some eyes there to watch them, make sure they are okay…Yeah… Frank’s at the door, he’s got that covered, but I can’t have him two places at one time and Felicia is acting the hell up, so I don’t want her doing
any
damn thing…Yeah, I know.” He chuckled, seemingly calmed down. “I’ll double your pay since it is such late notice. Thanks, man.” He placed his phone on the top of her vanity, crossed the room, and slid back under the sheets beside her.

“Are you okay?” She smiled sadly at him as she ran her finger down the center of his chest.

“Oh yeah,” he said earnestly. He rolled his eyes and cracked a grin. “She does this shit all the time lately. Anyway.” He stared lustfully at her, focusing on her lips first, then her eyes. “I think I’d like to get a little more of that
Parisian
pussy…”

Grinning, she gave him a look of mock shyness. “Whatever you say, Daddy!”

He gripped her wrist, his expression tightening at her utterance. Her eyes widened in shock.

“Don’t
ever
call me Daddy again. I’m
not
your pimp…I’m your
man
.”

Her heart soaring, she broke out into a wide smile. Within an instant, she was on her stomach, her thighs spread, and a thick long dick plunging inside of her, singing her orgasmic lullabies…

Good motherfucking night…

*

F
elicia stood at
the front window of the house watching the strawberry crème and baby sapphire sunrise. It was stunningly gorgeous, in colors of streaky pink amongst white clouds, the canvas soft and warm. Never in her all her years with Smoke had she watched that sun come up and kiss the world without knowing where her man was, for more times than not, he stayed close to her. Smoke’s behavior as of late had been erratic. He’d spent so much time observing the brothel across the street, it had become some sort of obsession. Then all of a sudden, it simply stopped. She was relieved that it had, until he replaced the voyeurism with the real thing.

It appeared that her man had his designs on that snooty bitch, the youngest Madam she’d ever come across, that lived across the way. When she went through the phone bills before giving them to him to sign off on, they showed the bastard was calling the woman twice, sometimes three times a day. Some of the conversations were brief, and she dismissed them as mere business talks, but then she noticed some that were quite lengthy, at strange times of the day and night. One call lasted upwards of four hours, until five in the damn morning! While she was humping her ass off and working double-duty as an extra set of eyes, his ungrateful ass was parked in the spare bedroom, probably kicked back with a smile and a glass of chilled chardonnay while he talked some real pimp shit in that bitch’s ear. She highly doubted they were discussing professional matters at such an hour.

When she’d go to his home, she noticed the room that he kept previously unlocked, where he kept his private things, was now off limits, as if it were some cryptic vault. In this room he had incredibly expensive model airplanes, some made of gold, things like that. But one day she must’ve overstepped her bounds, and inquired about the small teal Tiffany’s jewelry box wrapped with an ivory and gold bow. He didn’t answer, never said a word.

The credit card bills were the real clincher. He was buying this bitch all sorts of shit like some lovesick king and she, the Queen of England. Elaborate floral arrangements, custom jewelry, expensive shoes that cost more than her damn weekly salary, extravagant fruit baskets with nothing but assorted apples—who gets
only
apples?! He purchased tickets to some concert to see Beyoncé, for her and her whores. It had to have been, because Smoke hated most R&B. He only listened to grunge, classic rock, new-wave rock, contemporary jazz, neosoul, chillax and a select few hardcore L.A. rap tunes from his childhood that he’d grown to love. She knew that man as well as her own pussy, and he was
definitely
sniffing around some broad! It was ridiculous! Once she realized Smoke was falling for the bitch, she hated the woman with a passion.

Why her?! Why Madam Paris of all people?!

She’d known of Paris for years. The woman had an ironclad, untarnished reputation, and had been nicknamed the ‘Pussy Professor’ on the streets, due to her having a degree and speaking so articulately. She was a pretty woman; Felicia couldn’t take that away from her. Actually, she was more than pretty. Paris was drop dead gorgeous and had she been a few inches taller, there was no doubt she could have been a professional model. The bitch was flawless, even her damn voice sounded like a fucking symphony. Felicia appreciated that, especially since she was prone to giving a second glance at the same sex. She liked women almost as much as men and embraced her bisexuality. In fact, she’d set her designs on Paris many years ago, but soon discovered upon further investigation that the woman was not interested in having sexual liaisons with other women. No, she was strictly dickly, and along with her ‘Professor’ status, she had left her stamp of offering the best head game some of these motherfuckers had ever experienced. Regarded as a ‘Superhead’ of sorts, other hos had actually gone to her for training. She educated her own girls on the proper way to suck cock, and they went out to impress the damn world.

When Paris had come to their door the other day, she knew her position in Smoke’s life was threatened. She saw the way they looked at one another, and how he seemed all but silly putty in her damn hands. His eyes sparkled and he had on one of the goofiest smiles she’d ever seen. It didn’t help that the woman was standing there, staring triple hard at the man’s body. He’d been practically naked, and the bitch no doubt enjoyed perusing every inch of what he displayed.

Smoke had never looked at
her
that way, and in that moment, jealousy soared within her. She had no idea where the fucker was, but she’d bet her last ho earned dollar that he was up underneath or above that sadiddy sack of shit, with his delicious, big, firm cock entrenched in one of Paris’ damn holes. Paris had a keen eye for excellence, as did Felicia. She could spot a good quality cut of steak from the butcher, a worthwhile pimp, a superior whore, and a bodacious man when she saw one. Felicia was closer to Smoke than anyone else in his stable, possibly the entire world. He told her things from time to time, secrets that drew her even closer to him. She loved him like a devoted wife does a husband and yet, it never seemed enough.

And here she stood, watching the sun, knowing that a new day had arisen, but her old, comfortable life was falling and crumbling like a bruised and unwanted apple from a tree, rotting in the heat. He had been emotionally pulling away from her for weeks; it came as no surprise he’d find comfort in another woman’s arms. She missed his passionate kisses, his strong embrace, the way he moved like a skilled surgeon when he’d fuck her. The man would make her fucking babble when she came, bring her to her orgasmic knees. The girls always looked forward to it, and she sure as hell didn’t want to share him with anyone else that wasn’t a part of their close-knit group. Smoke
knew
how to lay his lips not only on a ho’s pussy, but on her entire soul. He’d make a bitch feel like she was the only damn woman in the world he ever wanted, ever needed.

Regardless, he wasn’t fucking her no more, and according to the fam, they weren’t getting any of Smoke’s big ass cock, either. Knowing her man the way she did, it was safe to say Smoke was not the type to walk around for weeks at a time and not bust a nut. No, he was a man with needs and though he wasn’t what she’d call sex obsessed, when he wanted it, he wanted it
right
then, and he never waited too long between intervals.
Someone
was fucking her man, and she knew
exactly
who.

I can’t compete with her…

Felicia’s self esteem was intact. She was a bad bitch, down for her man, ride or die. Her body was a thing males dreamed of. She was the perfect ho package—from to the way she fucked, to the superb way she ran the damn house. The stroke of beauty hadn’t missed her, either. Standing 5’10 with a small waist, curvy hips and legs that lasted for days, she was a damn walking, living dream. She had long, soft hair, 36D natural breasts that perked up like orange traffic cones, a flat stomach, round ass and a pussy that stayed soft and wet. She could go toe to toe with any other ho, but Paris was different…