The Pleasure Trap (16 page)

She stepped up to lightly bite his chin and reach for the edge of his shirt, but Pleasure swiped her hands away. Assefa reached for the waistband of his sweatpants this time and eyed him defiantly with one brow arched as she jerked his pants down around his muscled thighs.

A challenge. Two strong wills. Two lovers built to please.

She stroked his hardness before bending to her knees and taking him into her mouth.

Pleasure's entire body went still at the first feel of her sucking his dick. With a sharp intake of breath, he thrust his hips forward and grasped the back of her head as he fucked her mouth. His butt clenched with his tiny thrusts forward.

Assefa wrenched her head free of his tight grip and leaned back to look up at him as she rose. She opened her mouth to speak but Pleasure pushed her roughly against the door and kissed her again until whatever words of protest she thought about forming dissipated in the heat they'd created.

He picked her up again and hoisted her over his shoulder with a sound slap to her buttocks as he turned to lay her down on the floor right atop the edge of the area rug showing beneath her living room sofa. She brought her hands up high above her head and lifted one leg onto the back of the chair as she spread the other wide.

Pleasure shook his head. He wanted her in his way. Not hers.
I'm in control here.

He pressed his thick tip inside her as he reached for her legs and wrapped them around his neck. Tightly gripping her thighs, he clenched his jaw at the feel of her as he filled her heat with his thick width . . . inch by inch, until nearly all of him was planted deeply within her.

Assefa's mouth opened a bit with a hot little gasp that was only just the beginning.

Pleasure was on a mission to prove something to himself and to her.

He flung her legs away roughly and began to make love to her passionately and slightly aggressively. He combined many of his wicked dance moves along with the attentiveness she'd taught him to make love to her fiercely. At times slow and deep. Other times fast and deeper. But always . . .
always
with pleasing her uppermost in his mind.

Time sped by as he continued to pick up the pace of his thrusts. He shifted her body from one position to another. Beneath him. Riding him. On their sides. And a dozen more. Each more pleasing than the last. Each sending her into a mind-blowing climax that made her cries and moans fill the air. He lost count of how many times he felt her walls tighten around him as she came.

And he wasn't done with her yet.

“Yes,” she cried out shakily, her full lips quivering.

“You love the way I fuck the shit out of you, don't you?” he asked her, massaging her breasts and teasing her nipples, both of her legs up on one of his strong shoulders while he continued to rotate his abs and hips to send his dick around her walls in tight, delicious circles.

Assefa nodded several times.

“Don't I?” he demanded again.

“Yes,” she whispered harshly.

He sucked her calf and brought his hands down to lift her buttocks up off the floor. “What's my name?”

“Pleasure.”

“And what do I give?” he asked her, his eyes locked on her face.

“Pleasure.”

The student had become the teacher.

Pressing her onto her back, Pleasure pressed his hands against the floor and did push-ups in her pussy, ending each extension of his arms with a deep dip inside her tightness until she was clutching him with her arms and legs and crying out as she came again. He rode the wave with her until he too felt as if his entire body lit with fire as he climaxed.

Assefa pressed kisses to his shoulder as he gave her one last thrust that made his entire body weak. He dropped his head to her shoulder. “Pleasure, that was so good,” she said, languorously raising her hands above her head to clap. “You finally got it. That was
the best
I ever had.”

Pleasure allowed himself those desired moments to recollect himself before he finally raised onto his elbows and looked down into her eyes, his softening dick still inside her. “The very best?” he asked, his heart pounding in his chest.

Assefa nodded. “
The very best
,” she emphasized, her hands now on his broad shoulders.

He nodded and took one deep breath before he rose to his feet, pulling his dick free from her. “Then our time together has come to an end,” he said as he looked about the room for his discarded clothing.

“Our what? What? Huh?” she asked, still on her back on the floor.

Pleasure glanced at her as he quickly dressed. “This one is on me because it's over, Assefa,” he said.

She sat up. “No, it isn't,” she insisted.

He opened the door and looked down at her one last time, appreciating her body and everything she'd taught him with it. “I don't want to play the game with you of topping myself. Let another man take my crown... one day,” he told her cockily.

Assefa looked surprised and even a little hurt, but then her face filled with as much bravado and cockiness as he gave her. “You'll be back,” she said confidently.

Pleasure shrugged as if that was a possibility, but he knew as he turned and walked out onto the porch that he would never return... or answer another of her calls.

 

 

H
is eyes fluttered open. He winced at the brightness of the sun beaming through the many windows of his top-floor apartment. In between slow and labored blinks, he finally focused on the view of the New York skyline.
Day two of the bullshit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Some of the steaming grits fell onto his thigh and clung to his skin, scorching him. Still he did not waver and kept his eyes locked on her and his mouth closed.
I'm not going to help this crazy bitch spoon-feed me only God knows what.

What the fuck did I do to deserve this shit?

Smyth

 

 

F
or the last hour of his life Pleasure had rushed. In driving. In parking. In walking through the halls to reach the door he now stood before. The rushing stopped. He stood before it as if frozen in time. Frozen by fear of just what he would find on the other side.

Pleasure lightly patted the door twice before he pushed it open and stepped inside the room only to pause again at the sight of his father lying in the hospital bed connected to monitors with an oxygen mask on his face and his eyes closed.

“Hey, Graham.”

He shifted his eyes over to where his mother sat in a bedside chair. She was smiling but her eyes were slightly red and puffy. He glanced at his father again as he moved across the room to bend down and press a kiss to her brow.

“How is he?” he asked, leaning against the wide ledge of the window.

“He did have a heart attack, but he's stable now,” Cara said, reaching over to rub Tylar's hand.

Pleasure nodded.

“He's just sleeping, Graham,” she said, reaching back to grab his hand with her other one.

He nodded again.

It was hard for a man to swallow, facing his father's mortality.

“He's young and strong and he
will
be fine,” she said.

Pleasure looked down at her because her words now sounded like she was trying to convince herself and not just him. He squeezed her hand a bit tighter.

“I'm going to see if the doctor is ready to update us,” she said, rising to leave the room.

Pleasure stepped closer to the bed and watched the steady rise and fall of his father's chest as he slept. Futilely, he eyed the different monitors, wishing he knew what they all meant.

The door opened and he looked up as a petite nurse with reddish brown twists wearing dark blue scrubs entered the room with an IV bag in her hand. He gave her a cordial smile as he stepped back from the bed. She looked up at him and did a double take before leaning back a little as she eyed him.

Pleasure shifted where he stood under her appraisal.

“Oh my God. I recognize you,” she said, sitting the bag on the bedside table as she glanced at him. “I took home one of your flyers from the bachelorette party and my husband had
me
sleeping on the couch for a smooth week.”

Pleasure sharply looked down at his father's face and was glad he was still sleeping.

She swapped out the empty bag for the new one, giving him glances as she did. “He's mad but he could use a stripper lesson,” she said, before leaving the room with a little wave and a quick up-and-down look at Pleasure's tall, muscled frame and good looks.

He was glad to see her go.

The door opened again and his mother entered with a soft, reassuring smile. “The doctor will be in to talk to us in a little bit,” she said, reclaiming her seat.

“What exactly happened?” he asked, more for distraction's sake than anything else.

Cara shifted uncomfortably in her seat and wiped her brows in a decidedly nervous gesture. “We were . . . we . . . I didn't mean to . . .”

Pleasure's deep-set eyes widened in understanding as his mother's caramel cheeks flushed and she avoided his eyes before breaking into tears that shook her rounded shoulders. He frowned deeply.

“He told me to—”

“Ma!” he exclaimed in disbelief, throwing his hands up in the air. “I'm sorry I asked.”

Cara turned her back to him in the chair and dropped her head in her hand.

“No, son, I'm sorry I asked.”

They both looked over to the bed to find Tylar's eyes on them and his oxygen mask pulled down around his chin.

Pleasure smiled in relief and then turned suddenly to look out the window at the street traffic in a clear move of avoidance as he felt all his emotions surge forward and gather in tears. Tears he refused to let fall.

Losing his father shouldn't have been a possibility.

“You all right, Graham?”

He nodded and turned with a smile as he continued to blink rapidly. His mother was stroking his father's closely shaved salt-and-pepper hair, but their eyes were on him.

“Cara, let me talk to him for a second, baby?” Tylar asked, his voice slightly hoarse.

She nodded and pressed a half dozen kisses to his forehead before she left the room with an encouraging look at her son.

Tylar replaced his oxygen mask and took several deep breaths before moving it down onto his chin again. He waved his hand at the chair. Pleasure took the seat.

“You are my son,” Tylar said, shifting his tall frame to sit a bit higher in the bed. “When I was your age I was running wild. Enjoying life. The women. The sex. I didn't give a damn about anything or anyone but what I wanted... when I wanted it.”

Pleasure kept his eyes locked on his father.

“I thought the world owed me everything. Hell, that was still true up until a year ago,” he said, shifting his eyes to look up at the ceiling. “I hurt a lot of women, son. Your mother included.”

“Dad—”

Tylar shook his head and took another few breaths from his mask. “It took me damn near all of my fifty-one years to realize that I was hurting myself too.”

Pleasure looked pensive.

“I don't want it to take you fifty years to learn the same lesson.” Tylar raised his arm to slide it under his head as he looked at his son. “You're young and handsome and you know it. You're running through women like cheap panties. I knew that. The whole
stripping
thing is new to me.”

Pleasure covered his surprise well.

“You got more than my looks, son, you got my ego too,” Tylar said. “And I didn't set the best example of how to treat women.”

“Fuck 'em and leave 'em,” Pleasure said, pressing his elbows into his thighs and folding his hands in the space between his knees.

Tylar shook his head. “That was my motto,” he said. “But then I realized I left so many behind that I was alone.”

They both fell silent, and nothing but the steady beep of his machines filled the air.

“Don't be so focused on the pussy, son, that you don't take time to find the right one to share your life with,” Tylar said suddenly.

“I'm only twenty-six, Pops,” he reminded him.

Tylar nodded in understanding. “And before you know it you'll be thirty-six and then forty-six and fifty-six . . .”

Pleasure chuckled. “I got it.”

“I'm just saying time flies, son.” Tylar used his mask again. “I got lucky when your mother gave me a second chance. I just want more for you, son. Pussy is easy to come by, love ain't.”

Pleasure nodded, letting his father's words sink in.

“Just imagine lying in a bed after a major heart attack and not having someone you love—who loves you back—by your side letting you know she's happy you made it. Imagine that, son.”

Pleasure appreciated his father's concern, and it nagged at him that his father didn't even know the half of just how much pussy was a factor in his life and not love. Love was nowhere in sight.

“You make good money?”

He shook his head and laughed. “I do a'ight,” he said, jokingly.

Tylar made a face. “You look like me. You should be doing better than just a'ight . . . make sure your ass not forty still doing that shit.”

Pleasure made a face. “I would be dead wrong for that.”

“Yes the fuck you would.”

The door to the room opened and his father motioned for him to say no more. Pleasure knew then that his father was not going to tell his mother about his stripping, and he was happy for that.

“And don't forget what I said, Graham. Love over sex always wins in this game called life.”

 

 

“Good evening, sir.”

Pleasure nodded at the uniformed door attendant as he held the large ornate door open for him. He entered and crossed the large expanse of the marbled foyer to the gilded elevators with a brief wave to the concierge.

He could hardly believe this had been his home for the last couple of months.

He moved to the small group of residents. Only one of the four elevators was exclusively for the use of the owners of the two penthouse apartments. He eyed the interracial couple standing before that one. The white man in his early forties was Baldwin Grant, a popular and wealthy plastic surgeon catering to discreet celebrities, and the African American woman in her early thirties, Smyth, was his devoted wife.

Everything about him spoke to his well-to-do lifestyle, from the cut of his pin-striped suit and double-knotted silk tie to the beautiful woman draped on his arm. Both cost him well, but the man could afford it.

That's what the fuck I'm talking about
.

Pleasure shared a brief glance with her and she looked offended before she clutched her husband's arm a little tighter and looked away as if dismissing him.

The elevators slid open. Pleasure was one of the last to get on. He leaned against the wall of the elevator. The metal showed his reflection. His dreads were pulled back from his face, revealing his lean features. The crisp striped monogrammed shirt and dark denims he wore could not hide his tall, muscular frame. The clothes were so different from the athletic gear he always wore, but he figured taking college classes had called for a change in wardrobe . . . when he wasn't working or tricking.

The elevator came to a stop on the twelfth floor and he pushed up off the wall to ease past the other occupants. He had barely made it inside the apartment and dropped his bag by the door before the doorbell sounded. He opened it and stepped back as Smyth Grant breezed in.

“That was quick,” he said.

“Baldwin had a conference call and locked himself in his office as soon as we walked into the apartment,” she said with a shrug before she turned and lifted the layers of her hair to offer him the zipper to the designer dress she wore.

Pleasure eyed the dark-skinned, slender beauty. Nothing about her was real except for the deep brown tone of her skin. Her shoulder-length auburn weave, the hazel contacts, her double DD breasts, and lipo'ed stomach were all manufactured by her husband, but only genetics and the Great One above could create the skin that was almost as dark as midnight. She reminded him of the model Alek Wek. Smooth. Unmarred. Radiant.

Knowing exactly what she needed, Pleasure unzipped her dress and pressed a row of kisses down her spine. It was his job as her paramour to know her wants and supply them without question.

Two months ago, Smyth Grant, a Dartmouth graduate and heir to her father's makeup company, had solicited him to be her lover on demand. The position included a stipend and free use of the apartment she'd resided in before she wed her husband. Her only stipulation was that he make love to no other woman during their arrangement. She hadn't even known he was a stripper when she was initially referred to him, and so she made no claims on that part of his life. Plea-sure didn't bother to fill her in.

Pleasure had been hesitant, but he couldn't deny that her generous stipend and the rent-free apartment left him with plenty of time on his hands. Not wanting them to become too idle and serve as the devil's playground more than they already did, he decided to enroll in college. Being involved with Smyth had opened up possibilities to him that the hunt for pussy had blocked from his vision for himself. Plus she was decent enough in bed—a bit restrained and seemingly afraid to break a real sweat. No Assefa by any means.

As he unlatched her bra with one move of his finger, Pleasure forced himself not to think of Assefa. It had been a year since he walked out of her house, and he had not been back, just like he said. The blow to her ego—or maybe a testament to the skill she finally acknowledged—had led to her blowing up his phone and even changing her number several times to trick him into picking up.

“Baldwin was asking questions about the apartment,” Smyth said, turning to face him.

He took in her ebony beauty and wished she hadn't gotten such large implants for her slender frame. It was all very Barbie-like and not to his liking—not enough to keep his dick from getting hard, but definitely not his preference in women.

“I told him I was renting it out for five grand,” she said in between soft whimpers as he massaged her buttocks and kissed her collarbone.

Pleasure didn't give a damn what she told her husband. The ins and outs of their marriage and the lies needed to maintain the façade were not his concern.

“So if he comes—”

“Do
you
want to cum?” Pleasure asked as he swung her up into his arms.

Smyth nodded.

“Good.”

With that said, he carried her into the master bedroom and delivered on his promise.