Chapter Nineteen #2
Cassius was beautiful, a knockout, towering six feet tall with sandy brown hair brushed back in a sharp upturned flip that rested on the base of her neck. She wore an orange linen skirt suit that hugged her perfect figure-eight shape.
Cassius was biracial. Her father was a white man and her mother Ethiopian. She was born and raised in Nigeria and then sent to school in London from the age of twelve. Her fair complexion, sexy British accent, and ever-present air of confidence were what drew people to her.
Kendrick took her hand in his and nearly wounded himself on the two-carat diamond on her ring finger. She pulled him toward her, leaned over the desk, and ran her tongue across his lips. “I know how much you like to be licked,” she said breathlessly.
Kendrick smiled nervously and all but snatched his hand from hers before stumbling backward and into his chair.
He hated what she did to him. He hated that he wanted her almost as much as he wanted what was in the black attaché case she carried.
The first time Cassius and Kendrick met was at a Lower East Side restaurant. He had been entertaining clients there but found himself unable to take his eyes off the stunning woman who watched him from the bar.
When he was done with dinner and had sent the clients on their way, he doubled back to the restaurant, took a seat next to her, and struck up a conversation.
He was flattered to know that she knew right off who he was. She commented on the articles she’d read and “kept” about him. “I’m a big admirer,” she’d said, leaning in and breathing into his cheek. “And I would do anything to be with you. Rich, successful black men turn me on.”
Kendrick was stunned and infatuated by her frank, no-nonsense approach.
“I have a suite at the Morgan. My room number is 204—you’re more than welcome to spend the night with me,” she said as she collected her purse to go.
“Is this a joke?” he’d asked, amused.
“Am I laughing?” Cassius said.
Kendrick, still believing this was all too good to be true, accompanied the woman to her hotel room and had a drink, a hit of Hades (which he had already been casually acquainted with), and the best sex he’d ever had in his life.
Afterward, Cassius slipped him a vial and told him that whenever he needed to make a purchase he should call her.
“Can I call for sex too?” he’d kidded.
“Maybe.”
Kendrick didn’t think that he would be calling Cassius for anything but sex. He wasn’t a junkie. But three days later, feeling down and out, he plucked her business card from his wallet and made the call.
It quickly became a habit, the drug and Cassius, but as time passed he craved only the Hades.
Cassius was just an afterthought and then not a thought at all, because during moments of clarity, Kendrick believed it was Cassius who’d turned him into the addict that he’d become, and he hated her for it.
“So business must be bad,” Kendrick said as he watched Cassius take her seat and cross her long legs. Her short skirt rose three more inches when she did, revealing a curvaceous thigh.
“Why would you say that, Kendrick?” Cassius asked, looking genuinely surprised.
“Well, you don’t usually make deliveries. What’s the matter, did you have to lay off the delivery man?” Kendrick teased.
“Oh, no…he is still with us. But you are such a special client that I thought, What the hell? And besides, it’s called excellent customer service.” She laughed a deep, throaty laugh that both excited and disgusted Kendrick.
“Yes, well, that’s very nice of you. I’m sure you’re very busy, so if you would just give me what I ordered, we can both get back to work.”
“You are quite the rude little boy, aren’t you?” Cassius’s eyes slanted and she slowly turned her head and looked at the door before turning back to him and whispering, “Does that door lock?” A mischievous grin covered her face.
“Of course it locks,” he heard himself say.
“So, we can maybe…” Cassius nodded toward the large brown leather sofa.
Kendrick shook his head no, but Cassius had already stood up and started to remove her jacket.
Kendrick watched, his objections stuck in the back of his throat, as Cassius tossed her jacket aside and then removed her blouse and then the cream-colored lace demi-cup bra. That she dropped into his lap.
Her breasts were large and firm, melonlike and just as sweet. He knew that for sure and licked his lips at the memory of it. Her nipples jutted out at him, beckoning to be sucked.
By the time Kendrick was able to will himself to stand, Cassius was wearing nothing but her six-inch Jimmy Choos.
His reasoning slowly coming back to him, he shot a look at the unlocked door and quickly crossed the room to it.
“Put your clothes back on, Cassius,” he demanded in a hushed voice.
“No,” she said simply as she strutted to the leather sofa on the opposite end of the room and stretched herself across it.
Kendrick eyed her, growing more excited by the moment.
Cassius threw one long leg over the back of the couch, while extending the other across the carpeted floor.
He could see everything—her vaginal lips, her bell. The soft pink flesh insides of her cunt were moist and reminded him of the polished conch shells that dotted the shores of the Bimini Islands.
He licked his lips.
Kendrick’s eyes went from Cassius to the attaché case and then back to Cassius.
“C’mon, Kenny baby, you know you want it,” she purred as she slid her ring finger up inside herself. A gasp escaped Kendrick when the two-carat diamond ring she was wearing on that same finger disappeared into the polished pink folds of her pussy.
He wanted it, all right—the “it” not necessarily Cassius’s cunt—but if he had to fuck her to get what he really wanted, then he would. At least I’m not no crackhead, sucking dick for a hit of rock, he told himself.
Kendrick turned the lock on the door, went to his desk, picked up the phone, and said, “Kayla, hold all my calls, and please don’t disturb me for anything.” He hung up and began to undress.