Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
TAKIRA
My head is buzzing, and I haven’t even had a drop of liquor.
My brain is overloaded with names and connections and relationships.
When Lotus invited me on this trip, she said it would be a few close friends, which is technically true.
There are just so many powerful personalities in one room.
Rarely do I feel intimidated. I move in some rarefied circles from time to time in my line of work and rub up against entertainment industry elite, but everyone here is at the top of their game somehow.
Banner and Jared, a power couple, two elite sports agents.
Kenan and Lotus, obviously. Her, one of the buzziest names in fashion; him, a basketball legend, guaranteed first-round Hall of Famer with business enterprises all over the world.
August and Iris. Him, a franchise player, one of the best in the League right now. Apparently Iris is becoming a force in her own right, handling huge accounts with their sports agency, Elevation.
Adding to the bad-assery, Lotus’s close friends and business partners Billie and Yari are here with their boyfriends.
Kenan’s sister Kenya, a WNBA player, is here with her new wife, Jade, who apparently is a songwriter and producer and cousin to Grip, one of the greatest lyricists of our generation.
So, yeah. It’s a lot. They’re a lot.
The food was fantastic. The conversation—stimulating, intelligent, hilarious.
The best time I’ve had over a meal in…maybe ever.
Naz’s friends are incredible, and it’s obvious he cares about them as much as they care about him.
They were accepting and kind, though extremely curious.
I wouldn’t get this many questions on Jeopardy.
“I need a drink,” I tell Naz, glancing around the emptying dining room.
“Then let’s get you one.” He walks us over to the bar, and I ask the bartender to surprise me. I don’t particularly care what I drink right now, as long as it takes this edge off.
“Didn’t want to drink much during dinner,” I tell Naz. “I had to keep a clear head for the inquisition.”
“Ugh.” He groans but grins. “My friends are nosy.”
“They probably just want to make sure I’m not a ball bunny, or whatever you guys call those women who wait in the tunnel offering you ass after games.” I nudge him with my shoulder while the bartender prepares my drink.
“Ball bunnies?” He lifts both brows.
“Oh, please. A man fine as you? I’m sure you get your share.”
“You think I’m attractive?”
I tip up to whisper in his ear, “Would my panties be in your pocket if I didn’t?”
“Here you go,” the bartender says, offering me an amber-colored drink before Naz has the chance to respond with anything other than a heated stare.
“This is delicious,” I say after a sip. “What is it?”
“It’s a Genoa.” He offers Naz one, too. “Mediterranean drink in honor of our journey. Gin, grappa, sambuca, dry vermouth with an olive. Glad you like it.”
“You guys keeping all the good liquor to yourselves?” Kenya asks, rising from the dining room table.
She looks like a softer version of Kenan, tall and lean with locs hanging past her shoulders. She and Jade are newlyweds and have been stuck to each other’s sides all night. It’s sweet how they’re even now holding hands…with twined fingers!
“You’ve had enough,” Jade mumbles as they cross the room to us. “You know how your ass gets.”
“Once! You cry once after a bottle of tequila,” Kenya laughs. “And your wife never lets you live it down.”
“Nah.” Jade runs a hand over her neat cornrows. “It’s also that jet lag I’m worried about. Gin and jet lag—not a good look for you.”
“What we need is some fresh air,” Kenya says. “It’ll clear my head. Everybody’s up on deck. You guys coming?”
The look Naz rolls over me is molten, and even my fast tail feels self-conscious under it.
“I think they want to be alone,” Kenya says, her voice sing-song and teasing.
“No, we’ll come,” I say, quirking one brow in challenge. He thought he could edge me? See how he likes being put on hold.
“Sure,” Naz agrees instantly, mocking me with a toast of his Genoa.
When we get up to the deck, I’m glad we came.
The whole group is up here, and the lights strung along the ship glow, casting a romantic spell over everyone.
With the breeze whipping dresses and hair and cooling heated cheeks, we all line up at the rail and lean into the sea spray.
Under moonlight, we sip our drinks, weaving in and out of conversations with each other and with our partners.
It’s a perfect evening, but like Jada suggested, jet lag starts kicking in, and after an hour, I slump my back against Naz’s wide chest, barely able to stand.
“You’re tired,” he whispers, his lips brushing the sensitive skin at my throat.
“Maybe a little bit,” I sleep-slur, clutching the powerful forearms wrapped around my waist.
“Hey, guys,” he calls to his friends—some still at the rail, some lying on the lounge chairs together by now. "This one’s exhausted and jet lagged. I’mma take her to her room.”
“See you tomorrow,” Iris says, standing and crossing over to us. “We’re so glad you’re here.”
“Yeah.” Lo walks up beside us, tugging Kenan behind her. “Next time, you come and leave Naz at home.”
“Whatever,” Naz says, shaking his head. “We out.”
We board the elevator to take us to the lower deck where our cabins are located.
I lean against one wall, and he leans against the other, watching me, unsmiling.
My heart picks up speed at the intensity of his stare.
When the elevator dings, signaling we’ve reached our floor, he pulls my panties out of his pocket and holds them up. “You have to answer for these.”
“What?”
“You think you can keep me hard all night without some form of retribution?”
“I don’t—”
The elevator doors open, and he gently pushes me through them and into the small waiting area.
“Run,” he says, that predator’s glaze over his eyes.
It takes half a second for my flight instinct to kick in. I take off down the corridor, glad I’ve been wearing heels my whole life, and I run in them as easily as I do barefoot.
“Naz!” I screech, laughing, adrenaline pumping as his heavy footsteps gain on me. I know it’s a game, but the heat I just saw in his eyes, the erection tenting his pants—they send danger signals to my nervous system. Even if the only danger I’m in is of getting fucked all night.
I round the corner, my room in view, when one stone-hard arm encircles my waist and snatches me up. I’m five nine and thick with it. It’s not often I’m “snatched up” like I weigh nothing, but he literally carries me under his arm, and my legs dangle in the air.
“Got you,” he murmurs, slowly lowering me to the floor and pressing my front to the door. “Open it.”
His heat at my back, his dick pressing into me, his breath in my hair. It’s so much, I mis-enter the code for the door three times before it swings open. The bedside lamp casts a faint glow over the room. The bed has been turned down, and it invites me to lower my weary body onto the cool sheets.
Still behind me, Naz splays his hand over my stomach and drifts lower, pressing into the juncture of my thighs through my dress.
“Are you really not wearing underwear?” he asks, his voice gruff and maybe a little hopeful.
I turn to face him, walking backward until my knees hit the bed, and I lie down, allowing the dress’s feathery hem to spray around the tops of my thighs, barely hiding the truth between my legs.
I spread just the tiniest bit for him but not enough for him to know for sure.
With an impatient sound, he walks over, drags me to the edge of the bed so my legs hang over the side, and goes down on his knees.
He eases the dress up the last few inches until the cool air hits my bare, wet pussy.
“Shit, Kira.” A frown wrinkles the thick line of his brows. “Is that a—”
“Clit clamp,” I say, widening even more so the Swarovski crystal winks at him from the shadows between my thighs. “Yeah.”
He swallows audibly, his hand hovering over my naked flesh from the waist down. “You wore it for me?”
“I think I’m probably gonna get a lot more out of it than you are.” I laugh. “I’ve been wearing it all night, so when you take it off, all the blood will rush to my clit, and it’ll hurt like a motherfucker, but it will also feel incredible. So…it’s for both of us really.”
I’ve worn this before, and when men see it, they usually dive in right away, eager for something they see as illicit and novel.
Not Naz. His stare locks on to the space between my legs for long moments before he runs his palms behind my knees and then up my thighs.
He repeats this motion over and over again, kneading the muscles of my legs, skimming my calves, dragging his short nails over the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, all the while getting maddeningly closer, but never close enough to where I want to feel him most. My body starts to move compulsively, in synch with the pressure, with the motion of his hands, rolling under his palms. One of his fingers skims the lips of my pussy, and I jerk.
My nerves are drawn tight with anticipation now, and I’d take any touch right there.
He lowers his face between my legs, and I stretch open for him shamelessly, as wide as my legs will go.
“Naz, please.” I hate the begging in my voice, but I’m so wet and needy.
“Tell me,” he says, not looking away from my pussy. “What do you want?”
My hips are pumping, and I reach behind my neck to untie the halter. My breasts spill free, and I cup one of them. His eyes snap up, and his breathing harshens as I roll my nipple.
“I can do this for myself, you know,” I say, sliding one hand between my legs.