Chapter 17
My head was down as I stepped off the elevator, my keys and mail in one hand, a bag of takeout ramen in the other. I really wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, so I damn near screamed when I looked up to see two big bodies blocking my front door. At first, I couldn’t tell who it was, but after I got my bearings, I realized it was BG—Ishmia’s only male bodyguard—and some dude I’d never seen before.
“Man, why y’all blocking my door?” I said, feeling frazzled as fuck but trying to sound unbothered.
“My apologies for startling you, Mr. Rapp. We’re here on behalf of The Don, of course,” BG informed me in his thick, West Coast accent.
“Of course,” I repeated sarcastically.
“She has asked that I give you this communicate.” BG held out an envelope to me.
Communicate? Who says shit like that?I thought the words, but I damn sure didn’t say them to his big ass.
“I took the envelope from him. “Who’s this?” I asked, nodding at his companion.
“This is Moby, sir, a new addition to the security team, an underboss, if you will,” BG supplied.
An underboss? The fuck?
“Okay, well, thanks for delivering this,” I said, holding the envelope up. “Can y’all move so I can get inside my crib?”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to read the dispatch right now, Mr. Rapp,” BG said. “Per The Don’s orders.”
“Out here?” My eyes were about to pop out my head. They were taking the whole mafia theme too damn far!
BG nodded. “Yes, out here, signore.”
Sighing, I opened the envelope and pulled the letter out. It read:
Orlando,
I’m still working, but I need to see you. No need to pack a bag. I got you.
-Ishmia
My first thought upon reading it was why didn’t this woman just text me? Then I decided to text her right there where I stood in the corridor with her goons watching me. Then I thought, fuck it, I’ll call her.
So, I did.
“Hey, you on the jet?” was how she answered.
“The jet? Why you ain’t just call me? Why all this covert shit with your bodyguards?”
“Oh, I thought this would make it more fun, romantic.”
“Romantic? How?”
“I don’t know. Are you coming, though?”
I blew out a breath and said, “Yeah.”
* * *
The jet was nice—the flight, quiet. I had no idea where I was going and didn’t bother to ask. It didn’t matter. As strange as the whole thing was, I was excited to see her, to spend time with her. It was late May, I hadn’t seen her in weeks, and before I knew it, the summer would be over, training camp would begin, and I wouldn’t have the free time I currently had to spend with her. So, yeah…I got on the damn jet.
Almost five hours later, we landed at a private airfield near L.A. which led me to believe I was being taken to her home. I can’t lie and say I wasn’t excited about that, but as it turned out, the SUV stopped at an industrial building. Again, I didn’t bother asking where we were. I just let the two big guys whisk me from the vehicle into the building where we walked through a long hallway. When we made it to a huge metal door, I could hear a faint bassline, and when BG opened the door, a burst of sound hit me—Bambina’s Icy Girl. There she was, her and about five other women performing the familiar choreography from the Icy Girl video in a huge space that looked out of place in this building. Shiny white vinyl floor, a single wall of mirrors with a barre—a dance studio.
I was directed to take a seat on a sofa in the back of the room that obviously didn’t belong there—where I found my attention glued to the woman that made my damn heart flutter, a woman I’d been intrigued by for years only to find out she ran deeper than I imagined.
There were other people in the room, people I’d later learn were choreographers, music directors, etcetera, and their attention was on her, too, waiting for her direction as she stopped and started the dance rehearsal several times. Ishmia was rare in that choreography was a big part of her shows. Most rappers—male or female—weren’t known for dancing. This was one of the things that set her apart. I was honestly in awe of this version of her, the analytical, detail-oriented side, the Ishmia that was easily frustrated with anything short of perfection as she advised the dancers of the mistakes they were making. She probably knew that dance better than the person who created it for her.
Amazing.
And sexy as fuck.
I wasn’t sure if she knew I was there and was acting like she didn’t or if she hadn’t noticed me, but I’d enjoyed two hours of watching her work before she came to me, face flushed, sweat ringing the neck of her t-shirt—breathtaking.
She wore a grin and those damn sunglasses as she approached me. I stood, returning her grin.
When she was within my reach, she softly said, “I’m about to do something that’ll land us in all the blogs. You okay with that?”
“I told you. I’m a big boy, baby,” I quietly replied. “I fucking stay ready.”
“Don’t I know it,” she purred before jumping into my arms and wrapping her thighs around me as she kissed me like she’d lost something in my mouth. I held her tightly to me, feeling like I’d just filled a hole inside of me that I didn’t even know existed.
Once the kiss ended, I said, “I missed you, too.”
She giggled. “Everyone’s looking at us, aren’t they?”
I glanced around the room to see all eyes on us. “Correct.”
“Well, since I have their attention…” she whispered, before shouting, “That’s a wrap for tonight, everyone! Thank you and see you tomorrow.” We were still in the same position as she spoke.
In a matter of seconds, the only people in the room were me, her, and her two bodyguards, to whom she directed, “Can you guys give us the room, please?”
Wordlessly, the two men left.
“Put me down, Orlando. I wanna show you something,” she said to me.
“What if I don’t wanna put you down?” I whined.
She laughed. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”
“A’ight,” I said begrudgingly. “And we need to talk,” I added.
On her feet, she agreed, “Yes, sir.” Then she was on her knees before me, hastily pulling my basketball shorts and underwear down. When I say my dick jumped to attention, I am not exaggerating. That motherfucker was hard in a zeptosecond. She held it in her hands, first licking the head before literally swallowing it.
“Fuck!” I grunted. “I been on that jet. I know my balls musty, I—got damn, Ish-me-uhhh!” I whisper yelled.
She didn’t stop, pause, yield, nothing. She just continued showing me that hopping on that jet was most definitely the right decision. She sucked, slurped, licked, all while jacking me off with her soft hand, and I floated while simultaneously fighting not to scream like a bitch. This woman was an expert at this shit, and I almost had to muzzle myself to keep from asking how she’d perfected dick sucking because did I really want to know? Did I really care?
Absolutely the-fuck not.
“Ohhh, baby…baby, I’m gonna bust!” I hissed.
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, grasping my ass and pushing me deeper into her throat. That was it. The next thing I knew, I was gripping my own ass, jerking and blowing air through my teeth as she swallowed my poor, unsuspecting unborn children.