and made out with Kent.”
“Just made out?” he asked, arching a questioning brow. “You didn’t sleep with him?”
“Some kissing and heavy petting. That’s as far as it went. But that fifteen minutes sure made life at work hell for months.”
“Was he pissed he didn’t get more?”
“Not so much. He took a different girl home. And a different one the following week. But our working relationship was uncomfortable. Strained. As I see it, JJ, unless you’re thinking of marrying her and living happily–ever–after, it can only end two ways. Both badly.”
Rebecca didn’t speak for a moment, then added, “JJ, mess with a chick you work with and she could sue your ass for sexual harassment. Mess with a client and it could end your career. Just make sure the shot–of–leg is worth it.”
“Humph.” He hadn’t been thinking about marriage. He waited for the usual shudder of distaste, when thinking about being tied down by a ring round his finger. His typical reaction, but it didn’t come. What the hell? Sure he was getting older, but was he really contemplating settling down?
Nah…
But when the time came, it’d be the cherry–on–top to have a fly girl with a tight pussy that clung to his dick, and cried out mewing sounds as he thrust her toward climax.
But what if she lived as sassy as she’d walked away?
What if it had been Kat, would that mean every single article she’d written had a different man she’d fucked? Was this her MO? The way she’d inspired horniness from the men who read her articles and jerked–off?
Disgusted even thinking about it, Jamal stood. “I’m feeling you. No mixing business and pleasure.” He forced down the bile that’d risen in his throat. Couldn’t be the way his client worked. Not his Kat.
“Like oil and vinegar.”
“But oil and vinegar work well on salads.”
Rebecca laughed, then asked with a wink, “You planning on tossing salad?”
Heat spread across his face and a pulse ticked through his cock with a vivid image of smooth caramel skin covering a nice round ass. He cleared his throat and moved toward the door. “Naa, I’m planning on getting out of here. It’s late.”
Rebecca glanced at the golden and silver watch circling her wrist. “You still meeting my friend, Tonya, for dinner?”
Damn! Jamal had been so preoccupied with Kat and his dick–sprung fling, he’d forgotten about the blind date that Rebecca had set up for him. Again. Calling him a good catch, she was always fixing him with one of her friends. So far nothing worth mentioning relationship wise, though several had been worth the price of dinner. They provided dessert.
“Yeah.” Too late to cancel. “I’d better go. And, Bec, thanks for listening.”
“No problem, JJ. Let me know how it goes with Tonya. You’re going to thank me.” She smiled wide at him, added a little finger wave before turning her attention back to gathering her things.
Walking down the hall, Jamal attempted to clear his mind from the lingering thoughts of juicy thighs and shoulda–kissed lips. Attempting to get rid of his erection before Tonya mistook it for her. Trying to muster a little excitement about his date, he headed to fetch his briefcase and keys.
The room was dark, a haze of lust mingled and swayed with the pounding rhythm thumping from the surrounding speakers. “What the hell am I doing here?” Jamal asked himself, standing just a few strides in the front door of The Night Kitty. His dick needed pussy—that’s what, he realized, adjusting the half–hard flesh that’d been flaccid all night.
Until he’d gotten close enough to this bar that he could actually taste need. Could almost imagine the scent of sex. Of her.
And if there was a chance she’d be there, where–the–hell–else would he be?
Shoving away minor fragments of guilt for skipping out of his date with Tonya early, Jamal narrowed his eyes and focused on the wild thrusting movements of the dancing and grinding couples, half praying he wouldn’t find her there tangled up and simulating fucking with another man.
The other half praying she would be and interested in getting freaky with him again—anything to ease the blue–balls of wanting her for the last seven days. Seven cold shower mornings.
A Snoop Dogg remake of Slick Rick smoothly took over the pulse of the music just as cleverly as his Fly–Girl honey had taken over his fantasies. Oh, yeah, he was pussy–whooped after all and didn’t even know the hottie’s name.
He might well as be a tongue–wagging puppy. Where his pussy was, he’d follow.
Hell, he’d given up the sure bet of hitting it tonight with Tonya. She’d been a give–it–up–girl. She’d been attractive enough. Into him. But he hadn’t been interested in her not–so–subtle suggestions of all the sweetness she could give. He hadn’t been into it.
Instead all through their casual conversations, Jamal’s thoughts drifted away from his date and back to the bar where he’d hooked–up with the woman he’d much rather be with.
Though he’d intended on heading home after dropping Tonya off, he’d steered his Escalade down the streets, taking the route that would lead him to the nightclub. Here. He’d even driven by twice before he’d parked and come inside. The lure of her strong. Oh, yeah, baby. Strong enough to entice him here on the memory of passion. Ecstasy.
Pushing his way through the rotating hips and swinging arms, Jamal worked his way to the long, dark wooden bar, backlit with small lights that illuminated a few dozen top–shelf bottles of liquor.
All the stools taken, he found a narrow section and eased in, holding up a hand to get a bartender’s attention. A light–skinned brotha glanced his way, a wide, knowing grin spreading across his face. He moved closer, lifting his chin and arching a brow. “What can I get you?” he asked, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the bass boom and the buzz of sexual energy.
“Beer. What do you have on draft?”
“You’re not drinking alone are you? You’re not having what she had?” he asked, his I–know–what–and–who–you–came–here–looking–for grin now reaching his hazel eyes.
Jamal knew the she—the sex–pot—the bartender was referring to, but he couldn’t help the question from slipping from his lips. “She?”
He laughed, slanting his head toward the back exit sign. The back door leading to the alley. “Yeah. She.”
Jamal turned away from the bar, again his gaze fixing on the crowd. “Is she here tonight?”
“I haven’t seen her.”
“You ever seen her before?”
“Can’t say that I have. Have you?” The light–hearted taunt was soothed by sliding Jamal a frozen glass mug filled with a dark beer.
Taking a long pull of the
