Man Swappers (17 page)

He loops his hand through my hair, yanks my head back, and looks me in the eyes. “Whose whore are you?”

“Yours,” I tell him. He leans in, and kisses me on the mouth. I open it to him. His tongue is hot; it fills my mouth. My cunt explodes as he sinks to his knees and buries his face between my legs. My cum drips down my legs as he drags a finger along the length of my slit. He alternates between flicking my clit with his tongue and thumb while moving his fingers deep inside me. I lift
one leg and drape it over his shoulder, giving him full access. He does not accept it. Instead, he gets up and spins me around, pushing me up against the wall.

“Don’t...fucking move,” he warns. I hear the familiar sound of a condom wrapper being ripped open. It doesn’t take long before he is pressed up against my ass, grinding; his covered cock slicing into its crack.

My pussy whimpers. I whimper. I have a yearning to feel his cock inside of me. Craving him buried deep into the warmth of my wetness; wanting to cum hard and heavy and loud. “Fuck me,” I demand, beg, with pleading eyes. He is doing this to me; taking my control from me. And I am letting him.

I push back against him.

He bites down on my neck.

I moan. Push back against him, again. “Fuck me.”

“Not yet,” he tells me. “You’re my whore. I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready.” I thrust my bottom lip forward into a pout. Defiantly, I stand up on the tips of my toes and try to ease myself onto his dick. He yanks me by my hair. “Oh, you want this dick, hunh? You think you can just take it; don’t you, whore?” He wedges his knee against my thigh and forces my legs open wider. He jabs the head of his cock into my opening. “Is this what you want?”

I let out a moan. My hips jut, slowly winding to capture all of him. “Yes. Fuck me.”

He jabs the mouth of my pussy, again, then pulls out. “Where you want it?”

I am shaking with desire. “In my pussy, in my ass. I don’t care. Wherever you want to put it; just
FUCK
meeeeeeee.” He steps away from me, tells me not to move. I glance over my shoulder, watch him as he walks over to the tray on the table. Watch him as he digs his hand into the plastic bag and scoops out a handful of half-melted ice.

“One good turn deserves another,” he says, walking back over to me with ice water dripping through his fingers. My body tenses in anticipation. He cups my right titty and shoves his cock into my pussy, hard—pushes it in all the way until I cry out; pain and pleasure escaping from the back of my throat. I press my ass into him, spread my legs. I want him. Oh how I want him! “I’m going to fuck you until you pass out, whore,” he says in my ear; his words harsh and raspy. He pulls out, yanks me by my hair, pulling me away from the wall. “Bend over.”

I bend over.

He slaps my ass, hard. Slaps it again. Sharp stings pulsate to my clit. “Pull open your ass.”

I pull it open. And he rams his dick into the back of my pussy, pushing what’s left of the dripping ice into my asshole. He is rough and determined. I squirm and yelp.

“Don’t run now,” he says, stuffing my ass. “Take what you give.” I let out a load moan. My heated pussy gets hotter as the ice freezes and numbs the walls in my ass. The contrasting sensations drive me over the edge.

“Oh yes...uhhhhh...fuuuuuccccck me...”

Like a wild animal, I grunt and growl and greedily gulp his dick in with my pussy, winding and pumping my hips. I reach in back of me. Pull him into me by the back of his thighs. Dig my nails into his flesh.

He hits my spot; he can feel it. I can feel it: an orgasm swelling. He continues pounding me, fucking me deep and hard and fast. I am losing myself to his rapid thrusts, losing myself to his sweet, merciless fucking. My body shakes. My knees wobble. And I come hard, wet, dripping; coating his cock, soaking his balls, my thighs, the floor.

Porsha
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T
he minute I walk through the door, I realize that I have no business being here. That being here could become potentially problematic—for whom, I’m not sure. But that is what I was feeling when Emerson called me this morning and asked me to meet him at the Sheraton for a
late
lunch. “I only wanna talk” is what he said to me.

“We can talk over the phone,” I shot back, replaying Persia’s conversation she said she’d had with him. She asked Paris and me to ignore his calls, and delete his number. Paris said she would. I was silently reluctant, but agreed to as well. A part of me did want to see him, shit...
and
fuck him again, too. Still, I resisted, fought to keep him at bay; partly out of loyalty to Persia for wanting to dismiss him, even though I wasn’t ready to. And I don’t think Paris wanted to either. Then again, it probably didn’t matter to her one way or another. She usually just goes with the flow. But, I wanted to keep him around a little longer. Shit, I like...uh,
liked
him. There was something different about him. Oh, well. Anyway, the three of us have a pact. Whatever men we each bring into our space, if we say they have to go, then we each respect it. And out they go. And we never, ever, go behind the other’s backs to see them, again; no matter what, especially when he isn’t someone one of us has brought into our circle ourselves.
That’s what we agreed upon. Well, that’s what Persia suggested we do. And, thus far, that’s what we’ve done. So hearing Emerson telling me he wanted to see me,
today
. That what he had to say was not something he wanted to say over the phone had sparked my curiosity, to say the least. Still, my allegiance to the pact forced me to push out, “I can’t.”

He sighed. “Yo, don’t give me that. You can do whatever you want. What, you scared of Persia finding out or something?”

I frowned. “I’m a grown-ass woman,” I snapped with attitude. “I do what I want, when I want. Persia is my sister. Not my keeper.”

“I can’t tell.”

“Think what you like,” I retorted.

“Well, then, let’s talk.”

“I’m listening.”

“Porsha, c’mon. You’ve known me for over seven months. Have I ever called you asking to see you alone?”

I thought about his question for a moment.
Mmmm. Now that I sit here and think about it, he’s never called me; only texted.
“No, I can’t say that you have.”

“Exactly. So all I’m asking for is an hour of your time. That’s it. Is that too much to ask?”

“Why can’t you take no for an answer, and leave it at that?”

“Why should I?”

“Look, Persia told us all about the chick you
feeling
, so what we need to talk about?”

“Listen. I don’t wanna get into this over the phone. I’ma be at the Sheraton over on Frontage Road at two. I wanna talk. That’s all I’m asking. At least hear me out. I’ll be there until three o’clock. If you don’t show up, then I won’t bother you again. Don’t let me down.”

“I’m not coming.” I told him flat out. And at the time those
words left my mouth, I meant them. Yet, here I am—sitting across from his sexy-ass at The Bar, sipping on my second drink two weeks after his phone conversation with Persia, staring into his dreamy eyes like I don’t have a care in the world.

“Sooooo,” I ask, eyeing him over the rim of my drink. “What’s so urgent that you needed to say it to me in person instead of telling me over the phone?”

He smiles, eyeing me back. “I wanted to see you.”

I frown. “You already said that.”

He leans forward, touches my hand with two gentle strokes of his fingers. “I’ve missed you.”

I tilt my head. “You’ve missed...
me?
Oh really?” I question, skepticism dripping from my tone.

He strokes my hand again. His touch feels good. “Yeah, I’ve missed
you.
”

I pull my hand away from his. “Since when, Em?”

“Porsha, I’ve always dug you.” I raise a brow. “No bullshit.”

He tells me that I’m the chick he’s been feeling. That he realized he was catching feelings for me four months ago, but had tried to ignore them; tried to push them aside. Tells me how, after nights of fucking my sisters and me, he would go home and lie in bed, thinking about me. Trying to figure out how he got so caught up in me. I sit here and stare at this fine-ass man as he shares this with me. As he tells me how much he thinks about me; how he had to distance himself from the three of us because it was becoming more difficult for him to sex the three of us and not feel uncomfortable. That for the last two months, anytime he was with us, he’d try hard to block out Persia and Paris and keep his focus on me. My kiss, my touch, the way I felt when he was inside of me. I almost fall out of my seat when he tells me he felt a connection to me the first time we kissed.

“I know you felt it, too,” he says, licking his lips with the tip of his tongue.

I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out how he knew that I had also felt it. There was something in that first kiss. The minute his lips had touched mine, then his tongue danced its way into my mouth, I felt myself get weak at the knees as a surge of something much greater than lust washed over me. But I dismissed the feeling. Well, made an earnest attempt to. But anytime he kissed me, that weak-at-the-knees kind of feeling would come over me, again. So most times I would avoid kissing him.

“Maybe I did; maybe I didn’t. At this point it doesn’t really matter. What does your girl have to say about all of this?”

“What? Have you not heard anything I’ve said? There is no
girl.
”

The way he emphasizes girl causes an alarm to go off in my head. I blink.
Ohmygod. I’ve sucked this nigga’s dick raw.

Yeah, but Persia’s licked all up in his ass. She would have definitely put him on blast if she suspected he liked tossing his ass up.

But he likes it licked.

So what? That doesn’t mean he’s into other men. Besides, he’s never asked to be plugged or fingered, so maybe not.

Yeah, but that doesn’t mean...

Ugh! Don’t tell me this nigga has been fudge-packing another nigga in his ass, instead.

Girl, stop! The way he slings that dick up in a pussy, there’s no way.

“Are you bisexual?” I ask, trying to shake these racing—okay, paranoid—thoughts out of my head. I keep my eyes on him, gauging his response.

He frowns, matching my stare. “
What?
Why would you ask me some crazy shit like that?”

“Well, the way you said ‘there is no
girl
’ as if you were telling
me in an underhanded kind of way that there
is
someone else, but it isn’t a female.”

“No, what I am telling you is that there is
no one
else; period. I mean, yeah, I was talking to someone for a minute. It wasn’t anything serious. I thought she would help keep my mind off you. But, it didn’t. It only made me think of you more. Don’t know how many times I was tempted to say, ‘fuck it’ and let things stay the way they were just so I could keep seeing you. But, I couldn’t. That shit was killing me.”

“So there’s no other chick?”

“No. No one.”

“Hmm. Well, you still haven’t answered the question.”

“What question is that?”

“Are you bisexual? I mean, if you are, it’s okay with me. Wait a minute. No, the hell it wouldn’t be. I’d be pissed the hell off at you for not telling us up front. But I still want to know. So are you or not?”

He shakes his head, smirking. His body language, his eyes... nothing shifts in a way that heightens my concern. “I’m from far that. Trust me. Never have; never will. I don’t knock anyone else’s flow. But that ain’t mine. There ain’t shit a nigga can do for me, aiight. So relax.”

I silently sigh, relieved. “Were you really in the Poconos doing construction or were you up there laid up with some broad?”

He keeps his eyes locked on mine. “Both.”

“So, is it
me
you miss, or the idea of still
fucking
me and my sisters?”

“I guess you’re still not hearing me. Or listening to a word I’ve said. Are you?”

“I heard you. So you’re telling me you didn’t enjoy my sisters and me tag-teaming the dick?”

He laughs. “Oh, wow...so that’s what y’all were doing,
tag-teaming
the dick?”

I laugh, too. “Don’t sit here and try to act like you don’t know. And you loved every minute of it.”

“Yeah, aiight; true-true. I’m not gonna front. Fucking the three of you was like...wow. How many cats get to fuck three fine-ass women, sisters no less, at the same time? And then for y’all to be triplets, identical at that.” He shakes his head, smiling. “We had some good times.”

“Yeah,” I say, finally pulling my hand back, “we did. And now you’ve been cut from the team.”

“Hold up. I wasn’t cut from jack. I told Persia I wasn’t beat anymore.” I raise a brow. Tell him that’s not what she said. “Listen, I don’t care what she said. I’m telling you what I told her.”

“Okay. And what did you tell her?”

“That I’m feeling someone. And I couldn’t keep fucking the three of y’all. Listen...” He pauses. I take a slow sip from my drink, waiting. “I ain’t gonna lie. Yeah, I miss that pussy. The three of y’all together are beasts. But I already told you. I
miss
you the most.” I laugh. “Yo, why you laughing? I’m—”

I put my hand up to stop him. “Em, don’t. You call me out the blue telling me all this. Let’s be honest here. My sisters and I are mirror images. When you look at one of us, you see all three of us, okay. So...how are you only missing me?”

“Yeah, true. The three of you are sexy as fuck. I can’t front. But, you know like I do that the three of you are very different, too. At first glance, you all definitely seem to be alike in every way. But if someone is around the three of you long enough they’ll notice that as much as the three of you are very much similar, y’all are equally different. Persia’s all dominate and controlling. Paris comes off like she’s reserved and innocent. And, then...”
He smiles. “There’s you—a mixture of the two. And you’re the sexiest, to me. Bottom line, I’m not interested in being back in
their
beds.”