Man Swappers (37 page)

I nod. Kiss him back. My pussy throbs with delight. Still, I want, need, more. His dick softens inside of me, slipping out. Desmond lifts up from me, shifts his body. I shift mine, lifting up from the sofa. I watch him as he removes the condom. I lick my lips. Drool gathers in the corners of my mouth. I want to drink him in. Want to roll his cum-filled condom into my mouth, then chew it like chewing gum. But I refrain from acting out my kinky thoughts.

Instead, I scoot up on my desk and spread my legs. I pat my clit. Caress my cunt. Desmond grins, licking his lips. “Come eat my pussy,” I whisper, leaning back on my forearm. He walks over to me, leans in, presses his lips to my clit, and kisses it, then licks it. I let out a soft moan. He darts his tongue in and out of my slit, flapping it along the seams every so often.

“You like that?” he asks in between licks.

“Oh yessss…” His long tongue pushes its way deep inside of me, chin deep, it finds refuge in my slick cunt. He grunts and groans, lifting my hips up off the desk. “Yeah, like that,” I coax, helping him find his way back to paradise.

Porsha
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

“
D
on’t forget Damon is coming through this Friday for another
tune-up
,” Persia says, grinning as she flits about the kitchen, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. “He should be here around eight or so.” She rinses her breakfast plate and silverware, then drinks the remainder of her hazelnut coffee before rinsing out her cup and sticking it in the dishwasher along with the rest of her dishes. I watch as she maneuvers around the kitchen, wiping the counters, then the table. She’s so busy rattling on that she hasn’t noticed that I haven’t said a word. “Oooh, I can’t wait to ride that nigga’s back. My pussy juices at the thought.”

I grunt, finally acknowledging that I’ve heard what she’s said. “Mmmph, I forgot about him wanting to get that ass of his tore out the frame.”

She chuckles. “Girl, be nice. All you need to do is worry about being the good little dick sucker you are.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, I’m being nice, boo.”
And I’m gonna give him a nice, slow, wet dick suck, too.
Ugh. I’m such a damn contradiction when it comes to Damon. On one hand, I’m repulsed by the thought of him taking it in the ass. But, then on the other hand, I’m turned on by the thought of sucking his dick. He is so damn masculine. So damn hood. Between you and me, his cock
cream does seem so much thicker when his ass is being stuffed. But, after all the shit I’ve talked, Persia will never hear that from
me
. “Don’t worry. You know sucking a dick has never been a problem for me.”

“Well…”

“Whose dick you getting ready to suck?” Paris asks, walking into the room. Her silk robe is open, revealing the pink teddy she’s wearing.

I laugh. “It figures that would be the only part of the conversation you heard.”

She gives me the finger.

“We’re talking about Damon,” Persia informs her. “He’ll be here Friday. And Porsha was just saying how she can’t wait to suck the nut outta his dick.”

I laugh.

“Oooh goodie,” Paris says sarcastically, clapping. “I get to see Porsha do what she does best while he gets fucked by you. What a treat.”

“Whatever, smart-ass,” Persia says, grabbing her car keys. “Make sure you’re home, too. We wouldn’t want to disappoint him.” Paris asks her where she’s off to so early. She tells her she’s flying out to Atlanta to meet with a potential client who’s interested in having her design their company’s website, and meet their marketing needs. “It’s a new research development company. I’m hoping to seal the deal before I get back tonight.”

“Good luck,” Paris and I say in unison.

“Thanks.”

“Oh, before I forget,” Paris says, taking a plate out of the cabinet, then scooping eggs out of the pan on the stove onto her plate. “I need one of you to cover the boutique tomorrow for me. Mom has invited me to drive out to the Dutch Country with
her.” She pulls out two slices of multigrain bread, then drops them into the toaster. She tells us how, since that incident at the diner, Mom has been really trying. “When we drove out to the outlets last month,
she
, of all people, apologized, which both of you know is no easy feat for her.”

I glimpse over at Persia and see her rolling her eyes up in her head.

I chuckle. “So basically what you’re saying is, once again, she’s manipulated you. Made you feel guilty for your despicable outburst toward her. ’Cause you know she’ll never let you live it down.”

She huffs indignantly, placing a hand up on her hip. “She hasn’t manipulated me into doing anything. What makes you say that?”

“Umm, let’s see. You call her to apologize, and she turns around and invites you to spend the day shopping with her, and
you
were the one driving
her
. Now, she’s inviting you out to the Dutch Country—to drive
again
. Hmmm…sounds like manipulation to me. She knows how you are.”

Paris tilts her head, placing a hand up on her hip. “And what is that supposed to mean, ‘she knows how you are’? Explain that to me.”

“She knows you won’t say no to her. It’s not in your blood; especially since she knows how badly you want to have a better relationship with her.”

Paris twists her face up. “And what’s so wrong with that? I’d think you’d want to have a better relationship with her, too.”

“I do,” I admit.

Persia grunts, interjecting. “I find it interesting that she’ll apologize to you for shit she says, but not once has she opened her mouth to apologize to me or to Porsha, for that matter, for anything offensive that has come out of her mouth to us. And she
had ample opportunity the day we were all at brunch to do so. She didn’t even call to see if Porsha or I wanted to drive out to Pennsylvania with her. No, she asked you.”

“Oh, please. You’re purposefully antagonistic toward her,” Paris defends. “You like getting into confrontations with her. Look at how you make it your business to smear what we do in her face every chance you get. And she didn’t ask either of you if you wanted to go because she knows both of you would’ve said no.”

Persia glances at the clock. “Oh, please, now you’re sounding exactly like her. Let’s face it. You’re her favorite. Always have been, always will be.”

“I am not,” Paris says indignantly. “She loves all three of us equally.”

Persia pushes out a sarcastic laugh. “Please, you don’t even believe that.”

Paris sighs. “Okay, so she shows it differently. But she’s never done anything extra for me. We’ve all always gotten the same things.”

Persia rolls her eyes again. “It’s not about material things. It’s about the attention and praises she always gave you growing up.” Paris disagrees. And I’m not sure if she’s in denial, or extremely blind to the truth. But the truth is our mother has always favored her over Persia and me. And that’s mostly due to her mild temperament. Persia has always been less tolerated because…well, she’s always been the most difficult. She and Mom have always butted heads. But, of course, I don’t say anything. I sit back and let the two of them duke this one out. Paris remains adamant that she has never been favored. “Whatever, girlfriend, I’m outta here. I have a plane to catch.”

Finally I decide to comment. “Well, regardless of whether you were favored or not, after that stunt Mom pulled at the diner, I
don’t know why you’d want to put yourself through it. Besides, you said she started getting on your nerves when you spent the day with her up at the outlets.”

“Well, true. But this time, I’ve made it very clear what I expect from her. And, like I said, she’s really been trying.”

Persia grunts. “Mmmph, well, let her know she has two other daughters she should be
trying
with. But, let me ask you this, since you seem to be all up on her bandwagon these days. What did she actually apologize for? Does she admit to any of the nasty shit she’s said to us? Has she apologized for taking out her anger toward all of the women who she believes, in her twisted mind, wronged her by fucking Dad on us?”

Paris blinks. “Well, no; not really. But she did say she’d try to watch what she says.”

I clap my hands together. “Bravo, bravo…once again she takes no responsibility for her actions. You already know, no matter how hard she
thinks
she’s trying, she’s going to say something to get under your skin. It’s what she does. She can’t help herself.”

Persia rolls her eyes. “Oh, puhhhleeze. That woman can help herself if she wanted to.”

“I’m not gonna let her get under my skin. Not this time.”

“You need to cut your losses, honey. And feed her with a longhandled spoon, like I do.”

“I’m not gonna stop trying,” Paris says, eyeing Persia as she pours pomegranate juice into her travel mug. “She’s still our mother.”

Persia huffs. “Don’t remind me.”

“Whatever,” Paris says dismissively. “So which one of you heifers is gonna cover the boutique for me?”

“I can’t,” I tell her. “I have appointments back to back up until eight o’clock tomorrow tonight.”

Paris looks over at Persia. “What about you?”

She huffs. “Well, I guess it’ll have to be me,” she says over her shoulder as she’s walking out of the kitchen. “I don’t know why you don’t hire someone part-time. It’s not like you can’t afford it.”

Paris follows behind her. I overhear her saying, “Now why should I waste money on hiring someone I might not be able to trust when I have two beautiful sisters who I trust with my life?”

“Oh, please. You’re such a kiss-ass.”

I hear Paris laugh. “Love you, too, sweetie. Go seal that deal, then bring ya ass back here safe and sound.” A few minutes later she shuffles back into the kitchen. “I really hope she lands that contract.”

“Me too,” I say, getting up to put my dishes in the dishwasher. “She’s been working her ass off. She’s good at what she does and no one deserves it more than she does. Knowing her, she will not board that plane back here until she has it in the bag.” She agrees. I glance up at the wall clock over the sink. It’s almost seven in the morning. “So what time are you going in today?” She runs her hands through her hair. Tells me she’ll probably leave around a quarter to nine. “Uhhh, then you might wanna get a move on it, Sweetie. You know it takes you almost two hours to get dressed.”

She waves me on. “Yeah, yeah, yeah; don’t remind me. I swear. Today I would love to lie around and do absolutely nothing. Ummm…so what are you doing today?”

I laugh. “Not working the store so you can lay around today, boo. That’s for sure.”

She sucks her teeth. “You’re such a bitch.”

“Yep. But you know I always have your back when I’m not swamped. But, in the meantime, I agree with Persia. You need to put an ad in the paper for a part-time assistant.”

The house phone rings. “I’ll think about it,” she says, walking over and picking it up from off the counter. She looks at the
caller ID. “Speaking of the devil; it’s Mom. I’m gonna put her on speakerphone.”
Great
, I think, rolling my eyes up in my head. “Hello, Mom.”

“Who’s this, Porsha?”

“No, it’s Paris.”

“Oh good; I was hoping you’d answer. I called your cell but it went straight to voicemail. Why isn’t your cell on?”

Paris frowns. “Mom, what difference does it make if my cell is off or not? You called the house. So, is everything okay?”

“Okay, Paris. Let’s not turn this into another mess. I didn’t call to argue with you. Where are your sisters?”

Paris looks over at me. I wave her on. “Persia left for a meeting. And Paris—”

“Hello, Mother,” I interject.

“How are you, Porsha?” I tell her I’m good. “I don’t know why you have me on speakerphone. You know I don’t like being on that thing.”

Paris shakes her head. “Well, Mom, if you call the house phone, you’re gonna be put on speaker.”

She huffs. “Well, then let me make this brief. What time are you going to be ready to head out to the Dutch Country tomorrow?” Paris glances over at me. I sit back in my seat, folding my arms, smirking. Last month it was the outlets in New York. Now this month she’s traipsing out to Lancaster, Pennsylvania to hit up the Tanger Outlets. I’m convinced the woman is becoming an outlet junkie in her old age. “I’d like to get an early start so we can get up there as soon as the stores open. I want to beat the crowds. Afterward, we can have an early lunch, then spend the rest of the day relaxing before heading back in the morning.”

“And we’ll need to leave
early
in the morning, too. I need to be back by eleven to open the boutique.”

“Oh, that’s fine. But why aren’t your sisters covering for you?” Paris tells her Persia will cover tomorrow, but she still needs to be back to open on Thursday.

“Well, what about Porsha?”

“Mother, I can’t. I’m booked all this week. Paris already knows if I could, I would.”

“Oh, I see. Well, Paris, maybe you should think about hiring someone.” I smirk. Paris glances over at me, giving me the finger.

I laugh.

“I’ll give it some thought. Look I gotta get ready for work. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“You never said what time you were going to be here.”

“Like around eight.”

“Make it seven,” she has the audacity to say, “to make sure we’re there the minute the doors open.”

I snicker. Persia sighs. “Mom, I’m the one driving. And I will be picking you up at your house at eight o’clock; period.”

“Well, I—”

“Eight o’clock, Mother,” Paris says sternly. “That gives us plenty of time.” I smile.
It’s about time she handles her,
I think, getting up to make myself a cup of white tea. I pour water into the kettle, then set it back on the stove, turning the burner on. “If that’s not good for you, then you can drive yourself.”

She huffs. “Fine, then. I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Good. I love you. Now you enjoy the rest of your day. I have to get ready for work.”

“Love you, too. You, too, Porsha.”