Man Swappers (43 page)

“I sure will. A girl’s gotta keep this body tight.”

“I know that’s right,” I said, waving her on. I watched as she walked out of the room, then plopped back down, covering my face with my sheets. And, yes, pissed and hurt that both of my sisters
have been keeping shit from me. I mean, really, we’re sisters. They should be able to trust
me
with everything. And keeping secrets shouldn’t be an option between us. It wasn’t when we were growing up. And it shouldn’t be now, but it is. Then there’s Paris. For the last three weeks, she hasn’t been acting herself. She seems… I don’t know, almost sad. Maybe sad isn’t the right word. But she definitely seems different, and very preoccupied.

I catch her in the kitchen sitting at the table eating a fruit salad. She seems lost in space. I ask if everything is alright. “Yeah, of course. I’ve been really tired lately; that’s all.”

“Are you sure that’s all? For the last few weeks, you haven’t seemed like yourself. I’m worried about you.”

She gives me a faint smile, shifting her eyes. “Thanks, but don’t be. It’s nothing serious; trust me. I’ll be fine. Like I said, I’ve been real tired lately.”

I walk over and give her a hug. “Well, if you want to talk about it, whatever it is—serious or not, I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

She nods, squeezes me tight. “Thanks. I know you are.” She looks at me; takes in my outfit, then glances down at my feet. She frowns. I’m wearing her grape python Gucci four-inch platform T-strap heels. “Hooker, are those my heels?”

“Yeah,” I say, profiling them for her. “I figured I’d break them in for you since they were still sitting waiting to be worn.”

She grunts. “Mmmph, whatever. Where you off to today in
my
shoes?”

I chuckle, shifting my eyes. I can’t stand looking at her at that moment. I hate the possibility, the probability, that her mood change might have something to do with her six-foot-something
secret
. The one I’ve been sneakily seeing behind her back. Yes, messy as it may be, it is inconsequential to me at this very moment.
I’m enjoying him. And he’s enjoying me. Well, he
thinks
he’s enjoying Paris, but that’s not the point. The point is she should’ve mentioned him to me. Should’ve told me he was off limits, but she didn’t. And now what I thought would be a few rounds of fucking, then sending him on his way, has turned into me wanting to spend more time with him, wanting to keep fucking him. I fuck him, suck him, give him my pussy and ass raw and have literally led him to believe that I’m Paris; that I want to be in an exclusive relationship with him. Truth is, I do. Well, okay, I’m lying. I simply want to keep fucking him. Fact is, I want to keep fucking Royce, too. I want them both.

I would’ve never thought in a million years, I’d be in this kind of predicament. Pretending to be one of my sisters has never been an issue for me. But trying to keep up this lie is becoming a bit more challenging the more time I spend with my—well, Paris’s, mystery man. The way he looks at me, touches me, holds me, and calls my…uh, Paris’s…name, leads me to believe he really cares about me. I mean her. But,
I
want him, too.

We’ve been talking on the phone and texting each other almost every day since the night I whispered my cell number in his ear. And I’ve been sneaking off to meet him down at the boutique late in the evening when I know Paris is already home. Or we’ve been fucking in hotel rooms. Then, in between fucking him, I’m still fucking Royce.

With Royce, what we share can’t go anywhere other than in the sheets. He’s my guilty pleasure. I’ve told him this. He fucks me good. I enjoy spending quality time with him in bed; that’s it. He’s too young for anything else. He still needs to find his way. He’s a damn waiter, for Christ’s sake! There’s nothing he can offer me besides that big-ass dick. And I make sure to fuck him at least once a week. And if it’s on a night that Paris’s mystery
man wants to see me, I suck mystery man’s dick real good, then let him stuff my ass. It feels so good in my ass. He’s the first man I’ve ever experienced creaming out of my ass with. But, he’s not as adventurous as I’d like him to be. I like tonguing a man’s ass. Like slipping my finger into his asshole, massaging his prostate. Mystery man isn’t open to that. Royce is. I like handcuffing and blindfolding men. I like being in control. Mystery man isn’t open to that. Royce is. Mystery man’s dick isn’t long and thick. Royce’s is. Still, I want them both.

“You’re dressed like you have a hot date or something.”

“I wish,” I say, moving around the kitchen. My cell buzzes. I pull it out of my bag. It’s a text from Mystery Man. U
STILL CUMMIN THRU
?

I quickly text back: YES!

I slip my phone back into my bag, opening a cabinet and pulling out a glass. I open the ’fridge and pour myself some pomegranate juice. Do anything to keep from looking into her eyes. “So where are you off to?” she asks.

“I have a new client I’m trying to snag,” I say, putting my glass to my lips, then gulping down my lie. I sit the glass in the sink. “I better get going.”

“Not that you need it, but good luck. I hope you reel him or her in.”

“Thanks. I think already have,” I tell her, grabbing my bag off the counter, then heading out the kitchen. She stops me in my tracks.

“Persia, when you covered for me down at the boutique, are you certain there weren’t any calls for me; from a man, in particular?”

My breath catches in my throat as I turn to face her. The moment of truth has presented itself. “No, not that I can recall,” I state evenly, keeping my gaze on hers. “I would’ve told you if
there had been. Why? I thought you asked me this already.”

She tilts her head, staring at me. “No reason; just checking.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I better get going,” I say, quickly turning around and walking toward the door.
I’m sorry, Sis,
I think, opening the door, then shutting it behind me. I hop in my car, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror.
I hope you’ll forgive me
.

Pain
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

F
orty minutes later, he’s spread eagle in the middle of his bed, finger-fucking my pussy while I lick around his balls and stroke his dick. Before he starts calling me
baby
and other mushy shit, I remind him how I want it: Slutty. Tell him I want it rugged, raw and rough. He grins. “I got you.”

“Call me a bitch,” I snap, yanking his balls.

He grunts, slapping my ass—
hard
. “Bitch…” The stinging shoots through my pussy to my clit. “Put that dick back in ya muthafuckin’ mouth.” He slaps my ass again. I feel my cream rising from the back of my pussy as I put my lips over the head of his dick, then start sucking; slowly at first, then fast and hard, sucking his pipe real greedy like. Slobbering and spitting all over it. Damn, his dick tastes so good. “Yeah, suck that shit,” he urges. “There’s nothin’ like a wet, sloppy dick suck wit’ a buncha spit. That’s how the fuck a slutty bitch is ’posed to suck a dick.” He thrusts his hips upward. “Suck the shit harder.” I rapidly bob my head up and down. Moan and groan. I smack and spit and gobble up his dick until my nose is mashed into his groin. The harder I slurp, the wetter my pussy gets. He stirs my insides with two fingers, twisting and plunging until my juices drip all over his hand. “Oh, shit. Wet-ass pussy. You a real greedy dick suckin’ freak, ain’t you? You ready to catch this nut?”

“Mmmm,” I moan, nodding my head. “MmmhmmMmmmhmmmm…”

He grabs me by the back of the neck. “Go all the way down on it.” I gag. “Don’t you throw up on my shit…” He slaps my ass again. I moan. “Take ya time, baby.”
What the fuck is he calling me that baby shit for? He and Paris deserve each other, with all this mushy shit!
“Breathe through ya nose…” I stifle a giggle as my throat relaxes. Pretending to struggle with sucking his fat dick only intensifies my horniness. Little does he know, sucking a dick under eight inches is a breeze. I feign a gag, then swallow until I have him all the way down in my throat. “Yeah, that’s it…oh, fuck… throat that shit…” I swallow; breathe through my nose. Gulp him down balls deep. Swallow again, then start bobbing my head, giving him the throat the way he wants it—tight and wet.

In one swift motion, I’m sucking his dick and shifting my body into the sixty-nine position, lowering my pussy down on his face. He inhales my scent. The sweet muskiness seems to make his dick harder. He licks and darts his tongue in and out of me. I’m moaning. He’s moaning. I rock and roll my body, grind my pussy down on his face.
Ohhhhhgod, this nigga eats pussy good,
I think, coming in his mouth. He licks my cream from around my swollen lips. Tells me to come up off of his dick and kiss him. I shift my body around and kiss him, sucking the rest of my sticky juice off of his lips and tongue.

I grind on his cock, smear my wet pussy all over the head. “I want you to fuck me,” I whisper into his ear, nibbling on his earlobe. “I wanna feel this fat dick in me…”

“Not until you finish suckin’ it,” he tells me, pinching my nipples. An inferno erupts in me, causing a wildfire to spread through me. I grind harder on his big mushroom head, causing my juices to shoot out of my pussy and coat his dick. “Now suck
my dick,” he says, pushing me down toward it. “I’m ready to bust this nut in your mouth.” I inch my way down his body, leaving a trail of kisses down his chest to his navel. I slip two fingers into my creamy snatch. Lock my lips around the head of his dick, grab it at the base, then rapidly stroke it. “Aaaah, yeah…aaaah… aaaah…uhhh…here it comes,” he says in between grunts and moans. “Caaaaatch it…baby.”

His nut pumps into my mouth, shoots to the back of my throat, filling me up with a mouthful of warm dick milk. “Yeah, baby… aaah fuck…eat that nut up.”

I stick out my tongue, show him my coated tongue, then roll my tongue back and swallow. He smiles, watching me guzzle and gulp it all down, like the greedy lil’ whore I am.

“Yo, ma, on some real shit,” he says, watching me climb out of his bed. I still don’t know what the hell his name is after all the sucking and fucking we’ve done. But, now that I’m finally at his apartment, I’m hoping to stumble across something that has his name on it. I stretch. I’ve been laid up with him for almost four hours. He’s fucked me three times, once in my pussy; twice in my ass. Both holes still throb. “What’s really good wit’ you?”

I tilt my head. “What do you mean?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“I’m sayin’…what’s up wit’ you always wantin’ a muhfucka to call you bitches ’n shit and treat you all smutty?”

’Cause I am.
I shrug. “It’s only role-play.”

“Yo, I can dig it. But, I’m kinda missin’ that sweet, sexy shit we had goin’ on when we first started kickin’ it. You had a muhfucka wantin’ to make love to you; not fuck you like you some bird ’n shit. It’s like you flipped a switch on a muhfucka, and now all you wanna do is get it in on some aggressive-type shit. The first few times, it was all good and shit. So don’t get it fucked up. I dig
gettin’ it in rough ’n shit, too. But, I ain’t wit’ it all the time. That’s not my thing. Sometimes I wanna make love to whoever I’m vibin’ wit’. Call you my baby ’n shit, feel me? I’m not wit’ callin’ a shorty I’m feelin’ a buncha bitches ’n shit when we in the sheets—all the time. Feel me? That shit’s for them smutty broads.”

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. Sweep my bang across my forehead. “You’re feeling me?”

No, bitch, he’s feeling
Paris.

He shakes his head. “Yo, do you even have to ask?”

Paris’s face appears. I try to blink it away. She’s scowling at me. “You fucking
bitch
!” I hear her screaming in my head. “You no-good, backstabbing, man-stealing, sneaky-ass
bitch
! I hate you!”

I feel a headache coming on. I really like this man. And I don’t want to keep misleading him. But telling him the truth will make matters worse. Shit! I can’t do this with him. I have to bow out of this mess gracefully. End this shit with him before he gets too caught up. Before he starts thinking about me all the time. Before he becomes consumed with wanting, needing, me all the time, I have to stop this now—before he ends up falling deeper into my web of lies. All this I know, but not today. I walk back over to the bed, lean over and kiss him softly on the lips. He grins. “Yo, what’s that for?”

“For being you,” I say, kissing him again. This time I slip my tongue into his mouth. Allow myself to get lost in his mouth, then pull away.
And for having good dick that’s going to be hard to let go of.

He reaches for me, pulling me on top of him. “Yo, when you gonna invite me over to ya spot so we can kick back ’n chill?”

Never
, I think, pecking him on the lips. I decide to tell him that I’m in between places, temporarily staying with my sisters until I’m able to move into my own place. I tell him the minute I move in, he’ll be the first person I have over to help me christen each room.

“Aiight, that’s wassup,” he says, running his hands over my body, palming my ass. I grind on him. He kisses me, then looks me in the eyes. “Yo, I wanna make love to you.”

Paris’s voice plays him my head.
You fucking, man-stealing bitch!

I close my eyes and whisper against his ear, “Then make love to me.”

Paris
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

I
t’s been three months and still Desmond has not called me, or stopped by the shop. And there’s still no way for me to get in touch with him, so I’ve finally let it go. Shit, what else is there for me to do? I don’t even know his last name. Obviously something changed. I’m just not sure what.
You’re pregnant and he doesn’t even know it.
And, at this point, it really doesn’t matter. Fuck him! I’m so over him. Truth is, Persia did me a favor deleting those numbers.
Niggas
, I think, slipping into a pair of faded Prada jeans. My baby bump is starting to show more, but not in a way that I can’t cover it with a loose-fitting blouse or something. I bend over and roll the bottoms into big cuffs, tuck my blouse in, then step into a pair of five-inch Prada sandals. “Now where the hell is that belt?” I walk back into my walk-in closet, pulling open my belt drawer. It’s missing. I head for Porsha’s room. I walk in. “Do you have my black and talc Prada belt with the studs on it?” I ask as she’s walking out of her bathroom. She’s wrapped in a towel with her cell pressed up against her ear. She’s smiling. She holds a finger up, signaling for me to wait.