“The Minx is here!”
Whispers, tweets and texts circulated through the office
of Positively Luscious as Maven St. Laurent, better known as The Minx, sashayed
toward her agent’s door. She looked radiant in her Gucci pinstripe skirt paired
with a crisp white button down that revealed just the right amount of cleavage
without looking overexposed. Her glorious sable mane was pinned up in a sexy,
glossy bun that put her elegant diamond studs on display as well as her long,
graceful neck. Her makeup was impeccable and not overdone. She exuded sex appeal and class; a real
uptown girl. She was every man’s librarian fantasy. Better still, she was every
man’s every fantasy.
As her hips rocked smoothly like a well-timed pendulum
down the long aisle, the staff watched in awe; particularly the men. She was
their top plus-size model, not to mention the newest and hottest industry IT
girl. To think, only two years ago, no one knew the name Maven St. Laurent, the
ghetto cutie from Blue Hill Ave, much less the Minx. She earned the nickname
due impart to her über-sexy turns on the catwalks and her flirtatious
behavior behind the scenes. Critics simply loved her puma like movements paired
with that naughty girl pout and steamy, bedroom eyes. But it wasn’t until she’d
come off the runway in Paris to the sounds of applause and hoots that Lagerfeld
(yes, that Lagerfeld) had dubbed her the Minx and the name stuck.
Despite her reputation for being a mega flirt, Maven was
the epitome of professionalism. However, it was her wild child personal life
that nabbed media attention. She had been linked to just about every hot man
from New York to Tokyo. Photographers dogged her every step in clubs and street
corners, mercilessly trying to catch her next antic. Sometimes she obliged, but
sometimes she duck-and-dived them like a drive by. She was a centerpiece at most industry parties
all over the globe. People begged her to grace their events, because they knew her
name alone could draw a crowd. And she was a muse to some of the most
influential designers in the business. She even had a major deal with a car
company looking to model their next hybrid car after her curves.
Yeah, the Minx was the global shit.
Yet, she stayed loyal to her long time agent, Saul
Haverstein, who had helped put her on the map – barely. He was more of a booker
than anything else, but don’t tell Saul that. He believed he was a god in the
industry, when he was more of a passing annoyance. In fact, several fashion
houses had approached the diva to sign to their company, but Maven had waved
them away, pledging her allegiance to the curmudgeon. She knew something even
better was coming on the horizon.
Maven had come straight from her last assignment with
Gautier in Paris at Saul’s summons. What she loved about the old man was the
fact he could care less about her celebrity. To him, she was the same ghetto
girl he had picked out of a crowd. He had criticized her look back and forth,
up and down, but in the end, he believed she could work in the industry. She
smiled thinking of her come up as she ended her procession at the desk of
Kelsey Green, Saul’s assistant.
“Maven, welcome back! How was Paris?” the pixie like
blond asked merrily.
“The same,” the dark caramel cutie sighed perching on the
side of the assistant’s desk. “How’s Mr. Sunshine?”
“Well, he’s down to three Nicoderm packs a day.
Otherwise, the same,” Kelsey teased. “Abby’s with him, but he’ll see you. ”
“When did Boss Lady get back?”
“Last night.”
“Any news about a takeover?”
“Well, from his last shout five minutes ago, he’s told
her to shove off.”
“Ouch. Well, here I go.” Straightening her skirt, she
headed right into the flames.
“I’ve told you a hundred times: I’m not retiring!”
“Dad, you got to consider it. You are passed your prime
and your once cute un-PCness is starting to grate on the girls nerves. They’re
marching out of here into greener pastures.” The raven-haired beauty pleaded
with her father.
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, for one thing Monica was so embarrassed when you
told a client, and I quote, ‘I’m in the business of selling fat girls not bean
poles and she’s the fattest we got.’”
“What was wrong with that?”
“You made her cry.”
“Bah, she’s just sensitive.” Waving off the point, Saul’s eyes fell on
Maven and a twinkle cast in his hazel eyes. “Do you hear this crap, Maven?”
“Saul, did you really make Monica cry?”
“I’ve said worse to supermodels.” Saul defended, adding.
“Remember when you first got here, Mave? I used to critique that horse’s ass of
yours, but look at you now. You’re the diamond of my stable.”
“Nice to be compared to Sea Biscuit, Saul. What do have
for me?”
Without wasting time, Saul pulled some paper work off his
cluttered desk. “Devonte Davies is creating a new line of bras and panties
called Décolletage and he wants you
to be his fit model.”
Maven stood frozen, refusing to take the contract out of
Saul’s wrinkly hand. She could feel her blood boil at the very mention of her
fashion nemesis. “Devonte Davies!”
“Maven –“ Abby tried to move toward her to quell the
storm brewing but it was too late.
“That bastard wants me to be a fit model for him! Has he
started snorting glue?”
“What is her problem?” Saul asked Abbey, confused.
“Dad, don’t you remember what happened the last time she
worked for Devonte?”
“Was he the one that knocked her off her high horse two
years ago? Something about how she plodded down the walkway like a mule?”
That wasn’t all he done. Maven remembered that day well.
Her star was just starting to rise when the very handsome, Devonte Davies, shattered
her spirit. He was the last to do so. He had asked Saul to send him his best
models for his lingerie shoot and runway show. Saul, seeing the opportunity for Maven, sent
her to lingerie king. The darkly debonair designer was co-owner and operator of
Double D, purveyors of fine and
elegant plus-size lingerie. Their clientele included a huge celebrity roster,
since each piece was handmade and designed for each woman. Before that awful
day, Maven had only dreamed of buying just one piece, but now she’d give
anything to burn the whole store down with Devonte in it.
When she had shown up on the set, she had not been prepared
for the man’s deadly good looks. Devonte oozed pure masculinity. Dark chocolate
skin stretched over ripples of solid flesh and muscle. He towered a good head
and a half over the five-eleven Maven, who was usually eye to eye or looking down
on most of her suitors. And he was a rarity in fashion – a straight man that
created plus size women’s lingerie from a male perspective. He had left her
breathless, staring into his dreamy gray colored eyes. The usually quick-witted
and flirtatious Maven had been reduced to a babbling school girl.
The sexual attraction had not been one sided, or so she
thought. The evidence was the mere introductory handshake that had jolted them
both. It had been pure electricity. She had prayed she wouldn’t embarrass
herself by ruining one of his delicate panties. She didn’t think her pay scale
could afford it. Devonte had been so
charming and sweet, showing her the pieces she would be wearing and what he
expected for each look. Sadly, all his attention and his sexiness must’ve done
something to her Minx mojo, because as it turned out, she had totally botched
the job. Her movements were klutzy. She wasn’t focused. And what was worse, she
had accidentally ripped one of his most precious pieces.
That’s when Mr. Hyde came out.
Midway through the shoot he had stopped to admonish her,
harshly. “I thought Saul sent me the best. What the hell are you doing to the
clothes? Are you sure you even know what you’re doing?”
Maven had bristled under such criticism, but tried to
maintain her cool. “I’m sorry, Mr. Davies. I’ll try to do better.”
She could see it wasn’t good enough since the damage had
been done. He had snorted in disgust before leaning into his assistant to
whisper, “She’s pretty, but she won’t make it too far plodding like a mule.”
Hearing that, wordless, Maven had walked off the set,
never to return. From that moment on, she refused to work for Devonte Davies –
ever. It was her one and only diva moment Saul would let her get away with.
That was because she had pinned him to his chair to cry on his shoulder. Not
soon after that incident, she had taken off and become everyone’s darling. But
there were times she thought about the sexy Mr. Davies. Usually, they were
thoughts of skewering him like he was an oversized pin cushion.
To his credit, he did try to apologize for his stinging words
when they had met up at Fashion Week that summer, but she’d been damned to hear
that noise. He had also tried sending her flowers, tickets to a show, and
various other gifts. But she just knew it was because she had taken off and he
wanted in on the action. Taking a breath, she snatched the contract from Saul
to read the nonsense.
“Wait, Saul, says here he wants me to be the inspiration and
spokesperson for his new line, not just a fit model.” She tossed the contract
on his desk.
“What?” Abbey took up the paperwork. “Oh my God, he’s
paying twice your rate and he may be willing to negotiate a profit for you.”
“Fuck him, he’d have to pay quadruple my rate before I’d
give him my business,” she growled leaning on the bookshelf.
“Maven, sweetie, c’mon. This is business. You gonna turn
down every offer from a person because you don’t like them.” Saul cajoled.
“Every offer from that man.” She pouted crossing her
arms.
“I hate to admit, but Dad is right. This could be big for
you, Maven. Bigger than the car deal. Ladies already mimic your style. Think
about the exposure, the money.”
Maven thought about it and it sounded like a recipe for
disaster. Her eyes glanced at Abbey who
looked so encouraging. Then she glanced at Saul, who just looked like his usual
curmudgeonly self. Well, maybe this was
her chance to get even with Davies. Teach him a lesson about treating people
nicely. With that fueling her, she pulled away from the bookshelf.
“Where do I sign, Saul?”
“Atta, girl!”
“Devonte! Saul Haverstein is sending back the signed
contract for the Minx.”
Devonte glanced up from his sketchpad to look at his
brother and partner, Dalvin. A look of pure shock crossed his handsome
countenance. “She actually signed it, or did Saul forge it?”
Dalvin handed him the fax copy of the transaction. “Is
that proof enough?”
The dashing designer took the copy and studied it
thoughtfully. He had tried everything to get back in the supermodel’s good
graces: invitations to dinner, tickets to Broadway shows, flowers, candy. One
would’ve thought he would have given up after the scene she caused in Milan at
the Versace show.
He had given her a white flower in show of a truce just
before she was about to walk out on the catwalk. Donatella had dressed her to kill
in a sexy red, fitted gown that demonstrated the power of her curves. She
looked like a sultry, couture Red Riding Hood. He had watched on the monitor as
she wandered dreamily down the runway, caressing the white flower against her
cheek. He wished he was the flower touching her, and then he rethought that
image as the Minx, in a savage rage, ripped the head off the flower, tossed it
to the ground and stomped it like a bug. The audience loved it. There was wild
applause. Donatella was ecstatic. Devonte grew disheartened about his chances
of winning her over. When she stepped off the catwalk, she turned an icy
shoulder to him and headed straight to her dressing room, refusing to see him.
Devonte had felt so terrible for his behavior the first
time he had met Maven. It was his perfectionist wicked side that had goaded him
to make that awful comment that he now wish he could take back. The first time
she had walked through the door he had been knocked off his feet. She was
gorgeous. Her hair was a wild mass of springy curls that framed her cherubic
face. Her lush lips were the kind a man dreamed of tasting at midnight with a
glass of champagne and a bowl of strawberries handy. A sculptor would have a
hard time molding the essence of her sexy curves because he wouldn’t be able to
capture her sensual movements.
His reaction to her body had been immediate. Even now, as
he thought of her soft caramel skin, his manhood stretched to bust his designer
jeans. To get her in his presence, even under contract, would give him a chance
to work his charms on her. He knew it would be his last try. The deal he had
been structured in a way that no sane model could turn down. He hadn’t even run
it by Dalvin who usually handled all the contracts.
“What the fuck, Devonte?” he heard his brother yell as he
stormed back into the room waving the contract in the air. “You gave her what?”
“Dalvin, calm down.”
“Calm down? You practically signed this new line to her
lock, stock and barrel,” Dalvin growled rereading the document. “Damn, what she
do to you?”
Devonte hadn’t told Dalvin just how deep his crush had
gone for the Minx. Dalvin just assumed he was acting like every other straight
dude in the industry; trying to get in while IT was still hot. His brother
didn’t even know about the incident at the Versace show, since he wasn’t into
the fashion trades, just the business ones. He couldn’t tell his brother how his heart
ached for the Minx and how he had felt like a total prick for hurting her
feelings. He’d sound like a total punk. So, he had to appeal to Dalvin’s
business side.
“Look, Dal, we already make a hefty penny on Double D. Décolletage will be our commercial brand, kind like Cacique, and
every commercial brand has to have their spokesman, and the Minx is it. Believe
me, with the dough she’ll bring in with promotions and customers, you won’t
even miss that 40% share of the profit, because our 60% will more than make up
for it.”
Dalvin chewed on Devonte’s words. He narrowed his eyes on
his younger brother thinking there was more to this deal than he was letting
on. He was right though. The Minx could bring the crowd. Shit, his sisters were
constantly buying a product as soon as they saw that she was wearing it or
using it. Sucking his tooth in sheer annoyance, he conceded to the deal,
grudgingly.
“You better make some lingerie for this line the woman
are gonna go buck for.”
“Hey, have I ever done something a woman didn’t like?”
“Yeah, but somehow you got the the Minx to sign this
contract anyway.”
Devonte tossed a balled up piece a paper at the now empty
space his brother had vacated. He turned back to the sketch he had been working
on. The figure on the page was that of Maven’s. He had adorned her in a
gorgeous see-through nightie, reminiscent of Sophia Loren’s in Marriage Italian Style. It was one of a
dozen sketches he had drawn over the last year, paying homage to his Minx. If
only she knew. He touched the picture thoughtfully.
Since that awful day, dreams of Maven began to haunt him
at night. In each dream, she would appear to him in a new outfit. They would
make wild, passionate love and all that would be left was the sexy piece and no
Maven. The next morning, he would wake up and immediately sketch the look. And
so the dreams went, until Devonte had completed a collection. He wondered how
she would react if she knew how he had created the line. She’d probably slap
him.
The phone ringing brought him out of his daydream.
Glancing at the caller ID, his heart stilled. It read Maven St. Laurent.
Curious he lifted the receiver. “Devonte Davies.”
“I hope you realize that this is a business deal, Davies,
and a lucrative one for me.”
“Of course, Maven.”
“I don’t want any funny business.”
“I understand clearly.”
“And I hope you can pack away that asshole trash talk
while we do business.”
“I’ll try my best.” Devonte wondered if that was the
right thing to say. It had been close to her words to him on their first
meeting, when it had gone terribly wrong.
On the other end of the phone, Maven had found herself
lost for words. For one thing, Devonte’s voice did things to her that took her
lovers a long time to figure out. It stroked her. She could’ve jumped down his
throat for his last little jab, but she had actually found it endearing – and
humbling. It banked her ire for the moment, while she tried to cool her
reaction to hearing him speak. All their encounters, she had barely allowed him
a word in edgewise, knowing how her body felt about his velvety voice. She
cleared the lump from her throat.
“I hope you do better than that. So, when do you need
me?”
At the question, Devonte snapped his pencil. It had been
a simple question, but the meaning he put to it had tightened the knot in his
manhood. He coughed it away. “Can you make it to my studio tonight? Say
eight-ish.”
Maven bit her lip. A little voice whispered, maybe it
wasn’t smart to meet him tonight. But she shook the thought away. If she was
going to get even with Devonte Davies, she had to dispose of this school girl
crush. He was just a man; a boy was more like it. She’d dealt with his kind
before; but none as hot and sexy as him. Stuffing the thought away, she
straightened up in the back of the cab.
“Alright, Davies. I’ll be there.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Yeah, you will be, she
thought mischievously.
Maven was a whole hour and a half late – and purposely
so.
She had intentionally stayed late with Abby, having
dinner and catching up. Of course, Abby didn’t know she was seeing Devonte
after their dinner or she wouldn’t have allowed Maven to be so unprofessional.
Sometimes girlfriends kept things to themselves when they didn’t want judgment.
She stepped out of her black-on-black, Infiniti M Hybrid
with the chrome detail. It was a gift she’d bought for herself when she’d made
it to Paris Fashion Week. It had been a big pay day for her. With the same
check, she had been able to put a deposit down on a sweet fixer upper just
outside of Boston that had a separate in-law suite for her mom and dad, who
were both enjoying retirement debt free. Thanks to her. Her dad, a retired T
worker, loved tinkering with the house and worked the contractors tirelessly to
make sure her vision and design was on point. Her mother just enjoyed the
garden. Having lived in the city all her life, she could only enjoy her
gardening from a flower box. Now, she had a whole yard to toy with.
Maven smiled proudly. Her parent’s golden years would be
much easier now. Right now, her brother was working himself through medical
school, which Maven secretly paid for half each semester, since Marlon would
never take her money. She always made sure to pay the tuition early, so they
would send the balance to him. She had even requested that the bursar’s office
write “Paid via grant” on the bill, so he wouldn’t know. She was proud of her
sibling for pursuing his dream and wanted to give him everything she could,
while she could. She knew her good looks would only last so long.
With a sigh, she pressed the button to summon the
elevator. The click of her heels echoed through the parking garage. Devonte’s
studio was located just on the outskirts of the Fashion District. He and his
brother had bought an old sweatshop and turned it into the Double-D headquarters. Their salon took up the main floors, while
their business offices took on the second and third floors. Devonte’s design
floor covered the entire fourth. She heard from some model friends that he had
a penthouse suite as his personal living quarters on the top floor. It was
rumored to be the ultimate bachelor pad, putting a new spin on the man cave.
She entered the elevator as soon as the doors slid open.
As they closed behind her, Devonte’s smooth baritone voice spoke to her, making
her jump.
“Good evening, Maven. Just hit the 5 button.”
The fifth floor? Why not the fourth? Butterflies began to
flutter about in her stomach. Why didn’t he sound miff about her tardiness? Maintain your cool, girl, she calmed
herself. He ain’t throwing you off your
game. She pressed the number and waited as the elevator made its ascent up.
Her heel was clicking louder now – a nervous twitch she inherited from her
daddy. Her arms were crossed under her hefty breasts impatiently. What she
hadn’t realized was that the gesture hoisted her cleavage to a tantalizing
position in her flirty black tank top.
She had gone back to her Harlem apartment after dinner
with Abby and changed her clothes. She had decided to be casual for this
encounter. With the tank top, she donned a pair of dark wash, boot cut Se7en
jeans and sexy black pumps. Her chestnut hair was in wild child disarray with
long curls falling down her back. Gold bangles that had moments ago jangled
about her wrist lay pressed against her body while matching hoop earrings
dangled from her ears.
She looked hot and knew it.
The elevator stopped prompting her out of her tense pose.
Shaking off the tension, she waited for the doors to open. When they finally
did, she was knocked back by the man standing there waiting.
Oh, shit! Guess
she wasn’t the only one looking hot tonight.
Devonte had definitely trumped her in the “pretty hot and
tempting” department. He was wearing a pair of fitted jeans with a plum button
down rolled at the sleeves. Two buttons were open at the top giving a peek to a
white tank underneath. His smile revealed two big dimples in his chiseled
cheeks. His eyes perused her up and down. Maven felt the heat clamor up her
body and prayed she wouldn’t start sweating out her press.
“Maven, you made it,” Devonte greeted taking her hand,
then placing a quick peck on her cheek.
“I hope I wasn’t too late,” she said, digging for a
response to her tardiness.
“No, no. It gave me more time to sketch and work out some
details. Plus, I wanted to finish some of the pieces. Come in.” Paddling down
the hallway barefoot, he motioned her toward the livingroom.
Maven’s eyes flitted about the penthouse. It was
definitely a bachelor’s heaven. Rich, dark wood covered the floors. Aside from
the short hall way leading from the elevator bay, the house was an open floor
plan with huge windows looking out over the city. He had kept the exposed brick
giving it a masculine feel to the space. On one wall was a large bookcase cut
from the same wood as the floors, carrying several knick-knacks and rows upon
rows of fashion tomes. Photos of his work donned the walls and table stands
throughout the room. His couches looked comfy in dark beige and brown
surrounding a large fireplace. He had pretty good taste.
“Wine?”
She turned toward his voice, which drifted from the
kitchen at the back of the penthouse. She instantly grew jealous of the large
butcher block counters and chrome appliances. It was a cook’s dream. She placed
her purse on the counter as he poured two glasses of Mosciato. How did he know Mosciato
was her favorite? Ok, girl, don’t get
silly, now. He probably thought all models drank that stuff.
“That’s cool. Great place you got here.”
“Yeah, my mom helped put it together. I maybe a fashion
designer, but I know nothing about putting a house together.” He handed her the
glass.
She laughed, totally understanding. “People have the same
misconception about models. They think we all know how to dress.”
“And you obviously perpetuate the stereotype.”
Maven nearly choked on her drink. “Um, I make sure I’m
presentable.”
“Well, good job.” He toasted before making his way toward
another part of the house. “Come to my personal studio, I want to show you some
the work.”
She watched as he ducked behind a secret wall behind the
fireplace. Glancing back into the room, she hesitated. She was trying to cool
down from the hot stare he’d given her a second ago. Remember, girl, whatever he shows you pretend you hate it. Nodding
her head, she entered the room and gasped.
All along the walls were sketches of her in various
different outfits and poses. She looked old school, Hollywood glamorous. The
images practically sparkled off the pages hanging about the room. He had
captured her flawlessly on paper. She touched one sketch as if to verify its
realness. How long had he been working on these? There had to be over a hundred
sketches. Everything was well thought out. The color palettes matched her skin
tone perfectly. The details were spot on and fell in line with her tastes.
“Here’s a few of the pieces I had completed.” He showed
her the dark violet Grecian night gown with gold embellishments in the waist,
hanging on a mannequin. He proceeded to talk about everything he was trying to
accomplish with the line. How he wanted to bring back the seductiveness of
Sophia Loren and Liz Taylor and match it to the flirtatiousness of Marilyn
Monroe and Jane Mansfield.
She barely heard a thing passed “You were the inspiration
behind the line.” She was so overwhelmed by the honor. Her fingers fondled the
fabric in amazement. When he touched
these satins and silks he had her in his mind. When his hands crafted them into
their style, it was her curves he’d molded them to. Tingles rolled through her
body thinking about it. He learned her intimately without having ever touched
her. She took a deep breath.
“Devonte, they’re gorgeous.” She sighed, taking a long
sip of her wine to cool herself.
“Thank you.” He edged closer to her to admire the piece
she was looking at. “This one’s my favorite.”
His fingers touched the piece as his firm chest brushed
her arm. She stiffened at the electric current travelling between them. It
caused her nipples to harden and a coil to tighten in her stomach. She shifted
away from the mannequin quickly to look at one of the other sketches. She loved
the long lilac sheath dress and the way the two slits showed off her long legs.
In this sketch, here hair was in its natural state; her hands mussing it
further causing a happy laugh on her lips.
Her eyes bounced from piece to piece and amazement
followed suit. “You did all this in just a few months.”
“To be honest, I’ve been working on these since you
walked out of the photo shoot two years ago.” He admitted, gaining her
attention. “I can’t tell you how bad I felt that day. It was not my intention
to hurt you. I just have a really bad perfectionist thing.”
Maven nodded, letting it sink in. “And I was flawed…”
“No. You were clumsy,” he teased.
Maven flashed him a glare. “Unh, really?”
He moved forward to catch her arm to still her escape.
“I’m kidding. Sorry. Too soon?”
“For you, yes.”
“We had a great chemistry that day. One that I couldn’t
let go of. That night, I began sketching these pieces. Then more and more
pieces started coming to my head until I had a collection. Your collection. ”
“Wow,” she sighed amazed. “Why didn’t you just launch it
under Double-D?”
“Because I didn’t want to throw them away on just any
model or client, I wanted you to wear them first.” He ran his hands up and down
her bare arms, smoothing out the goose flesh he generated. The electricity was
getting stronger and Maven could feel her body heating up. She swallowed the
thick lump in her throat that was keeping her breath from moving. She licked
her glossy lips drawing his eyes to them. His thumb ran over the pout before
leaning in for a kiss.
It was tentative at first as if he was waiting for her to
bite him, then, when the coast seemed clear, he drew her to him. His tongue was
breaking the line of her lips to taste her mouth. Maven melted against his
body, feeling the firmness of his chest against her soft mounds. His hand gripped
her round booty drawing her closer to him, while the other dove into the mass
of curls on her head. Shit, she tasted so good.
Easy, Devonte,
he warned himself.
He tried to pull back from her, but he was hooked. He
needed to taste more of her, explore more. He wanted to confirm if his
measurements had been right. Did her hip curve that way? Were her thighs that
rounded? Did her breasts pop up like honeydew melons? He wanted all those
answers. Finally gaining the strength to part from her lips, he pulled the tank
top over her head. Her bra did a poor job of showcasing their beauty. He would
have to rectify that immediately. With expertise, he undid the back clasps and
drew the garment away from her body and to the floor.
“They did you no justice. We’ll have to burn that later
on,” he joked as he hefted the globes into his hands. He was right – honeydew. His
lips immediately found her taut nipples, drawing them into his mouth like
gumdrops.
Maven moaned deliciously as she felt his tongue flick and
flit the nubs. Her fingers enclosed over the round dome of his closely shaven
head. She proceeded to place kisses all about his skull liking the taste. His
fingers spread over her back molding her further against his body. His lips
latched onto her neck next, his teeth grazing the tender spot beneath her
earlobe.
The fire was burning low between them, but with each
touch and kiss, the inferno began to build. Maven went to feverish work on
relieving him of his shirt and tank top.
She was sure she had popped a button or two. Then her fingers touched
his chest, pressed against the firm flesh of his pecks. Her tongue licked a
stiff nipple, making him groan deep in his throat. His skin was like silk
pudding; dark and rich. As she kissed her way up his body, she could feel his
fingers graze her back and lace into her hair. Then their eyes met and the
current jolted through them.
Devonte flipped her away from him, pressing her butt
against the hardness of his groin. Her hips slowly grinded against him,
tempting him. He undid her jeans and quickly dipped his fingers inside. She was
hot, wet. Her perfume filled his nostrils, causing a natural high. It was
heady. His lips suckled her neck, finding that tender spot again, while his
fingers toyed with the trinket in her jeans. Maven squirmed deliciously,
relishing the feel of how he touched her. She couldn’t remember the last time
her kitty had been petted so tenderly.
Her head fell back against his shoulder as she rode the
rhythm his fingers set. His other hand enclosed over one of her orbs, massaging
it in his large palm. His lips nestled close to her ears. “I want to taste you,
Maven.”
A gasp escaped her lips with his admission. She was so
glad she had showered before coming over. After a long flight, it may have not
been a pretty scene down there. Turning around, she wrapped her arms around his
neck, caressing his dome.
“Do you now?” She gained a silent nod for a response.
Taking her hand, he led her out of the studio, through
the kitchen to the staircase leading up to his bedroom. The master suite was
huge, with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over the city. He flipped a
switch and immediately a curtain dropped down to conceal them from nosey
on-lookers. Dim lights came on showcasing the room in a romantic light. The
music that had been playing throughout the house followed them into the room,
playing a sexy mix of songs from Jill Scott to Robin Thicke. She hadn’t noticed
one track that she hadn’t liked.
He drew her back into his arms and kissed her again, already
missing her taste on his tongue. He had fantasized about this a hundred times
over in the last year; Maven, in his space; him kissing Maven; making love to
Maven. He liked it; loved the vibe she brought to his room. He wasn’t one to
have too many sleepovers. Since he moved into his apartment, there had been no
one he wanted to share it with. He hooked his fingers in the loop of her jeans.
Tugging them, they rolled over her booty and down her thick thighs easily. She
wore a stringy, royal purple thong that kept his eyes focused on the V of her
legs. Looping his fingers around the
flimsy material he pulled it away from her body, all while leaving dew drop
kisses along the panel of her ribs and hips.
Maven shuddered in pleasure and he smiled. That was only
a tremor. He was planning on an earthquake by the time he would be through with
her. Standing up, he pocketed the lacy material into his pocket, making her eye
him strangely. He laughed.
“Don’t worry, I’ll give you a pair that will show off
that trunk you toting,” he whispered kissing her lips.
“Really, now?” She leaned into his embrace as he swung
her onto the bed, making her squeal.
He buried his face between her pillows, enjoying her
natural scent. He ran his tongue between her sternum, making her inside quiver.
He rose up from the bed to remove his jeans and briefs. Maven perched on her
elbows to watch. His abs were simply ridiculous. He had to be working out four
hours a day to maintain those waves. Shit, he was giving Dolvett Quince a run
for his money. Then when he made the big reveal, she thought she would pass
out. He was stealthy and wealthy. Her puss was throbbing like a bad animal. She
was going to need a choke chain on it, if she couldn’t calm it down. Thank God,
her legs were crossed.
He reached over for the top draw in his nightstand and
pulled out a condom. With the expertise of a player, he popped the rubber on in
one fowl swoop. Once he was secured, he crawled back onto the bed, wrapping her
legs over his shoulders like she was a caramel mink. Before she had a chance to
say anything, his lips had already surrounded her clit and began to play. It
was at that moment David Banner’s Play
came on the stereo. How appropriate? He sure was playing her right.
I think he just
found every single one of my nerve endings, she mused; feeling the earlier
stages of an orgasm flush her body. Her hips could not stay still as he flicked
and tripped over every luscious fold. If this is what he did with his tongue,
she wasn’t sure if she was prepared for what he would do with his dick. Her
pussy was aching even more now, worse than earlier. She thought she was a cast
member of Janet’s Throb video.
Work them hips,
Come girl, David Banner commanded over the track.
Maven grabbed for the sheets, tugging and pulling them in
different directions. Her moans grew louder the further he delved into her with
his hot tongue. He could feel her intimate muscles constrict against it; milk
it. He wanted that same feeling on his dick. She tasted so sweet, tangy.
Pulling away, he blew a dew breath over her heated core, making her flinch. He
watched her drift back to the room, her hair spread over the blanket like a
sable mantle. He leaned over her caressing her cheek.
“You are the most stunning woman,” he couldn’t help but
tell her.
Maven laughed breathlessly. “I’m sure you say that to all
the models.”
He drew her eyes to him. The intensity in them sobered
her. The electricity was strong filling her lungs. Something told her she had
assumed wrong. “I can’t lie. I’ve encountered some pretty women, who wear
clothes well. But none of them have ever been stunning. None of them have
drained an inkwell trying to replicate it.”
Maven’s heart accelerated. Shit, he is good. Her hand ran along his face, taking in the hard
lines. Pulling him closer, she wrapped her legs around his waist. “Go on then, dip that pen in my inkwell,” she
whispered boldly.
Devonte didn’t even hesitate. He entered her depths
swiftly, filling her to the hilt. He didn’t move right away, but savored her
tightness. Maven’s nails pressed into his back. She thought she’d come again
from his penetration, which would be a first for her. She usually had to ‘twork
that nub of hers to get to the finish line, but he seemed to be handing all the
work for her. Her puss ached and stretched under the pressure. She bit her lip
trying to breathe evenly, but the pleasing ache was growing and spread through
her body. Then, he started to move and all hell broke loose.
Maven never moaned so loud in her life. She never
considered herself a screamer, but Devonte was pulling that demon out of her
with every stroke of his manhood. She could feel every inch of him pull out and
every inch of him pull in. He tempered his fast strokes with slow ones, keeping
her guessing at every turn what he would do next. Then, with the strength of
Hercules, he lifted her up and flipped her over like an acrobat on all fours.
She couldn’t even recall if he had pulled out in the process because the motion
was so fluid. From this position, he pounded her so deliciously, hitting her
spot again and again.
Those scientists who claimed the G-spot wasn’t real
needed to study Devonte Davies, because he definitely knew where it was on her.
She had lost count of the number of orgasms that had racked her body. Whatever
it was, it had to be a record for her. Just when Maven thought her legs were
going to give out on her, Devonte flipped her back over. He pressed his full
body against her, slowing the motion. He looked so damn sexy.
“Damn, Maven, I can do this all night,” he hushed as his
body undulated over hers.
And she would let him, too, with the way he was making
her feel. There was this beauty to what he was doing to her. The way his lips
caressed her neck, her breasts, her lips, there was so much care in it,
gentleness.
“You feel too good.” His hands gripped her hips as he
plunged into her depths, increasing the speed again.
Devonte had never experienced sex like this. The way her
body fit his and the way they moved together was earth shattering. Feeling her
hold him, own him, it was euphoric. His fantasies could not compare. He wasn’t
lying when he told her he could do this all night. His desire for her was that
deep. But his body could only handle so much before it demanded release. He
could already feel it coming, forcing him to push harder against her.
Maven sensed his urgency and followed suit. Another
orgasm was bursting from her lips, when she heard Devonte’s primal roar over
her scream. Then exhausted, they toppled to the bed in a sweaty heap. Not
waiting to lose the connection, he pulled her onto his chest. Maven knew she must’ve
been a hot mess at that moment. Her kitchen had to be steaming, because she
could feel the perspiration run down her forehead. This would not be pretty
come morning.
She glanced up at Devonte, who was trying to steady his
breath. His eyes stared up at the ceiling, sweat drizzling down his body. What
was he thinking? This was going to be awkward. She hadn’t expected to sleep
with him. Hell, before coming here, she had every intension of hurting the man’s
business. Seems he put a hurting on hers. Maven was definitely going to have
some issues walking tomorrow.
“Maven?” His hands ran through her damp hair, pulling her
eyes back to his. “You OK?”
Maven couldn’t find the words. This man had single-handled
broken her spirit on their first meeting two years ago, but he had just finished
making love to her like he just got out of the pen. Where could they go from
here?
“Ah, give me a second to just digest the moment,” she
said nestling against his chest. Just
when she thought her breathing had settled down, she felt his dick slide into
her again, making her glance up in surprise. Devonte smiled wickedly. “Damn,
you a Two-Round brother? Ok, Apollo Creed. ”
Devonte laughed as he watched Maven assume the position
over his body. They could sort out the questions in the morning, she thought as
she grinded her hips against his. Tonight, they would enjoy each other.
