and a crescent moon danced on the ceiling as R. Kelly played in the background. Squinting and walking over to a cavelike opening in the headboard, Candice stared in disbelief. Adult toys: vibrators, butt plugs, pearls, lingerie, pasties.
“Edible what! Piña colada dickalicious,” she exhaled. “Let me get out of here. I see why women go crazy over his sexy ass. Hell, if he weren’t my girlfriend’s son, I’d wait right here to do him. Who would think of all this?”
R. Kelly switched to Luther right before a projector screen lowered from the ceiling, playing an X-rated video entitled Bootylicious. “No, he is not putting his big dick in her…” Candice said, pressing the black button. “My pussy is puckerin’.” She was sure of one thing, the best was yet to cum.
Squinting, Candice moved closer, then stepped back, staring up at a red dot. “Oh, shit! I’m on his camera.” Now she’d have to come back sooner than expected to find his recorder. Happy she had more material than she’d originally imagined, she was worried Darius might expose her first.
Swiftly planting cameras throughout the house, Candice noticed tiny red dots on every ceiling: the kitchen, living room, bathroom, garage, and five other rooms. The ten cameras she’d left in her car she’d place in Jada’s bedroom, living room, kitchen, bathroom, Wellington’s office, and a few other places.
Soon, Candice Jordan—screenwriter, novelist, producer, and director—would become a household name. Like before, in time, Jada’s initial anger would subside. But if Darius found out, he’d kill her.
CHAPTER 2
Darius
“Los Angeles,” Darius instructed the driver, then raised the divider and flopped against the backseat, loosening his onyx wing-tip collar. Why had he fucked Ashlee? Kimberly? Crystal? Desire? Maxine? Ciara? The others were pissed at him, probably for life, but that was their problem ’cause each of them had moved on. Ashlee was the only dumb one who’d gotten sprung on cum. Sure, he was thirty percent, give or take five, at fault, but he’d grown tired of Ashlee.
Holding her dangling curls away from her face, Fancy laid her cheek in his lap. Her lips kissed Slugger.
“Ow, Ladycat, oh my goodness.” Darius’s dick expanded four times its size.
“Heeyyy, this is a pleasant surprise,” Fancy said, nibbling his head.
“I thought you were too upset to get excited.”
“Shid, never that upset,” Darius said, nudging Fancy’s head closer to his dick.
“Let me take your mind off your troubles. We can and will talk later.” Gently she bit through his slacks.
Translation, she’d talk. He’d listen ’cause whatever conclusion Fancy conjured wouldn’t matter. She was a woman. He was the man. His castle. Her home. Maybe. If she’d act right.
Fancy unzipped his pants. Wrapping her hand around the shaft, she freed Slugger, letting him go. The tip of her tongue chased, steadied, then licked the underside protruding main vein right in the triangular groove below his pee-hole. Fancy licked his second hottest spot—next to the span from his asshole up to his balls—again.
“Yes, indeed, there is a God. Ooouuu.” Darius shivered.
Fancy cuddled his dick next to her cheek, closed her eyes, and sniffed.
“Ahhhhh.” That’s my girl. Worship your master.
Fancy’s tongue wavered along his vein from his balls up to his hole. Gently licking his spot right before engulfing his head into her hot juicy mouth, she devoured him.
“Ummmm,” Darius moaned, removing the diamond buttonhole links on his white tuxedo shirt, “that feels so damn good. Suck this big-ass dick.”
Precum seeped onto her succulent lips. Painting his semen like lipstick, his bulging head swayed corner to corner, covering Fancy’s lips. Darius gripped Fancy’s hair, commanding, “Don’t you dare stop,” desperately desiring to bust a nut or two.
Darius’s asshole tightened on the upstroke, relaxed on the down. Uncontrollable sexual energy danced in his balls, possessing Darius to lock his fingers into Fancy’s weave and thrust his shaft down her throat. He did. She gagged. Repeatedly heaving. Good for her if she regurgitated. What didn’t kill…fattened. In the zone, too deep to stop, past her tonsils, beyond her reflux ability not to swallow, Darius banged Fancy’s vocal cords.
“Oh my God, you just don’t know, ba-bee.” He pushed, knocking his nuts against her lips. “Ba-by, shit, yeah.” He stroked deeper.
“Uh-huh. Aw, damn. Here it comes, whoa!” Thick fluids gushed toward her stomach like water from a fire hydrant, releasing his backup. Quenching his thirst. Pushing Fancy away, Darius stroked his afterflow cum and her saliva onto his dick.
“You must be crazy if you think you’re finished,” Fancy protested, watching him shake his heads. “After all I endured, here, put him in while he’s hard.” Eagerly, Fancy lifted her gown.
That was his woman, no panties. A gold-laced thong.
Fancy spread her lips, granting him full access. Never having left a woman dissatisfied, Darius unbuckled his pants, shoved them to his knees, popping the head into his pussy. But what if he had…Fuck! Darius shouted in his mind, pulled up his boxers, then his pants. Leaving them unbuckled and unzipped, he flopped on the cool leather.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Got a lotta shit on my mind, that’s all. Go to sleep.” What the fuck was Slugger doing? He’d zoned out and…damn, damn, goddamn. Darius removed his gold-trimmed black jacket, balling the coat into a pillow.
“I bet you do have a lot bothering you. I’ll give you a minute to stop trippin’, but I don’t care how frustrated you are, when we get home, you’re giving up the dick.”
As she stretched her feet across the seat, Fancy’s gold train spilled onto the floor. Her precious head weighed heavily on his thigh, facing his stomach. Darius could tell she was tired. He was mentally exhausted knowing he’d disappoint her again once they got home.
Darius wanted to sleep too, but all kinds of audiovisuals rewound in his head. Especially when Ashlee had the audacity to say, “I love you no matter what.” Liar. Love didn’t have shit to do with what she’d said.
The driver was already cruising on Interstate 5 South, practically a straight shot to L.A. but hours away. Moving his limp dick from under Fancy’s mouth, Darius closed his eyes, trying to understand how a woman’s need to be loved vastly differed from a man’s desire to love a woman. How did anyone ever get married? Better question, why? Should he marry Fancy, knowing that he might be infected? To his grave, one way or another he had to lie.
Perhaps his mother’s need for love or her desire to be adored was the reason it took Darius Jones twenty years to discover her lie. After a paternity test confirmed the truth, Darius took back—or should he say claimed—his real name, and irrespective of whether his mother was to blame he could never eradicate the pain or escape the shame of having to explain why, at twenty years of age, he’d changed his last name. From Jones to Williams.
With the exception of not marrying Fancy and losing his firstborn, the day his mother told him who his biological father was was the worst day of Darius’s life. Darryl Williams. That was his real daddy’s name, but how could Darius regain the years? Years lost. Not knowing the man he’d idolized growing up; his dad was a former NBA star. Darryl was his college basketball coach when Darius played at Georgetown.
Darius’s mother knowingly sent him to Georgetown, knowingly allowed him to play an entire season coached by his father, knowingly attended all of his high school games but never attended one of his college games, and knowingly never said a fuckin’ word until after she’d conned Darius into quitting the team, giving up his dream, to accept a six-figure executive vice president position at her company. To repay his mother,