The Bed You Make: An Urban Hood Drama, страница 1
The Bed You Make
An Urban Hood Drama
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are all fictitious for the reader’s pleasure. Any similarities to real people, places, events, living or dead are all coincidental.
This book contains sexually explicit content that is intended for ADULTS ONLY (+18).
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BONUS Chapter 13
Books By Tamicka
John purposely walked slowly when he walked in front of Imani’s apartment building. Because she lived in a newer apartment building downtown, there was a large window at the front of the building that seemed to command the entire block. John had parked his Camaro down the street a little, then walked up, his long figure making its presence known in the window. He looked at his reflection, checking out appearance. His jeans were fitted but not too tight. Since it wasn’t supposed to get that cold tonight, he’d decided to go ahead and wear a button-up and have the top button or two undone. All in all, John thought he cleaned up pretty nice.
John licked his lips in anticipation as he made his way up the elevator. He’d been wanting to smash Imani since the first day he’d seen he. God must have been shining down on John that day because he never thought he’d run into Imani coming out of this clothing store over in the hood. Circumstances had always seemed to get in the way of him making any progress with her, but nonetheless, he’d still kept her on his mind. There was no way he’d ever try to be with her beyond getting it in with her in bed, but she was certainly a treat to say the least. Knowing that she used to be with one of his rivals, supposedly, only intensified his desire to bend her over and hold her by her waist as he took her. The anticipation got to be so much that John pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the photos that Imani had sent to him over the last couple of days.
The elevators doors opened to where John looked straight out at a clock. He turned right and snickered, thinking about how it was only a few minutes after midnight. He made his way down the hallway and knocked on 703, Imani’s apartment. Brushing his clothes and picking one of his shoestrings up off of the ground, he heard the doorknob turning and looked up. There, his eyes met with Imani’s. She smiled, gently biting the tip of her finger.
“Hello,” Imani said.
John stepped into the apartment, smiling. No sooner had Imani closed the door did his urges overtake him. On top of all that, whatever perfume Imani had laced her body in was just right to drive any man crazy, including John. Ever so delicately, John grabbed Imani’s waist and hugged her. He purposely squeezed tight, loving how small her waist felt in his arms. Of course, like any other dude from the hood, he allowed his forearm to drop down a little bit so that when he pulled away, his hand would get an unnoticed feel of her ass.
“Well, come in, come in,” Imani said, laughing. “This is the place.”
John looked at Imani’s perky, medium-sized chest as it practically bounced in her white t-shirt. Her pajamas hugged her thighs like white on rice. John tore his gaze off her figure and turned around to look at the two-bedroom apartment. It was certainly nice. “So, this is what you can get for a stack downtown nowadays?” he asked.
“Yup,” Imani said. With a deep arch in her back, and her ass swaying slightly side to side, Imani walked over to her living room window and closed the curtains. “My bad,” she added. “I forgot that these were open.”
“Ain’t like nobody else can see or nothin’,” John said, rubbing the palms of his hands together. “I mean, ain’t no tall buildings even that way.” He smiled.
“Damn, look at you,” Imani said. She slouched onto the couch, stretching her thick and long legs out toward the middle of the floor. A giggle slipped out of her mouth when she noticed how John’s mouth hung open. He looked as if he wanted to grease her legs up with olive oil then kiss them up and down. “Being Mister Detective and stuff.”
John laughed, wishing that this chick would stop playing with him. Not only did she have big legs, which he liked, but she was also sitting on a nice ass with wide hips. While he usually didn’t like hair extensions, her hair had obviously been recently done. As for makeup, she really didn’t need a lot of it. And there was something about her homey, late-at-night look that drove him crazy. He stepped over toward the couch and said, “Mister Detective? Is that what I am? Well, you know I didn’t come here to investigate who might be able to look in here or not. But, you know what I am worried about?”
“I told you,” Imani said, standing up. She sighed, throwing her hair back over her right shoulder. “I ain’t talkin’ to that nigga no more like that.”
“MmhmmMmhmm,” John said, looking around. “I told you I don’t care if you talkin’ to that nigga Race or not. All I care about is if I’mma be able to dig in that pussy without havin’ to worry ‘bout that nigga poppin’ up and causin’ a nigga problems and shit cause I’m bangin’ his chick.”
Imani giggled and pushed her chest toward John, catching his attention. “Trust me, John,” she said. “If I really thought that that nigga Race was be comin’ by here tonight, I wouldn’t have had you over. But, like I said too, I don’t know how much longer we gon’ be together. I love him and stuff, but stuff really has changed. But I ain’t worried about him tonight. Is you?”
John smiled and shook his head. “Naw,” he said. “Fuck that nigga. You ain’t really try’na be with him. And I ain’t in no relationship right now. So, what the fuck do I got to lose?”
“Mmhmm,” Imani hummed, not wanting to address the issue anymore. She reached out and gently grabbed John’s bulge. She smiled as she looked into his eyes. “You know I been wantin’ some of this dick for a long time.”
John licked his lips and looked down at Imani’s hand. “Yeah?” he asked when he looked up. “Is that so? You never told a nigga you wanted some dick and shit. You never said shit about me, especially when I used to see you over in them projects by that one club that got shot up where you used to be hangin’ out with them girls.”
“Well, of course not, John,” Imani said. “Shit, they was the reason I wanted some of the dick. They was all talkin’ about what they heard about it and shit.”
John blushed, not able to hide it. “Is that right?” he asked.
“Mmhmm,” Imani said.
John went with the flow as Imani pushed him toward the couch. He chuckled as his butt slammed down onto the cushion. “What you doin’ to a nigga?” he asked playfully.
“You’ll see,” Imani said. As if she were in total control, Imani undid John’s pants and pulled them down to his feet.
John took a deep breath then leaned his head onto the back of the couch. He knew what
She grabbed his heavy bulge, which looked particularly full in his gray boxer briefs. Imani had dropped to her knees. Her insides were already getting moist. Quickly, she reminisced about the various things she’d heard about what John was carrying in his pants, as well as what he could do with it. A former friend of hers had supposedly gotten it in with John at a hotel downtown during a convention. At first, Imani hadn’t really believed what her friend was saying because she was well known to exaggerate things; however, once Imani had also heard it from a girl who used to live next door to John, she knew she wanted some of it too. And she’d always thought John was so cute. He had swag, tattoos, dressed well, and—most importantly—dressed very well.
Soon enough, the warm pleasure of Imani’s hands wrapping around his hardening manhood caused him to let out a deep breath. By the time John lifted his head back up and looked down at Imani, he felt his ego practically explode from seeing the look on her face. Within seconds, he’d gotten rock hard—veins running up and down his shaft like rivers. Imani stroked it, made a comment about its size then stuck her tongue out. It flickered violently, but never actually made contact with the head of his penis.
“Fuck!” John grunted. Listening to this chick’s wet tongue slash about and not actually touch his manhood made him want to reach forward and take control of her head. Since he didn’t know her that well, yet, he was going to let her take the lead. Plus, he liked to lay back and let a woman enjoy what was in his pants. He’d made it a point to always leave a woman satisfied.
“Why you teasin’ a nigga? Suck on that dick already.” A chuckle slipped out of his mouth. “You know you want to. So, why you playin’ with a nigga?”
“Dang,” Imani said, leaning up and smiling. “Would you calm down?”
John smirked as he pulled his eyes away from Imani and looked back up toward the ceiling. No sooner had the back of his head gently thumped against the back of the couch, than he felt Imani take him into her mouth. He sighed, his eyes rolling as he licked his lips. “Shit, Imani,” he said. He squeezed his eyelids closed so hard that when he looked up and down at Imani, not only were his eyes watery, but his vision was also blurry. The slurping noises were like music, so rhythmic and steady, as Imani enjoyed his manhood.
“Suck that dick!” John said, encouraging Imani to do her thing. “Shit, you can suck dick good.”
Imani chuckled as she tried to deep throat John. She’d gotten about seventy-five percent of his shaft into her mouth, but at this point she couldn’t take it anymore. When she leaned back and looked at it, she knew she wanted to have some of it. It looked perfect and like it would be just what she needed—something to fill her up to where she could really have fun.
“I want this dick in me,” Imani said, in a very animalistic way. “I want this dick in me now.”
John stood up and stepped out of his pants. He wasted no time in grabbing Imani and slapping her ass violently. As squeals slipped from her lips, John pressed his lips into hers and kissed her passionately. He slapped her ass again as he slid her shirt over her head before busying himself with enjoying kissing her breasts. Imani, not having felt this turned on in a while, kept one hand wrapped around John’s manhood as she used the other to rub the top of his head. His kisses were so delicate—so sweet and sensual. She started to look at John differently. At first, he was just going to be a fuck—a big dick to enjoy. Now that she was getting sensual with him and loosing herself in the pleasure of the moment, he was becoming attractive in many other ways.
“I want this dick in me!” Imani said, squeezing John’s shaft. “I want it in me.”
“Do you?” John asked, softly, as he kissed Imani’s neck. He slapped her ass again then said, “I’mma beat that pussy up so bad. You know that, right? You know I’m about to wreck this shit to where you gon’ be walkin’ funny for a couple days, don’t you?” With his fingers spread wide, he slapped Imani’s ass and grabbed a handful. He couldn’t help but smile at the feel of her cheeks jiggling.
Imani couldn’t take the teasing anymore. Between John’s kisses, his cologne, and the head of his penis boinking into her stomach, she felt nearly enraged from her desire. Tired of the games, she simply grabbed John by his penis and headed toward the bedroom. John, almost stumbling, moved forward. He laughed. “Damn,” he said. “You gon’ just pull a nigga by his dick?”
“Mmhmm.” They’d just gotten to the hallway when Imani paused and made her ass clap. “Sure am.”
“Got-damn,” John said, shaking his head. He slapped her ass again, watching the way the cheeks bounced and slapped against one another. “That ass is fat as fuck.”
“Wait till you feel this pussy, nigga,” Imani said. “Mmhmm. Wait till you feel this pussy, nigga. I got that wet wet.”
“Is that right?” John asked.
Imani walked up to the bed and John slowly pushed her back. He pulled her pants off then ripped her panties, throwing the ripped cloth to the side. Imani’s legs jiggled as she leaned back, spreading them wide as if she was ready.
“Damn, that pussy look plump,” John said. He reached forward and used the tip of his index finger to slick Imani’s clit. She screamed, smiling from ear to ear, as her legs jolted from the excitement. Looking up and seeing John’s hard dick bounce up and down in front of him drove her crazy. She was starting to think that maybe she should have just jumped on it when he was sitting on the couch out in the living room.
Wasting no more time, John leaned over. He pushed himself between Imani’s open legs and slid his manhood inside of her. Feeling her body tense up—her breathing interrupted by gasps—drove John crazy. His eyes rolled back when he felt his own dick throb. He pushed into Imani slowly until his balls slapped against her body.
“Damn, this shit is big as fuck!” Imani said. She grabbed a pillow, still smiling, and covered her face. Her insides were being stretched to the max, so far that she felt like she was about to have her first orgasm of the night without John even going hard. She was that turned on.
John smiled and kissed Imani softly. He stroked in and out of her, using his entire length. There came a point where the room had gotten so quiet the loudest noise was the sloshing sound from John’s manhood going in and out of Imani. She squealed and kicked; the bed squeaked.
John turned Imani over, grabbing her waist and flipping her onto her stomach. He quickly licked her toes and kissed all over her ass cheeks—heaven for any black man. Then he grabbed her waist and pushed his way inside of her. Like a porn star, he reached forward and grabbed Imani’s neck and shoulders. Imani screamed and squealed about how good the dick was as John went hard. He pummeled her insides as if he hadn’t had sex in months—so hard that there were moments where Imani felt dizzy.
“Damn, nigga!” Imani yelled. “You fuckin’ this pussy up, John! Fuck, nigga! Fuck!”
John was too focused on what he was doing to really focus in on what this chick was saying. All he knew was that not only was there this big booty, red-bone chick bent over in front of him, but she also had the pussy that wouldn’t quit. Every so often, he’d slow down and do slow, deep strokes just so he could get a look at his dick glistening from Imani’s insides. She was absolutely right. The only way to describe her pussy was to say that it was wet.
Imani had three orgasms by the time John came. He breathed heavily, his stomach going in and out, as he’d been going hard for about thirty minutes. “Shit!” he grunted. “That pussy was good as fuck.”
John yanked his shirt off of his sweaty body and tossed it to the side. He hopped into the bed with Imani, who had already grabbed sheets and covered her shapely, plump body. He knew he’d done exactly what she wanted when he looked over her shoulder. Imani grabbed her stomach as she smiled, curse words slipping out of her mouth left and right.
John spent the next few minutes basking in his ego. Yet again, he’d literally knocked it out of the box with another chick. No matter where the conversation went, Imani always seemed to bring it back to the sex. John promised Imani that he only needed a little while before he’d be able to go for another round. Imani assured him that this was perfectly all right with her, saying that he could spend the night. John laughed, holding Imani tightly. He knew he’d really be able to give it to Imani in the morning. His morning erections were so strong they could very well make the news. Sometimes he even had to wait to leave the house because it wouldn’t go down.
Twenty minutes or so passed with the two of them chatting in the dark bedroom. Then, the sound of keys at the door caused their hearts to jump.
“What the fuck was that?” John asked, looking toward the bedroom door.
“I don’t know,” Imani said, quickly hopping out of the bed. “Race said he wasn’t gon’ be back in town for like another day or two when I talked to him earlier.”
“I thought you said he don’t live here,” John said. He jumped out of the bed as they heard the front door opening. “You said that nigga don’t live here with you.”
“He don’t, really,” Imani said, now feeling her own heart beat faster. “He was just stayin’ here with me for a while, but he don’t really live here.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” John said. He’d grabbed his shirt and put it on just when he realized that he’d left his pants and shoes out in the living room, on the floor in front of the couch. With how the living room was configured, there was no way a grown man was going to enter his chick’s apartment and not see another man’s pants on the floor in front of the couch. John knew that he was officially in some deep shit—deep shit that Imani had pulled him into.