Between My Thighs: An Urban Erotic Tale Read Free Page B

blown.
    The waitress arrived at the table with my drink in hand. “Here you are, miss,” she said as she placed a glass of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay on the table.
    “This is the drink I wanted, but I didn’t place an order yet,” I said, confused by her knowledge of what I was having.
    “Compliments of Mr. Grimes. He asked that I tell you ‘later girlfriend,’” the waitress said and walked off.
    Dallas stared at me intently before she said, “Nice job up there, Raquel. I knew you had it in you.”
    There was something going on with Dallas. I wasn’t sure if she saw Troy or was just jealous because I was in the spotlight. The girl should have been used to me being the center of attention. She always followed my lead and couldn’t compete with my looks. I was gorgeous. Not conceited, just convinced was my motto. My body was sculpted. I’d inherited my silky-smooth skin from my mother, my height from my absentee father, and my sensual curves from Mother Nature. When I walked in any room, all eyes were on me, and whispers filled the air. I was the reason women had ribs removed, hoping to create that perfect waistline. I had both sexes gawking.
    “Thanks, girl,” I responded to Dallas. “That was fun. I haven’t freestyled in a long time.”
    Although I loved to write poetry in my down time, sharing it with others wasn’t common practice. Typically, I reserved my erotic thoughts for someone special. Seeing Troy in the place made me realize he was that someone.

 
    Chapter 2|
    It was getting late. The clubs in New York weren’t like those in Detroit, closing at 2:00 a.m. The party wasn’t going to end until six in the morning. I couldn’t hang that late, was tired and ready to get out of my clothes. We left the club around three o’clock that morning.
    “Why don’t you guys stay at my place tonight? It’s late, and I can take you home in the morning,” Marcus said. He didn’t feel like driving us back to Brooklyn, and Dallas, she was sloppy drunk. I didn’t like his idea.
    “Where am I supposed to sleep? I didn’t come to New York to be sleeping on the floor,” I said in a tone like you must be kidding, right?
    Marcus detected my opposition, and before I knew it, he offered his king-size bed as the alternative, suggesting there was plenty of room for the three of us, all jokes aside.
    With Dallas drunk, no other option really existed. I didn’t know how to get back to her house, and in New York, taxi drivers were not the nicest people. They would drive right past our black asses. One time we got in a cab and the driver had the nerve to ask us if we had money. So taking a taxi wasn’t an option. Besides, I didn’t know the cross streets to even begin giving directions. We were with Marcus until he decided to take us home or Dallas came down from her high.
    Dallas and I slept in the same bed anyway while I stayed at her spot, so it wasn’t a big deal. It was more the principle because I didn’t know this man.
    Marcus should have had a guest room. After all, he was living in a nice-ass house and flossing plenty of bling. Funny, all the bedrooms except his were unfurnished.
    I decided to remain fully dressed. I wasn’t about to entice him by removing articles of clothing that would reveal more of my voluptuous and toned frame.
    Dallas should have had enough of exposing me to her male friends. Back when we were roommates in college, I was lounging in my Daisy Dukes and bra one day when she and this dude walked into the room without warning. Before I could grab something to cover up, it was too late. He had seen enough, and apparently liked what he saw because the next day he called the room asking to take me out. History had a way of repeating itself because I swear the same shit happened with Troy and me.
    Marcus was cool with my decision to sleep in my clothes. He put on his boxers and climbed in the bed.
    “So what’s your profession?” he asked.
    “I’m a clinical psychologist,” I