She said, defiantly and almost angrily, “Yes. I’m saying I want to cheat on my husband. With you.”
I knew she’d been working up to that, but it shocked me all the same. Malika and I had been platonic friends for years, going all the way back to college. We drifted apart after school, found each other again two years ago, got close, and then inappropriately close. She told me her secrets, told me about being sick of her husband Jeff. Told me he was indifferent to her happiness and never really cared for her the way she’d hoped. Shared that he was always horny but dreadfully boring in bed — even though she let him have sex with her three or four nights a week. Malika shared her fantasies with me, starting innocently enough with which celebrities she’d fuck if she had the chance, then what kind of lingerie she found sexy … leading up to our current status quo: she’d been sharing her less than appropriate desires with me for months.
As a divorced man who’d been cheated on by my ex, I tried to toe the line with Malika. But I didn’t try hard enough. I’d protest, saying that Jeff was a real person with feelings and didn’t deserve to have his wife skirting the line with some schmuck like me. Not to mention their two young kids. I’d always half-heartedly try to steer our conversations back to respectable territory, and she’d always ignore my protestations and up the ante just a bit. By now we were talking on the phone in hushed and husky tones late at night, after Jeff and the kids had gone to bed. We were taking two-hour lunches together during the work week. She’d brush her fingers over my hands fleetingly. And though it was always just text, she was sending me flirty messages whenever she had a few minutes to herself. I acted as if I held the moral high ground, reminding her of her family obligations and saying discouraging things about her ramped-up desire for intimacy with me.
But in hindsight, the truth is I was eating this up. I was lonely and it had been years since a beautiful woman took an interest in me. I had lusted after Malika back at university, and though I entered our renewed friendship as an adult with the most chaste of intentions (knowing she was married), she was even more attractive now. Mid-thirties, silky black hair, dark features, almond eyes, and the most kissable full lips. Just a hint of extra softness in all the right places on her body. She used to be a lithe, hot coed and now she was a curvaceous, grown-ass woman. She’d been insecure and inconsistent as a young adult, but now she oozed confidence and sensuality. In many respects Malika had become exactly the woman I’d always dreamed of. And if I’m honest, I had fallen for her. Emotionally. Romantically. But she wasn’t available; at least she shouldn’t have been. And she shouldn’t have been slowly crushing our friendship by trying to turn it into something else — something I told her I didn’t want.
“Listen to yourself,” I said accusingly and in a harsh whisper so the patrons around us at the coffee shop wouldn’t hear. “You’re married. You have two beautiful kids. Nothing’s wrong in your life. And now you’re acting like it’d be a good idea if you and I just — I don’t know — HOOK UP?” I’m typically as mild-mannered as they come, but just this moment I was angry. Or, more accurately, I was hurt. I was being offered the gift I’d so desperately wanted, but not in a way I could feel good about accepting. She knew me well enough to know that, so this proposition of hers was nothing but selfish and mean.
She went eerily calm then, locked eyes with me and said in a quiet, sultry, matter-of-fact tone, “Look, Hale: you know I’m not happy in my marriage. You also know I’m attracted to you. And I know you’re attracted to me, too. This heat between us is real, and it turns me on, and I don’t feel like denying it anymore.” At that last bit, she dropped her eyes noticeably to stare at my mouth. As if she was just barely keeping herself from kissing me full and hard on the lips. Dammit, she knew how to push my buttons.
But what she didn’t know was that my attraction to her went beyond platonic friendship, and beyond flirtatious sexual attraction. I had feelings for her, and this cheap come-on was pissing me off. I was jealous of her husband. I was still sad about my divorce. I was frustrated that I hadn’t yet hit it off with a woman who was actually available and drama-free. And I knew if I were to give in to Malika it would end badly. Two years of growing emotional turmoil was coming to a head, and she was casually tipping me over the edge like a cat on a desk with a pencil.
It was enough. I felt the last shreds of my integrity snap. Fine.
I slowly shook my head, as if in disbelief. “You fucking bitch,” I said under my breath, quietly enough so only she could hear me. “I tried to respect your marriage. I tried to ignore your first flirtations. I tried to pretend it was just innocent fun, for so long. And when I finally told you it was going too far, you wouldn’t stop, would you? You kept pushing. And now, here we are. You’ve poked and prodded until there’s no way we can move forward as friends. You’ve killed our friendship just to see what would happen if we spent the night together. Just out of bored curiosity. Our relationship meant something to me, and I didn’t want it to end this way. But here we are.”
I was laying it on thick, I know.
And honestly, as I said it I was working up to what I imagined would be my indignant exit from the coffee shop. I truly never thought I’d see her again. I was already mentally blocking her number on my phone and making plans to get drunk alone on the couch.
But then, I didn’t leave. I didn’t end it. I didn’t do the right thing.
I looked down at Malika’s calf-length business skirt, then back to her eyes. With a contemptuous sneer, I told her, “Take off your panties right now, right here, and give them to me.”
Malika’s eyes went wide, her mouth dropped open, and her shoulders hunched up for a full second. I expected her to sputter some excuse about how that’s not what she had in mind. But then she collected herself and her facial expression became neutral. I watched as she kicked off her sandals, then leaned forward in her chair, keeping eye contact with me the entire time, and discreetly rolled up the front hem of her skirt. She exposed her shins, knees, and lower thighs to me before I saw her hands disappear under the skirt. Malika’s thighs flexed as she raised her ass off the chair briefly, and I watched her wrists work before her hands reappeared clutching the rolled waistband of a white thong. Still expressionless and staring into my eyes with her kissable lips slightly parted, she raised her knees a little and slipped her underwear down and past her toes.
I was tempted to look around and see whether anyone seated near us had noticed this naughty scene, but I wouldn’t give Malika the satisfaction of breaking eye contact first. So I did my best to look indifferently into her eyes while she dangled the thong from her left hand, calmly slid her sandals back over her feet, and casually brought the front of her skirt back down from her lap. Only then did she raise her hand and drop the wisp of fabric in a ball on the table in front of me.
It wasn’t enough. I ignored the thong sitting next to my plate of biscotti crumbs and reached for my wallet. I took out my credit card, looked over and waved politely to Audrey, the woman behind the counter, who quickly walked over with our bill. Malika gasped almost imperceptibly. I smiled at Audrey and handed her the card, and when she took it from me I saw her eyes land on the underwear just as she turned to go ring us up. Malika and I were regulars here, and Audrey was ever the professional, so her expression didn’t change and she didn’t say a word.
I picked up my phone and scanned for new emails, not giving Malika the courtesy of looking her way or saying anything to alleviate the awkward silence. When Audrey came back a minute later with the credit card receipt on a little tray, she slid it onto the table until it just touched Malika’s thong and cheerfully told us both to have a great day. I added a generous tip to the total and signed the receipt before standing up, grabbing the tiny undergarment and heading for the door. Malika rose too, and followed me out to the sidewalk. I walked straight to the nearest trash bin and tossed in the warm, delightfully damp thong before turning to finally look at Malika again. She’d stopped short a few feet away when she realized what I’d done, and I watched her eyes, a little hurt maybe, go from the bin to my face. She straightened her skirt and opened her mouth as if to say something, but I cut her off.
“Go back to work, and then home to your husband. If he wants sex tonight, you might as well give it to him because I’ll be busy. Don’t try to contact me; I’ll text when I want you.” With that, I stepped off the curb to my car (what luck that I’d found a nearby parking spot), got in, and drove away. When I checked my mirrors as I pulled out, Malika was still standing where I’d left her on the sidewalk.
Listen: all things considered, I’d really have loved to keep those panties as a souvenir. Maybe I’d jerk off into them that night, remembering the sight of her doing something so brazen in public. But on that day, in that moment, I was making a point. I still quickly sniffed the hand that had held them, though, as I drove away. Dammit, Malika’s scent was even more heavenly than I’d imagined.
That night after work I went home, stopping only for a bottle of the good stuff on the way. I got drunk on the couch after all, but not in the way I’d intended. My temper had cooled after hours of distraction and solitude, and now I was pondering my situation. Well, the train had left the station. There was no going back. I would never again be ‘just friends’ with Malika. I couldn’t pretend to be moral about this. And for her part, she hadn’t backed down when I tried to call her bluff. I guess it was possible she didn’t like the way I’d treated her after she’d given me her underwear in the coffee shop, or how I’d left her standing alone on the sidewalk afterward. Maybe if I texted her now she’d tell me to fuck off and block my number. But I doubted it.
The way I’d treated her, and the way she’d quietly done just what I asked and didn’t protest at the treatment, felt good. It felt really, really good. It turned me on. And I thought maybe it’d turned Malika on as well. So sure, this would end badly. But I resolved that night, slightly drunk and entirely horny, that I would play it out. And get some satisfaction.
I forced myself to wait three days before I finally texted Malika on Friday afternoon. Since she’d obediently refrained from reaching out to me during that time, it was the longest we’d gone without speaking in two years. It felt like a clean break, and I knew when we saw each other again things would be different. New. Not casual.
4:19 PM: After work I expect to see you. Meet me at the Parker, room 948, 6:30. If you’re late, we’re done.
She replied.
4:21 PM: See you then XX
I hadn’t given her much time to make excuses to her husband. I also didn’t give her enough time to go home and change clothes or shower. She’d have to come straight from her office, across town to the fairly lavish Parker Hotel. That’s how I wanted it: I wanted her to feel slightly unsettled about what she was doing. She’d feel guilty and nervous lying to Jeff about where she’d be spending the evening, and after a long day at the office she wouldn’t be able to freshen up before meeting me on my terms.
As for me, I’d taken the afternoon off. Had a good workout followed by a late lunch before showering and changing into a linen button-down shirt, nice dark jeans and a new pair of suede oxfords. I’d reserved a spacious room at the corner of a top floor. At 6:29 I was standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the skyline just as the sun was moving to lengthen the shadows of the city’s buildings, casting the sidewalks in shade before the coming evening. There was a knock at the door. I swallowed a hint of nerves, then smiled to myself. I turned and sat in an upholstered club chair facing the door.
“Come in,” I said. I’d propped the room’s door slightly open so Malika wouldn’t need a key to enter. I saw her tentatively peek around the edge of the door, taking in the room until she spotted me. She stepped in then, moved the do not disturb card from the inside doorknob to the outside, closed the door and made sure it was locked. Then she turned and clasped her hands together while she looked at me. I sensed she was trying to suss out my emotional state, unsure of whether I meant this to be a hot-and-sweaty fuck session or a slow, passionate night of lovemaking.
I smiled at her from my chair, and that seemed to relieve her tension. She smiled back, her eyes sparkling, and began to walk to where I sat. “Oh Hale, I’ve been waiting for this for ages,” she said, talking excitedly, too quickly. “I thought you’d never reach out. I want this so much, it’s going to be so good.” She stopped at the chair and leaned over me for what would have been our first ever kiss. But I sat back and raised my hand between us. Malika froze in surprise.
“I’d like you to stand in the middle of the room, just there,” I said. “Don’t speak, just do exactly as I say.” I was delighted (and a little surprised) to see her give it just a moment’s thought before straightening up, walking to where I’d pointed, and turning to face me. She clasped her hands behind her back and waited, a smirk on her face.
I stood and walked to her, looking her body up and down. I’d never done this so openly before. We were always supposed to be platonic friends, so I’d been careful to look her in the face when we spoke and only steal the occasional peek at her body when she’d looked away. But now I would not be respectful. I stared at her, evaluating her looks. Malika had indeed come straight from the office. Her beautiful hair was a little untidy, her nose and forehead a little shiny, her business suit a little rumpled, and there was even a hint of a stain where she must have dropped some of her lunch on her otherwise bright white top. Good.
“Take off all your clothes.”
“You too?”
“Nope. Just you,” I said as she pulled off her grey jacket. To her credit, Malika took this in stride and smiled as she tossed the jacket on a bed and began to unbutton her shirt. She looked into my eyes, untucked and took it off, then paused for me to take in the sight of her upper body. Her shoulders were elegant, her slightly prominent collarbones looked good enough to lick. Seeing the swell of her breasts, even hidden by her bra, made my dick twitch in my jeans. Malika’s tummy was flat but soft, with just a little extra on the sides of her hips. I couldn’t wait to caress her there. But instead, I looked up at her and raised my eyebrows.
“No lacy bra?” For all her teasing talk previously about sexy lingerie, her bra was quite tame. It fit her perfectly and accentuated her body, but it was a solid cream-colored matte full cup, only pretty, and not overly sexy. I’ve never cared about frilly undies, but I knew my remark would make Malika feel a little defensive.
“If I’d have known,” she started. I raised my hand to quiet her.
“It’s fine. Continue, please.”
Malika took the cue and reached back to unclasp her bra. My breath caught in my throat as I watched her amazing C-cup breasts reveal themselves for the first time. I’d spent years imagining what Malika might look like topless, and finally my fantasies were coming true. Reality didn’t disappoint: they were full but just perky enough, with small pinkish-brown nipples against her smooth, light-brown skin. I smiled again as I watched them harden, and looked up to see Malika with a sensual smirk on her face.
I took a step back and put my hands in my pockets, looking at her straight-leg suit pants expectantly. She kicked off her sensible black office heels, then unbuttoned and unzipped the pants. Turning her back to me, she wiggled them down her hips and bent over slightly to push them down her legs and off. I watched her panties stretch over her ass as she did. Turning again and straightening, she bit her lip when she caught me adjusting the growing bulge in my jeans.
Malika’s full bikini briefs matched her bra, and I raised my eyebrows again to silently tease her about the lack of smutty undies. Her face registered a mildly hurt expression and she moved to cover the panties with her hands. I stepped closer, gently but firmly took hold of her wrists, and placed Malika’s hands at her sides. She moaned softly at this, and I heard a little hitch in her breath.
“Would you like to do the honors?” she asked tentatively.
“No thanks. Go ahead.” I stepped back again.
For the first time since I’d reconnected with Malika two years ago, I saw her blush. She hesitated, her fingertips flirting with the waistband of her panties, and she turned her head to the side and looked out a window as if she was asking herself whether to go through with this. After all, I was standing there still fully clothed and clearly in control of my libido. Maybe this wasn’t the way she’d imagined I’d be. Truth be told, it wasn’t the way I’d normally have been, but this was Malika and she’d manipulated our relationship to get us here. I wasn’t going to fall at her feet just yet. I was going to make her work for this. Make her feel a little uncomfortable, a little less sure of herself.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the time. It was disrespectful for sure, and had the potential to kill the mood. But again, I was making a point.
As I put the phone back in my pocket and looked up, Malika’s expression was one of hurt surprise, then of realization. I think it clicked — she finally understood that I wasn’t happy about the way this had happened, that I was doing this so she’d see I wasn’t going to be a pushover she could just keep at her beck and call. She must have seen that at least on this night, her choice was either to submit, or to call it off.
Meanwhile, I was watching her face and staring at her lips. Those lips that made me want to make out with her for hours at a time. The space between her nose and her cheeks, where I longed to nuzzle and playfully kiss her. Her dark, stormy eyes, where I could get lost for days. It would have been so easy to let my resolve melt away and just go to her, lay her down gently and worship her entirely. But she didn’t have to know that.
Malika caught my attention, gave me a quick, understanding nod, and slowly but deliberately began to pull down her panties while I watched. She kept eye contact as she bent forward. I saw her breasts hang almost obscenely from her chest as her hands pulled the underwear lower and lower, making me wonder how they’d move if I took Malika from behind in front of a mirror. Finally she straightened, her panties pooled around her ankles, and lightly kicked them away while her hands fell again to her sides. I made a point not to look at her face. I didn’t avert my eyes or show appreciation for what she’d just done. I stared, full-on, at her newly exposed pussy.
She’d kept her ankles together, but as I looked intently at the V between her legs, Malika stepped her feet apart now, just a little, to give me a better view. I looked some more, then moved to turn on a lamp just a few feet away. That’s better, I thought.
Damn, my fantasies didn’t do justice to the actual sight of Malika’s nude body, finally before my eyes and available to me. I stared again at her mound, truly taking it in. She was shaved smooth, not even a landing strip. Not what I imagined, but somehow perfect. Her outer labia were full and inviting, and I could just make out the edges of her inner lips, pinkish-brown like her nipples — and in the lamplight I could see they were glistening. Malika was surely turned on, and now my cock was really hard, struggling against the zipper in my jeans.
Still avoiding her gaze, my eyes moved to take in the full package, the entirety of Malika’s nude body. She was beautiful. Her skin was flawless, her shape was womanly and statuesque. I wanted to rush to her and kiss her all over, but I knew I wouldn’t give in that night. I had a plan, and I would stick to it.
After what felt like minutes, I pulled out my phone again, and before she could react I took a full-body photo of her. She gasped in protest and made to cover herself, but I simply twirled my finger in the air. She hesitated again, clearly embarrassed. But then, sure enough, she turned around and I took another photo of her nude body from behind. When she heard the click of the camera, she faced me again.
I looked into Malika’s eyes again. Her expression was one of slight confusion and unease, mixed with just a hint of expectant hope. I don’t think she could tell whether I approved, and she seemed to be feeling a little self-conscious.
“Very nice,” I said matter-of-factly. I stepped in close, very close. I could hear and feel Malika’s breathing, hot on my neck. I think she was expecting me to kiss her, but instead I looked down at her face, and for the first time I touched her. I didn’t caress her arm or pull her into a warm embrace. I moved right to her center and cupped her naked mound with my right hand. Malika gasped in shock.
“Oh my god, Hale,” she whispered.
I moved my middle finger forward to part her lips, not entering her but stopping just short. As I did, I felt just a drop of her juice fall onto my finger. Malika grabbed my upper arm and held tight as if she might collapse to the floor if I moved away. I pulled my hand from her pussy and brought it between our faces. She watched, mesmerized, as I rubbed my wet finger with my thumb, proof of her excitement.
“You want this?”
In answer, Malika leaned forward and took my finger into her mouth. I felt her tongue swirl around the wetness she’d left on me, and watched her lips — those kissable lips — close around my digit. I could have come in my pants.
“You’ve been working all day. You’re not exactly at your freshest. I’d like you to go shower now,” I said, composing myself just enough to look at her dismissively.
That must have stung a little, but now that she understood the role I was taking, I think Malika was turned on even more by such an insensitive instruction. Certainly as she released my finger from her hot, wet mouth her lips remained parted and she nearly panted the single word, “Okay.” The look she gave me was deeply, seriously, wanton.
She turned and steadily walked toward the hotel room’s bath, clearly going slowly enough to give me a good look at a fabulously round ass that begged to be gripped. I made a mental note of that, for another time.
As I heard the water come on and the shower door open and close — I noticed with a smile that Malika had left the bathroom door open — I sat down in the club chair. I couldn’t help but unzip my jeans and pull out my throbbing cock for just a little stroking. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Malika and me, finally! But the circumstances were so illicit there was no way to feel romantic about it. This was just sex. Decadent, dangerous sex. Given that thought, it was all I could do not to come all over myself, but I reminded that wasn’t the plan tonight. Reluctantly, I tucked myself away when I heard the shower turn off, and walked around the room turning on all the lights before sitting down again.
A minute or two later, Malika emerged from the bath and stood in the doorway with one hand on the frame. Her raven-black hair was damp but silkier than ever, running to just below her shoulders, and the rest of her naked body was toweled dry. A sight to behold.
Still seated, I said, “Come back over to where you were standing before.”
She complied right away, but now I saw her look past me to all the windows. It was darker outside now, and the room was lit up. There weren’t many buildings nearby as tall as our hotel, but there were some. If someone in one had wanted to see Malika’s body, they could. She didn’t move to cover herself up, but I could see a little hesitancy in her steps, and a blush reappeared and spread from her face to the top of her chest.
She stood still before me in the spot I’d selected for her. Now it was time to finish off the night.
“I’d like you to masturbate now.”
“Hale, what?”
“You heard me.”
“Right here?” Her eyes again flicked to the windows and the buildings beyond. “Standing up, right here?”
“Yup. Go on.”
Malika looked back to me and again came the look of realization and then unreserved arousal.
“Oh my god, Hale,” she breathed. “You want me to be on display for you? You want me to get myself off while you sit there in your clothes and watch? I’ll do it. This is what I’ve wanted. This is what I’ve been waiting for, Hale. Watch. Watch me finger my wet pussy for you. I don’t mind. I’ll get off knowing you’re finally seeing the real me. Oh god, Hale, I’m so turned on.”
With that, Malika stood straight, spread her feet shoulder-width apart, and began to touch herself for me. Her left hand went to her right nipple, rubbing it then squeezing it gently, her gold wedding ring sparkling in the lamplight of the hotel room. Her right hand ran down her stomach and past her hips to cover her mound before rubbing slowly around her inner thighs.
I sat and watched intently as her gentle squeezes became hard tugging at her nipples, and soon she had two fingers parting her pussy lips and spreading them lewdly as she rolled her hips forward to put her pink inner sex on vivid display for me. She held herself there, still for a few moments.
“Oh fuck, Hale. I’m so hot for you right now. I’ve been waiting for you to want me like I want you. I’ve been dreaming of you seeing all of me, not hiding your attraction. I want you to take me and make me yours. I don’t want to be his anymore. I don’t want to be good. I want to be bad, and I want you to take charge of me and make me your plaything.”
As she spoke, I watched as a thin string of her juices dripped from her open vagina and stretched down in the space between her legs. She saw me staring and looked down to see the evidence of her submission.
“God damn, Hale, I’m so fucking hot for you. Look at that. My cunt’s so wet for you I’m dripping. I’m never this wet for him. Only for you.” With that, she bent her knees so her thighs spread even more obscenely for my viewing pleasure. Her fingers started rubbing circles around her pussy furiously, and the string of cum dripped onto the carpet between her feet. She rubbed her lips and then her clit, faster than my eyes could register. I looked up and her eyes were shut tight, her cheeks were red in a new kind of blush, and beads of sweat were forming on her smooth forehead. Her mouth was open and she was panting with the effort of getting herself off as instructed.
Her left hand left her shaking tits then, and disappeared around her back. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but I had a hunch.
“Ungh. Fffuck. Oh god,” she grunted, and from the way her body was contorted and her hips rocked back and forth, I was pretty sure she had just inserted a finger into her asshole. I wished I could see that, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment by talking or moving and instead made another mental note for future reference.
Soon, she was lost in her action, eyes still shut tight and face in a mindless expression of reckless pleasure. Her two fingers were buried inside her pussy now, and she was fucking herself with abandon from the front and the back. I saw the pink flush spread further across her chest, along with sweat dripping down between her quivering breasts. I heard the squelching sound of her sopping wet pussy, and saw her knuckles dripping with her cum.
“Fuck, I’m so close, Hale. This is so nasty, and I love it. I love being nasty for you.” She grunted and moaned, and eventually her body began to shake and her knees began to buckle. She managed to stay upright, but only just. “Can I come, Hale? Oh please, can I come for you?”
That was unexpected. Of course I wanted her to feel submissive, but I didn’t think she’d play along to that extent. I liked it. Her eyes were still closed and she was groaning and humming with the exertion and pleasure she was giving herself, begging intermittently for permission to come. I could watch that forever, but finally I decided she’d had enough. I stood up from the chair, silently stepped close to her, until she could feel my breath on her face. She gasped, but didn’t open her eyes. Her mouth was wide open in the shape of an O, and she froze in place, her hands and fingers stilled.
I inhaled deeply and took in the mixed scent of her sweat and arousal. I watched her chest heaving as she continued to pant, saw her pulse racing at the base of her graceful neck.
Then, slowly, quietly, I leaned in till my nose touched hers. I felt her shudder and heard her sharp intake of breath. She closed her mouth and waited for me to say something, do something. Her body was still, her soaked right hand covering her dripping mound.
I whispered, “Yes, Malika. Come,” and then I kissed her lips softly, for the first time ever.
“Oh god,” she breathed. I stepped back.
Malika exploded in an orgasm like none I’d ever seen before. Her hips shook, her knees bent deeper, her tits quivered, her mouth opened again as a high-pitched squeal ripped through her. She seemed to come again and again, nearly shouting, “I’m still coming! Still, fuck, coming!”
Eventually, she sank to her knees, her ass resting on her heels, her shoulders slumped slightly forward. Finally, Malika opened her eyes again. She looked at me, exhausted and spent. She didn’t smile, but she looked satisfied. From her knees she looked up into my eyes, saying nothing but breathing heavily for what felt like minutes. I stared back at her, finally allowing my feelings to show on my face.
“That was incredible, Malika.” She smiled slowly, and looked at me with her dusky, half-closed eyes. She reached up for my belt buckle.
“Not tonight,” I said. “I just wanted to see whether you would do this on my terms. That’s all for tonight.”
“Really,” Malika asked, “Are you sure? You got me all worked up, handled me so perfectly, and I came so hard. That was so fucking hot. I owe you.”
“You sure do,” I replied. “And I’ll hold you to it. Next time you’ll definitely take care of my needs.”
“There’s going to be a next time?” She raised her eyebrows and smiled hopefully.
I held her face in my hand and said, “You’re goddamn right there’s going to be a next time.” Malika turned her head to kiss the palm of my hand, then took my thumb into her mouth while looking up at me seductively.
Like I said: I knew this would end badly. But at that moment, I decided not to care.
