Lighter Shade of Brown (Urban Fiction) BWHM

Chapter 4

When the pager on the night stand went off, C's snatched it up and pressed the button on the side to stop the vibrating. Damn. Another fucking lick and he still didn't have a got damn thang. The game over music for Super Mario brothers, dragged his attention back to Cleo's spot at the foot of the bed. She lay on her stomach, her legs up, while her feet swung back and forth. The muscles in her ass flexed up and down like hydraulics, causing him to slowly loose his damn mind from fantasies she was just not ready to fulfill.

Unable to watch her ass any longer without reaching for it, C's climbed off the bed. "I'm gettin' tired of you kickin' my ass on this game, girl." He hit the button on the television, changing the program over to the VCR. "Talkin' about you ain't played this game before. Yeah right. You killin' it, baby."

"I haven't. Liberty don't have money for games like this." She dropped her controller on the floor as she tried to cover a pout. "She'd cuss my behind out if I ever asked her for anything like this."

"Wanna take that with you when you go?" C's asked, nodding his head toward the game console on the floor. "I never have time to play it. All it do is sit up collecting dust and shit."

Her eyes flared, while a huge smile spread across her face before she had a chance to stop it. Fuck she was beautiful. "For real, for real?" She curled her slim body until she sat on the heels of her feet. "You not playing with me, are you?"

"Naw, baby." He walked over to the bed, tapes still in hand. "I wouldn't do that to ya. You want my game? Take it with you. It's yours. Which one of these you wanna see?"

Cleo came up in a kneeling position on her knees. "I don't know. What you got?" She craned her neck to read the titles on the tapes. A fat silky curl fell over her shoulder, landing on her left breast.

"Carlito's Way, Scarface, and Krush Groove." He ticked off the names without sparing a glance to the video cassettes in his hand, his full attention trained on the lock of hair that had teased the shit out of him ever since he'd freed it from the bondage of her ponytail. A picture of them naked, and him putting it down from behind, while he clutched those silky curls in his fist, had played itself out in his mind. His dick swelled to King-Kong proportions in his pants. Of course it did what the hell else did he expect it to do? He loved money, but pussy was his passion. Too bad hers was on stand-by. What the hell could he do? She wasn't ready and he'd promised he'd wait.

"C's?" Cleo's voice stomped away the day dream, as her forest green eyes asked him one too many damn questions.

"I'm sorry, bae. Run that shit by me again." Reaching out, he tucked the curl behind her ear.

She chewed on her bottom lip, while staring at him like he'd lost his mind. "I just wanted to know if Krush Groove was the one with Run DMC and the Fat Boys in it."

"Yeah." C's answered. "Seen it already?"

"Nope." She replied, popping the p. To his surprise, she slid her arms around his neck. "Always wanted to though."

Unable to resist in any longer, he slipped his free hand in the back pocket of her jean shorts, cupping her ass on the sly. "Pues bien, hoy es tu día de suerte, chica."

"What's that mean?" She asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He dropped a kiss on her collar bone and ducked out of her arms. "Lay down and be good, and I might tell you later."

Backing away, he blew her an air kiss with a wink, and then turned to pop the tape in the VCR. When the previews began he snatched the remote off his dresser, and swaggered back over to the bed. She watched him until he joined her on the mattress, and then she snuggled into his side, resting her head on his chest. Her scent filled his nostrils, provoking his grasp around her to grow snugger. Shit. You might as well have called him Scarface, because with her in his arms, it definitely felt like the world was his.