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Real nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
He thanked Mariana and Davi abruptly before half dragging me to the Grand National. I was so confused. Why was Real, who claimed to work primarily in real estate, involved in shit like what just happened? Who was Aaqil and why was there bad blood between them? Why the hell did he have armed coffee shop owners and such an observant dressmaker on site?
There was so much I wanted to ask, but something about his vibe had me quiet. He didn’t say anything to me the whole trip, but he had a clipped, coded phone conversation with someone. I expected to be dropped off and to hear from him later in the week. He had other plans, though. The frustration I sensed in him apparently needed an outlet, and he found it in my bedroom. A few hours after returning home, my pussy was sore from his ruthless pounding, and my legs were weak from how many times he’d made me cum. When I finally cupped a hand over my aching center and shook my head no, he spoke the first words he’d said to me since we left the shopping center, giving me a gruff apology. Then he proceeded to slide down and nudge my hand to the side and use his warm, slow tongue to soothe my pussy. Real’s talent had me shedding tears and pleading. He swallowed the endless fount of my juices until he swept me into a last, blinding orgasm that literally took me out. When I woke, I was under the covers, and he was gone.
The viewof the city from the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows was beautiful. I stood with my hands shoved into the pocket of my hoodie and watched the movement of thousands of people across the maze of roads and highways. The city lights lit their way, but the artificial illumination had nothing on the glow of the stars and moon visible at this level.
"This shit is nice," Targen said from his spot on the loveseat.
I turned to him, smirking.
"Yeah. Maybe the blood will come out of the carpet."
He shrugged as he cracked the shell on another pistachio. "They should've listened to us."
"Lots of mothafuckas' lives would be easier if they listened to us," I agreed.
"You didn't tell me the plan for tonight," he said, shifting in his seat.
It was my turn to lift my shoulders nonchalantly.
"That's cuz I don't have one."
Targen nodded.
"Playing it by ear? All right. I usually like to know what the fuck we doing, but I'm okay with a little organic shit. Man, these cotton candy grapes are the truth. You want one, Assad?” he asked the little dog sitting next to him on the couch. Assad—if his tag was right—wagged his tail yes.
I couldn't help smiling. This nigga was as crazy as I was.
“That dog got a death wish,” I muttered.
“Why you say that?”
“He ain’t supposed to have no grapes or raisins.”
Targen looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “How the hell you know that?”
I shrugged. “Probably something Cairo ass told me.”
“Mm-hmm,” he said skeptically, but he tossed Assad a cheese cube.
"You think that's a real Fabergé egg?" I asked, eyeballing the egg resting on one of the built-in glass shelves on each side of the doorway.
"Might be one of the missing ones. He looks like a black-market kind of nigga. We gon' find out when I take it to be appraised."
"You just gon' walk out with something that may be worth twenty mil?"
He chuckled. "Who gon' stop me?"
I shook my head, about to fuck with him about his crazy expensive tastes when I heard the elevator. Leaning against a window, I waited as the doors slid open and a couple caught up in a sloppy kiss stepped out. They parted long enough for him to ask, "You are ready for this big dick?"
Targen cleared his throat, and I shook my head. The man's head snapped toward us.
"Damn, Aaqil. Yo' game weak as fuck," I commented.
"Shit was definitely embarrassing," Targen said before smiling at the woman. "Let me stop being rude. Come on over and have a seat, shorty. This is Assad. He don’t bite."
He patted the space beside Assad as her eyes got big as hell. Looking behind her, she made a small sound as she noticed the elevator doors had closed. No escape. She swallowed hard.