Page 73 of Brown Sugar
Within minutes, she’s discovering all over again how serious I am.
I’ve brought her up to my bed, where I have my way with her, worshipping every inch and curve of her body, ’til she’s seizing up on her third orgasm.
I’m buried deep inside her, my strokes long and slow. I’m torturing myself, trying to be disciplined and hold off as long as I can. In order to do so, I focus on her, kissing and sucking on her breasts and then moving up to her pouty mouth.
I turn her over onto her stomach and press my lips to her spine. My hands fill with her soft naked curves, and I stroke my cock deep inside. Hot electricity jolts through me from where my cock’s buried in tight warmth, and I finally give in.
My release fills her up ’til I’m empty and have nothing else left to give. Her name’s on my tongue, the one I call out when I collapse in bed and pull her into me.
The one who’s in my heart as I caress her cheek and give her more sweet kisses.
“Princess, you’ve got me,” I say, kissing her once, then twice. I go for a third kiss, unable to resist. “You’ve got me hooked on you. You might as well be a damn drug. Some kind of sugar rush.”
“Brownsugar,” she corrects with a giggle.
I laugh too, stroking her cheek, pulling her down for yet another kiss. “That’s right. Brown fucking sugar.”
“I’m feeling some inspiration for a new album,” she murmurs, resting her head on my chest. “Real content from me. The stuff I want to sing about.”
“And I’ll be there,” I say. “Every step of the way. Protecting youandsupporting you.”
25
KIANA
ONE YEAR LATER…
I pull up outside the recording studio in my Mustang convertible with a grateful smile on my face. Three whole hours to work on my upcoming album.
Otherwise known as the final touches recording the songs that’ll be included.
The process has been long and grueling but absolutely worth it. I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.
Once my things are gathered, I head inside still wearing my shades. The receptionist greets me and lets me know the sound and tech engineers are waiting for me inside. I thank her and push the doors open expecting the low lit, intimate atmosphere of the recording booth.
Instead, I walk into a group of people jumping out at me, screaming, “SURPRISE!”
Tyson, Amari, Tai, Monica, and the others all spring out, blowing party horns and throwing confetti in the air. Even the sound and tech engineers are in on it. They’re clapping along, grinning ear to ear as I take in the scene.
Party streamers hang. A giant banner’s draped across the back wall congratulating me on my album. There’s a large red velvet cake waiting for me in the seating area with the cover of my album frosted onto the top.
Tears mist my eyes as my hands come up to my mouth, yet I find myself speechless.
“How did you pull this off?” I laugh after a moment.
“Easy, princess. We knew you’d be running a little late.”
“And that you’d stop by Grindhouse for your coffee,” Amari adds, smirking.
“And that red velvet’s one of your favorites,” Tyson continues.
“Okay, I get the idea!” I walk into Tyson’s arms, then go for hugs with Amari and the rest. “But you didn’t have to do all this for me. It’s just an album recording.”
“Not just any album recording. Your first album you’ll be releasing as an independent artist,” Amari says. “It’s a huge deal.”
My belly quakes with nerves. “It won’t sell half as well as the albums I released with Smash Records.”
“Are you kidding?” Monica says, waving a hand at me. “Have you been following the hype on social media? Your stans literally have a countdown that goes viral just about every day.”