“Hello? Hello? Miss Simms?” Dr. Dangerfield called out again.

  LaQuandra grunted, while Isaiah shook his head.

  And then finally up on the screen appeared Cassandra Simms. With her thick, long lashes, almond-shaped eyes and flawless smooth butterscotch complexion, she was clearly not what Dr. Dangerfield had envisioned. In each of her ears was a large diamond stud.

  “Hello? Miss Simms?”

  “Yes, it is,” Cassandra said, swinging her long Nicki Minaj-esque ponytail over her shoulder. “How may I help you?” She leaned forward, her face mere inches from the screen and then she leaned back, and waved. “Hey, baby daddy. Isaiah, come in here and say hi to ya fahver. He on camera with his mule-faced wife.”

  LaQuandra’s jaw tightened, but she’d made it up in her mind that she wouldn’t let this bitch get to her, not in front of the therapist.

  Seconds later, a very handsome teenaged boy appeared, the spitting image of Isaiah. “What’s good, Dad?” he said, and then he smiled, flashing perfectly white teeth and one deep dimple in his left cheek. “When you coming home?”

  Isaiah smiled, and it was the first time Dr. Dangerfield saw his eyes light up since she’d been working with him.

  “What’s good, lil’ man. I’ll be home soon.”

  “Bet,” his son said. “Make sure you come scoop me up.”

  “No doubt, man. I got you.”

  The teenaged boy threw up deuces and then leaned in and kissed Cassandra on the cheek. And then he was gone.

  Cassandra smiled. “My baby so fine. And thank gawd he gotta big dingaling like his fahver.”

  Isaiah grinned. And LaQuandra swung a hand at him, hitting him in his chest.

  “Miss Simms, I would like to thank you for—”

  “Joshua, bring me my Bumblebees. The Chanels. And hurry up. Quandra’s ugly-ass is hurting my eyes.”

  LaQuandra sat up in her seat, hand on hip. “Bit—” She caught herself. She huffed. “Can we please get on with this?”

  “Miss Simms, please. May I have your attention?”

  “Did you transfer them coins into my account?” Cassandra asked. “Because you know my time is money.”

  “Yes,” Dr. Dangerfield said. “As agreed upon, five-thousand dollars has been successfully wired into your account.”

  LaQuandra blinked. This money-hungry bitch.

  Cassandra smacked her glossed lips, reaching for her sunglasses. “Then you have my attention.” She slid the designer shades on her face. “Now how can I help you?”

  “As you see, we have Mr. and Mrs. Lewis here. And—”

  “Yes. I sure do. I see my baby fahver and his ugly wife.”

  LaQuandra clenched her teeth and glared over at Isaiah, who sat leaning forward with his head down and his hands clasped. This goddamn coward! Pussy-ass bitch, LaQuandra thought.

  “Miss Simms, please try to be respectful.”

  “Oh, I am being respectful. I’ve been good to LaQuandra. I ain’t hop on that ass and beat her edges out in a minute. But she due for a new ass-stomp ’cause I know she still talking slick about me.”

  “Bitch, I don’t say shit about your ghetto-ass,” LaQuandra snapped. “But you stay talking shit about me!”

  Cassandra smiled. “You see, Miss Therapist. I told you. She lucky I’m in a good mood today, so I’ma keep it classy. But, anyway, back to the Bobblehead you got in your office. Admit it, Quandra. You hate me because I gave Isaiah what you couldn’t.”

  “No, bitch. I hate you because you’re a whore.”

  Cassandra laughed. “But I ain’t the one with my name engraved in a permanent chair down at the clinic, sugah-boo. You are.”

  Isaiah looked up.

  LaQuandra swallowed. And then she shot a look over at Dr. Dangerfield. “Are you gonna ask this bitch, or what?”

  “Nigga-coon, boom! Ask me what, bitch? Am I sucking Isaiah’s dingaling? Am I letting him get all up in this sweet cootie-coo? Is he licking this juicy ass?”

  Fuck. Isaiah held his breath.

  “Yes, bitch!” LaQuandra shouted. “Is Isaiah still fucking you?”

  A pre-teenaged boy with a gun drawn on one side of his face and a middle finger on the other side suddenly appeared behind Cassandra with both his middle fingers up.

  “And if he is,” Cassandra taunted, “what you gonna do, huh, sugah-boo, come beat my ass?” She laughed again. “I’d like to see you try. Are you—” She craned her neck, and swung her fist at the boy behind her. “Fuquan, you little big-dick fucker, get the fuck from behind me before I punch your goddamn eye sockets in! Don’t do me.”

  He ran off laughing.

  Cassandra sighed. “These ratchet-ass kids about to have me get ghetto up in here. I don’t know where these motherfuckers come from.” She took a deep breath. “I need to get down to The Crack House for some get-right ‘n’ shake these hips to get this mind right, before I end up in jail.”

  Dr. Dangerfield shifted in her chair. “Miss Simms, focus. Please. I promise we only need a moment of your time. So I’ll get right to it. Are you and Mr. Lewis romantically or physically involved?”

  “Focus? Nigga-coon, boom! Don’t do me, Miss Lady. If Quandra wanna know if I’m fuckin’ the skin off my baby fahver’s dingaling, then let her ask me.”

  “Fair enough,” Dr. Dangerfield said, ignoring the woman’s hostility.

  LaQuandra sucked her teeth. “Cassandra, don’t play games. I already did. Now are you fucking him or not?”

  Cassandra lifted up her sunglasses and peered into the screen. “LaQuandra, if I tell ya ugly-ass no, is you gonna believe me? And if I say yes, are you gonna leave him?”

  LaQuandra blinked, and before she could answer, Cassandra was already speaking for her. “Of course you not gonna believe me. So why is we really here? Is your freaky-ass tryna invite me to a threesome? And you ain’t leaving him, either. You wanna know why, Quandra? Because you scared I’ma move him up in here. You scared I’ma unlock these tubes ‘n’ give him another baby. And I still might—just because I can. And you can’t.”

  LaQuandra felt her heart stop.

  “Yo, what the fuck!” Isaiah snapped. “Damn! Both you bitches need to stop this dumb shit. Quandra, Cass ain’t going nowhere because I gotta son with her. But if you wanna be on your bullshit ‘n’ wanna bounce, then bounce. But if you staying, then you need to stop talking shit about her, stop obsessing about shit. Damn.”

  Cassandra grunted. “Mmph. Let that coon know, boo.”

  “Yo, that shit goes for you too, Cass. You need to fall back on your bullshit. Stop slick-talking ‘n’ disrespecting LaQuandra. She’s my wife. And you need to respect that shit. The only thing that matters to me is my son. Period. So both of you bitches need to figure it the fuck out.”

  Isaiah hopped up from his seat. “I’m out.”

  Cassandra and LaQuandra both blinked.

  Dr. Dangerfield glanced at the time. She needed a drink. “Well, ladies. Time’s up. Miss Simms, thanks for your time.”

  Forty-Two

  The fresh scent of wet pussy perfumed the air, as Nairobia and Dr. Dangerfield lay curled beneath rumpled sheets watching the footage of Krista sitting in The Garden by the lagoon reading her Bible.

  “Just look at her,” Dr. Dangerfield said over a sigh.

  Nairobia rolled her eyes as she cupped Dr. Dangerfield’s breast, and then teasingly circled her nipple with her finger. Watching Krista was making her cunt go dry.

  “What a dry little muffin,” Nairobia drawled out. “Is there hope for her?”

  Dr. Dangerfield let out a soft moan. Like Nairobia, she believed her sexuality, like many of her clients’, wasn’t neatly wrapped in a box. It was layered. Fluid. She didn’t believe sexual expression was fixed or static. No. Sexuality was a matter of uncovering, discovering, one’s own desires.

  Nairobia pinched her nipple.

  “Uh . . . mmm,” Dr. Dangerfield moaned out. “There is . . . uhh . . .” She moaned again when Nairobia’s hand slinked its way down over the curve of her hip, slowly finding its way between her legs. “No hope today. But maybe . . . tomorrow.”

  “Shameful,” Nairobia said, her hand sliding over the front of Dr. Dangerfield’s cunt. Her legs parted and Nairobia’s fingertips pressed over her clit.

  Dr. Dangerfield heard the desperate sound of her own whimper as Nairobia teased her there. And then she sucked in a gasp when Nairobia slid a finger inside her.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, her voice raw. She sucked in a gasp as her body clenched tightly around Nairobia’s finger.

  They’d spent the better part of the morning in Dr. Dangerfield’s private suite, behind the sliding wall, watching the surveillance footage of the couples, particularly Krista, from over the last two weeks.

  Borrrrring.

  Dr. Dangerfield switched to another monitor and Nairobia licked over her lips at the sight of Kendall’s impressive cock. Dr. Dangerfield zoomed in on it.

  “He makes my pussy wet,” she muttered as Nairobia continued dipping her fingers in and out of her body.

  “No, my darling, your cunt is wet for more good cock, for more good fucking.” Nairobia momentarily pulled her fingers from Dr. Dangerfield’s swollen sex and then she reached over and pressed a button on the bottom of a remote.

  The wall slowly slid open, and . . .

  He was there, in the opened space—six-foot-four of chiseled, milk chocolate goodness, one of Nairobia’s many boy-toys.

  Josiah.

  He worked at Nairobia’s adult club in New York, The Pleasure Zone, having moved up the ranks from bartender to her dutiful assistant. And he’d come to the island at her request—to assist her in any-and-every way imaginable. Nairobia’s wishes were always his command. He loved her pussy. Loved the way it spoke to him; the way it wetly sucked and slurped his dick. He loved Nairobia, loved pleasing her. He didn’t consider himself her sex slave. But his dick, his body, was hers to do with whatever she desired. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. And he’d share everything he was with whomever she wanted him to.

  Dr. Dangerfield admired and appreciated his undying loyalty to her.

  Nairobia’s hypnotic effect on men never ceased to amaze her.

  Josiah licked his lips.

  And Dr. Dangerfield took mental snapshots of the ropes of muscle in his long legs, before latching her eyes onto his glorious, reddish-brown dick. Every muscle in his sleek torso bunched as his gaze flicked over their naked bodies. No longer interested in the likes of Krista, Dr. Dangerfield reached over for the remote and paused the footage. And then her gaze slid back down Josiah’s body, her mouth watering at the sight of the thick, meaty dick that hung between his thighs, her pussy suddenly pulsing at the earlier memory of him deep inside her, stroking her still-slick walls.

  Mmm, yes . . .

  Dr. Dangerfield swallowed her drool. Then purred low in the back of her throat, widening her legs, her hips now thrusting upward as Nairobia’s fingers spread open her wet folds, then wickedly slid in and out of her. Pleasure seeped into her blood, traveling through her body. And then Nairobia kissed her, her warm, sensual mouth working exquisitely over hers, coaxing her tongue to dance around hers.

  Dr. Dangerfield groaned into the kiss, as Nairobia’s lips moved sweetly over hers, stealing her breath. She couldn’t breathe because Nairobia didn’t let her. So she arched into the slick heat Nairobia’s diving fingers were causing inside of her. And when she scissored her fingers, stretching open her sweet, pink center, Dr. Dangerfield cried out.

  “Ja, Ja, my darling. Squeeze my fingers with your wet kut. Flood them with your nectar.”

  Nairobia’s impassioned words sliced through her. Dr. Dangerfield shut her eyes and gave into the liquid pleasure. A moan built deep in her chest, caught in her throat, until it spiraled out in a sound of sweet agony. Oh, God, yes—yes, yes, yes.

  Dr. Dangerfield cried out as her orgasm bolted out of her in a rush of molten lava.

  Her body shook, the aftershocks of her orgasm still rippling through her core. Slowly, her lids fluttered open, and her hazy-eyed gaze locked onto Josiah’s, dark hunger flashing across his handsome face, as he stood there, watching, longing; stroking his swelling dick in his hand.

  Dr. Dangerfield’s pussy clenched, her walls throbbed, at the carnal hunger she saw in his eyes. Nairobia saw it too. “Come, my love,” she said as she summoned Josiah with wet, sticky fingers to come to them. “Feast on her juices, then feed her weeping kut with your big, hungry dick.”

  Another jolt of heat blazed through Dr. Dangerfield at the erotic sound of Nairobia’s words. Everything about her was mesmeric.

  Erogenous.

  Lethal.

  Nairobia had an uncanny way of pulling out the darkest side of others, bringing them pleasure while coaxing out their most erotic desires.

  Nairobia brushed Dr. Dangerfield’s lower lip with her cunt-soaked fingers, and she slid her tongue out, flicking it over them. Nairobia pressed her fingers between her lips, and Dr. Dangerfield suckled, savoring the taste of her pussy.

  She shuddered as Josiah made his way over to them. His gait was smooth, every motion fluid as he moved like a starving panther, sleek and purposeful.

  Nairobia scooted over as Josiah climbed up on the bed, the plush mattress absorbing the weight of him. She leaned over and kissed Dr. Dangerfield, offering her more tongue, before pulling back and then kissing Josiah, her tongue now searching the inside of his mouth, until she finally pulled free from his greedy lips.

  “Fuck her deep, my love,” Nairobia urged, sliding off the bed and then onto her feet.

  Josiah grinned. “Anything for you.”

  “Wait. You’re not staying—for more fun?” Dr. Dangerfield asked over a moan as Josiah leaned down and pressed his mouth between her breasts.

  Nairobia flicked her gaze momentarily over at the monitor, Krista’s stilled image in the center of the screen, then she tore her eyes away to land them on Dr. Dangerfield.

  “I will go to her.”

  “Uh, mmm—who?”

  Dr. Dangerfield arched into Josiah, seeking more of his mouth. And so he gave her more, kissing and sucking and licking a line down to her belly.

  She moaned as his lips made their way over her mound. He kissed her there, nuzzled deeper, inhaling her scent as he stroked his fingers through her velvety folds.

  A ragged moan tore from her throat as he swiped his mouth from her slit to her clit. He sucked lightly on it, before licking downward again.

  “The sloth,” Nairobia answered as she inched up behind Josiah and slid a finger along the crack of his ass. “I will go to her.” Her finger slid back and forth over Josiah’s hole, and then she was reaching over and sliding that same finger into Dr. Dangerfield’s mouth.

  “While he fucks you good, my . . .”

  Dr. Dangerfield sucked Nairobia’s finger into her mouth as Josiah, with teeth and tongue, nipped at the swollen nub, grazing it, scraping her with exquisite pleasure. Suddenly, everything around Dr. Dangerfield blurred, and the sound around her muffled as Josiah’s tongue slid inside her, fucking her in slow, sensual strokes, tasting her from the inside out.

  When she was finally able to blink through the haze, Nairobia was gone, and Josiah was steadily stroking her with his fingers and tongue, lapping hungrily at her pussy.

  “I’m coming, I’m . . . com . . . ing . . . oh God—yes . . .”

  Dr. Dangerfield’s legs closed against his head, anchoring him in place, filling his mouth with her wet honey.

  Forty-Three

  Krista stared at the huge gift basket sitting on the oval glass table, where it’d been collecting dust for the last four weeks. A frown formed over her face as she stood in the living room of her villa with a hand on her hip, wondering why she hadn’t tossed it out already.

  Dildos of varying sizes and thickness. Clit wands. Vibrating beads. Cock rings. Butt plugs. Edible undies. Gels. Creams. Flavored oils. And lubes. Thanks—but no goddamn thanks. This was way too much kinky-shit in one place.

  She’d never been into sex toys. Hell, she didn’t even masturbate. And on those rare moments when she climbed on top of Kendall and rode him, she didn’t even touch her clit or squeeze her own breasts or lick over her nipples.

  That was what Kendall was for.

  And she dared not ever—she plucked Good Pussy from the back slit of the gold cellophane wrapping—read this shit. But that didn’t stop Krista from flipping the book over and staring at the face of its author. Just look at her. Looking like some damn call girl. She was nearly naked. Practically covered in diamonds. Her hands crossed over her breasts. Sprawled out on a white mink rug in a very sexually suggestive position—her beautiful legs spread open, the puffy print of her sex on display beneath a diamond-encrusted thong.

  Good Pussy.

  More like a community hole, Krista mused as she grunted, letting the hardcover book clunk down onto the table. She was so over all of this shit. All this sexual energy swirling around her was too much for her. The devil was everywhere. And this island was nothing but its dirty little playground.

  Krista missed her church family. She needed more than just reading scriptures from the Good Book. She needed her soul feed with a good sermon, with a little praise and worship. She needed to be surrounded by church saints, not a bunch of damn sinners.

  Shaking her head, Krista scooped up the basket of filth, but before she could make her way to toss it and its contents into the trash, there was a knock at the door. Krista froze, dismay coursing through her veins as she knew Kendall wouldn’t be knocking since he had a key. So who the heck was it?

  She could ignore the door, but the knocking was incessant. Krista sighed, setting the basket back down on the coffee table. It had to be Brenda, because she knew that ghetto-bitch, LaQuandra, wouldn’t dare be at her door. She wasn’t in the mood for company. But maybe it was housekeeping, she mused as she went to the door. Taking a deep breath, she opened it. Blinking in shock, Krista took in the fact that it wasn’t housekeeping. But as she stared wordlessly at the woman standing before her, she suddenly wished that it had been LaQuandra instead.