Just Like You ✓

Twenty Five

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The date was about moving on, forgetting about Beyonce, being with someone who wasn't afraid to be with me in public. And to prove to myself that I wasn't still hung up on her, I'd gone right back to a woman more my type; uber feminine, and sweet. Someone who was nothing like Beyonce...

So much for that.

As I climbed out of my car, having parked up in front of my condo, I shook my head for the thousandth time that night, feeling stupid. The date had been a complete disaster, from start to finish. The girl only wanted to talk about herself, wanted me to pay for everything because, as she put it, I was making "Hollywood money" and could afford it; and when I said I wanted to leave, she thought I meant with her, for sex. Disaster.

I'd come home alone and just wanted to crawl into bed  and forget about everyone and everything. But as I approached my front door, I noticed it was ajar. Had I forgotten to close it before I went out? I pushed it wide and stepped in cautiously. I gasped at the sight of the place. Ransacked. My furniture was turned over, my vases and ornaments smashed, my papers and photos scattered all across the floor. In my bedroom the clothes were pulled from the closet, the bedsheets stripped from the bed, the TV wrenched from the wall and lying smashed on the floor. None of my jewelry or expensive shoes and outfits were missing, as far as I could see. Nothing valuable had been taken.

I stood in middle of my room, trembling, not sure what to do next.

The cops. Yes, I had to call them.

After they came, took my statement, took a neighbor's statement, they advised me to spend the night with a friend until the locks were changed and a new security system was fitted.

That was when I hit call on Beyonce's number. It rang for a while before she finally picked up.

"I know you're trying to put distance between us, but... I just got back and found my place burgled, and..." I said, starting to sob, "and I really need you right now."

"I'm coming to get you."

It felt good to be back in her arms, back in her bed, even if we were fully clothed and it was totally innocent. She held me with such determination, like a promise that I was safe now. And neither of us spoke for a long time.

Finally, I said, "A part of me was afraid you wouldn't come. That you would hang up on me."

"I would never do that, Nic. Don't you know that by now?" She spoke gently, her voice soothing me.

"You called me Onika today," I sniffled.

"I know, and you made a point of talking about your date with the model."

There was a hint of amusement in her voice when she said that. "I guess we were both playing games."

"I wanted to hurt you because I'm still hurting," I confessed, pulling her arms tighter around my body.

She kissed the top of my head. "I know. And it worked. Inside I was burning with rage at the thought of another woman going anywhere near you. It killed me."

"I don't want anyone else, and pretending that I do is driving me crazy."

"I know that too. But for now, I can't be with you. Nothing's changed." She released me from her hold, and I let her go, reluctantly. "You can stay here until you go back to California tomorrow."

"Thank you." I mumbled. It was a nice gesture, but it wasn't enough. How did she expect me to just sleep right beside her like we used to, and not enjoy her intimately? The last time I was in her bed she'd given me two orgasms - one with her tongue, the other with her fingers. Fueled with that memory, sleeping next to her and keeping my hands to myself was going to be impossible.

. . .

I knew my way around her pussy even in relative darkness. All I had was the moonlight to provide minimal light that night. I'd woken up in the twilight hours, and Beyonce was fast asleep beside me, a noticeable gap between us. If this was going to be the last time I was in her bed, I was going to use it wisely.

I pushed the duvet back and crawled down the bed, positioning myself between her legs. She stirred but didn't wake. I slid her panties down, able to pull them off without waking her. I wanted her awake eventually, but not until it was too late for her to refuse me.

I spread her legs and buried my face in it. I could smell her scent, I was hungry for it. I pull her lips back with both thumbs, that she was wide open and I could get right in. I didn't want my tongue to be obstructed in any way.

Then I slipped my tongue inside her, tasting her sweet residue. I licked my way up and down her pussy, painting it with my saliva, leaving no place untouched. I wanted it all tonight.

The sound of me topping her filled the dark room, turning me on even more. She stirred again, but this time she woke up.

"W-what are you--" she started, her voice groggy with sleep. She sat up on her elbows. I couldn't see her expression, but I imagined she was confused and aroused. "Nicki?" That grogginess soon turned to moans of ecstasy.

I didn't answer her, just continued lashing my tongue against her hole, and teasing her clit with a promise of what was to come. She didn't try to stop me, and I felt her body flounder beneath me. The more my tongue assaulted her, the wetter she became, and the more I swallowed her down.

And then it was time to turn my attentions to her swollen nub, which I couldn't wait to abuse. I knew how wild it drove her when I sucked on it like it was a lollypop.

I circled and flicked my tongue over her bean, hearing her breath catch in her throat over and over again, until I wrapped my lips around it and sucked. I was relentless in my sucking, not giving her the time to gather herself as the sparks of pleasure shot through her.

"Oh baby, oh God," she moaned, thrashing about like a woman possessed. I thought she was going to crush my head between her knees the way she writhed about.

She didn't last long after that, although she tried her best to hold on. She always tried to hold on when I attacked her clit. It was like she was trying to show me she was tougher than me. But I always reduced her to a moaning, wet, writhing mess in the end.

My chin was wet with her fluids when I lifted my head, after she had crashed back onto the bed, shaking from her orgasm. She was still panting as I crawled back under the covers and lay beside her.

"That was mean," she said in a breathless whisper.

Maybe it was, giving her a reminder of what she'd given up, but it was no worse than ending a wonderful relationship for the sake of her career.

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Thoughts?

Keep or delete?

Nicki?

Beyonce?

What do you think will happen next?

Y'all will be surprised with how little chapters are left.
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