Page 22 of Roulette: The Madam

Boom.

My dress tumbled to the floor as soon as Matías’ bedroom door met its threshold. His lips were on my shoulder. His hands slid down my backside, ending right underneath the small cuff under both cheeks.

“Mmm–”

“Hueles divina, cariño.”

My hands formed minds of their own. They snaked up Matías’ slim frame slowly. My right was the first to reach its destination. Matías’ bulge threatened to split the fabric of his shorts. The thickness was comforting. The length was appalling.

My attraction to him became increasingly clear. He was part of the percentage of Colombians who were of Black descent. His medium skin tone, perfectly sizeable nose, and full lips were giveaways but the weapon between his legs was confirmation.

There was nothing more arousing than a Black man’s nutsack massaging my center as he plummeted in my ocean. The thought of it forced my eyes shut. Matías was as gentle as he was firm. His masculinity summoned my most feminine attributes. But, still, I remained in control.

“Undress,” I instructed, forcing myself from his grasp.

My back met the sheets of the bed. I spread my legs, inviting him into my garden. I watched him disrobe and fall to his knees before me. Right where I wanted him. Right where I needed him.

The sun rose.

It fell.

It rose again.

And, fell again.

Yet, I was no closer to leaving than I was when I arrived. My mission had yet to see completion. And, my pussy had yet to tap out. The sex was explosive. The quietness was addictive. My time hadn’t come, but I’d leave well-fucked and well-compensated whenever it did.

Matías’ chiseled chest rose and fell with desperation as he peered down on my orgasm-stricken frame. I contracted, completely lost in oblivion. A smile covered his handsome face as he leaned over and grabbed the silver platter from his nightstand. In a straight line, he poured the pure cocaine onto my stomach.

A tightly rolled hundred dollar bill pushed up his nostril disappeared along with his face. All that was visible was his thick, now oily head of hair.

Snnnnnnnnnnnnh.

He shook his head from side to side as the effects of the drug liberated him mentally, emotionally, and physically.

“Ummmm.”

His addiction was off-putting, but everyone had their vices. A way to cope. A way to escape. Cocaine was his.

“Have some?” He offered, shoving the hundred dollar bill toward me.

“Matías,” I began, meeting his orbs so he understood my seriousness. “Don’t insult me. Ever again. There won’t be a man in this house who can make it to you fast enough.”

As he raised his hands to surrender, his phone vibrated.

“Lo siento mami, por favor perdóname.”

His sincere apology allowed me to forgive his lapse in judgment swiftly. However, the incoming FaceTime call influenced my decision heavily.

7:00p.

Thursday.

Every Thursday.

As my adrenaline peaked, Matías grabbed his cell. Without hesitation, he slid his hand across the screen to connect the call. Simultaneously, his face disappeared. I was met with his dark hair and protruding ears on each side of his head.

“Hola, Chino.”

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