Off Camera Affair 1 (The Motor City Drama Series) Read online

OFF CAMERA AFFAIR 1

  THE MOTOR CITY DRAMA SERIES

  By Jazz Jordan

  PUBLISHED BY:

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons (living or deceased) is coincidental and a product of the author’s imagination.

  Copyright © 2013 Jazz Jordan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Books In This Series:

  Off Camera Affair 1

  Off Camera Affair 2

  Off Camera Affair 3

  Off Camera Affair 4

  CHAPTER 1

  Good sex is harder to find than a pair of Size 11½ stilettos on discount at Nordstrom’s. Trust me, the quest for both is exhausting. It’s impossible to know what any man has to offer till he pulls down his boxers and unveils the package. Don’t get me wrong: Size matters—length and girth—but there’s nothing more pitiful than a brotha with porn star-sized equipment but stiff hips or enough stamina to last only about as long as the average YouTube advertisement.

  I’d always been as picky about what went on between my thighs as I was about what I put on my feet. In my experience, shoes and men are actually a lot alike: Most stores don’t carry my size, and when they do, the style does nothing for me. So what if I can swap footwear with Wendy Williams? As a single sista approaching my thirty-third birthday, I refused to settle for mediocre men or second-rate shoes.

  Finally, my fortune seemed to be looking up, because I was wearing a new pair of Prada platform sandals, and I’d finally found a man to indulge all of my fantasies. Deandre Grant, six-three, had skin the color of Hershey’s Special Dark. His facial features were sharp and handsome, like Hollywood star Boris Kodjoe’s, and I just loved rubbing that smooth, brown dome when Deandre went down on me with that expert mouth of his.

  That fine man was a point guard for the Detroit Pistons. He wasn’t exactly MVP material, and truthfully, it pained me to admit that he was a benchwarmer. It didn’t concern me too much, though, that he didn’t have too many skills on the court, because he had all the right moves in the bedroom.

  It was a warm August night, but it was about to get even hotter. We’d just returned from Joe Muer Seafood Restaurant. I’d enjoyed the succulent, buttery-sweet crab legs, but I couldn’t wait to get him home and savor every inch of his long, juicy third leg. I hadn’t seen Deandre in two weeks, and I planned to make up for lost time from midnight till sunrise.

  Outside of my twenty-fifth-floor, downtown apartment, the golden lights of the Ambassador Bridge glistened off the rippling surface of the Detroit River. I took in the view of his chiseled body as he stood in front of the sliding-glass doors. He was dressed in a button-down shirt and khakis, but I couldn’t help staring at his eight-pack abs and well-defined arms. The radio played, soft and low, on my surround-sound speakers, Rick James and Teena Marie pouring their souls into “Fire and Desire.”

  “Being with you feels so right,” Deandre said.

  “The feeling is more than mutual,” I replied.

  “You’re the kind of woman I can take anywhere. It’s cool to go to upscale restaurants like that one tonight, but I like knowing you can also roll with me to my favorite mom-and-pop soul food joints too. I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is that you’re classy but not bougy. And on top of all that, you’re fine as hell. You’re the whole package.”

  “Thanks.” I looked down at the giant bulge in his jeans. “Speaking of packages…”

  He smiled. “Yeah, I’ve missed you, girl, but he’s missed you even more.”

  “Hold that thought while I change into something a little more comfortable.”

  Deandre bit his bottom lip. “Don’t make me wait too long. It’s been two whole weeks already, baby.”

  “I promise,” I said seductively, then sashayed into my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I knew my little hard-to-get game had Deandre frustrated, but no matter how much I like a man, I never make myself too easily available. Most of the time, I let Deandre’s calls go straight to voicemail, but unbeknownst to him, I often played his messages over and over again, listening to how horny he sounded: “Kai, hit me back when you get this…” 

  Despite his career as a pro athlete, Deandre was no different from the other guys I’d been with. The more I ignored him, the more he wanted me. Years ago, I’d discovered that giving my heart to a man would only open the door for him to break it. I had no intention of feeling like one of the main characters in Waiting To Exhale, so I learned to avoid love like Payless shoes.

  I slipped out of my sundress and into my black lace and satin negligee. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror—five-ten, with long legs, thick thighs, curvy hips, and perky tits that defied gravity. I have copper-colored, smooth skin and bedroom eyes the same shade as dark brown sugar. Although my flowing, shoulder-length hair was in a Remi weave at that time, it appeared to be growing right out of my scalp.

  I turned around and glanced at myself from behind. My ass was the main source of my body insecurity. Unlike many sistas, who strut around with their donkey booties bouncing and jiggling, my rear-end looks like two pancakes. No matter how much fried chicken or sweet potato pie I ate, it’s remained stubbornly flat. Even when I gained weight, it only grew wider, never rounder. In high school, I was teased so badly for my flat ass that I manned the burger grill at Wendy’s after school just so I could afford an assortment of butt-boosters. However, whenever I slid into my padded underwear, boys and grown men alike craned their necks to watch me walk past them at the park on 7 Mile or around the food court at Northland Mall; I always came home with at least three phone numbers. On the days when I didn’t wear my butt pads, I was hard pressed to even get a glance from the grimiest dude.

  I was happy that Deandre didn’t seem to care that my derriere wasn’t KING Magazine material. I took one last look at my reflection and went into the kitchen, then called out, “I’ve got something for you, sexy.” I poured two glasses of Hennessy Privilege and carried them into the living room.

  Deandre grinned at the sight of me. “You know just what I like.”

  I handed one of the glasses to him. “Are you talking about the cognac or this?” I took a shoulder strap down, exposing half of my left breast.

  He stood up and wrapped one hand around my waist, then pulled me close to his body, till we were face to face. My heartbeat quickened as I looked into his dark eyes; I felt his erection against my belly. When he teasingly slid his hand between my thighs and under my thong and fondled my clit with his middle finger, my panties were instantly moist, and I let out a little sigh.

  “You know something? I get rock hard every time I watch the Channel 5 News. You’re the sexiest reporter I’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh yeah?” I smiled.

  “I didn’t give a damn about current events till I met you. Now I know the names of everyone on the damn City Council…” He moved his hand up to my left breast and rubbed his thumb over my nipple until it hardened. “The police chief…” He grabbed my right breast. “The deputy mayor… You schooled me on all that, Reese’s.”

  I laughed. “Deandre, how’d you come up with that nickname for me?”

  “‘Cause you taste like chocolate and peanut butter when you cum on my tongue.”

  I bit my bottom lip. “So…watching me report the news really turns you on, huh?”

  He nodded. “It’s something about the way you hold that microphone.”

  I slid my hand down his ripped stomach and stroked his dick through his pants. I was anxious to feel him inside of me, but I wanted him to keep his clothes on just a little longer; I
like to tease before I please. I stroked him slowly and whispered, “This is Kai Lewis, reporting live. Tonight, there’s breaking news—a really, really, really big story—and I’ve got the exclusive.”

  He closed his eyes and moaned. “Damn, Reese’s! The way you touch me makes me feel like I’m gonna—”

  Buzzzz!

  Before he could finish, he was interrupted by the doorbell, and I already knew exactly who it was.

  CHAPTER 2

  Luther Vandross crooned “Love Won’t Let Me Wait” on the radio, and the sultry song echoed my desires. Midnight was only minutes away, and I’d been looking forward to spending some time in my bedroom with Deandre Grant, but my sexual high faded with the sound of my door buzzer. Deandre’s dark eyes followed me as I frowned and walked across the room to press the intercom button.

   “Kai, it’s me!” my sister’s voice replied.

  “You couldn’t have picked a worse time, LaNaya.”

  “Kai, please just let me stay here tonight. It’s an emergency, and—”

  “Why don’t you go to Mama’s house?”

  “You know I can’t. That’s the first place he’ll look for me. Kai, please!”

  Against my better judgment, I pressed the button to let her in. “It’s my sister,” I explained to Deandre as I slipped into my silk robe.

  “You want me to leave?”

  “No way, I’m not letting you go anywhere. Hopefully, it won’t take long to sort out her latest crisis, and then we’ll pick up where we left off.”

  He winked. “Sounds like a plan, sexy.”

  A moment later, LaNaya knocked on my door. I studied her through the peephole for a moment. Her short, wavy hair was slicked back off of her forehead, and her nutmeg complexion was covered with a thick coat of foundation. She was wearing false eyelashes and bright gold lipstick, along with a black, midriff top that didn’t look provocative on her because she hardly had any tits at all. Even after giving birth to two children and breastfeeding them until they could eat solid foods, LaNaya could still fit into her first training bra. When we were teenagers, she sent away for a mail-order cream that promised to make her breasts grow a full cup size, but all LaNaya got from Madame Madelyn’s Magic Mammary Cream was a nasty rash across her chest.

  Her low-rise jeans were a size too small, and I could see the top of her neon-pink thong peeking out over her waistband. Beyoncé, J Lo, Kim Kardashian, and Serena Williams combined had nothing on my sister when it came to her booty, which had literally become her career. Her earnings from dancing in rap videos and strip clubs across the Metro Area rivaled mine, and I’d always been jealous of her phat ass and the fact that she managed to support herself without ever working a legitimate job. On the other hand, she’d always been quite envious of my big tits and my college education. Even though LaNaya is two years older than me, I’ve always felt like her big sister.

  When she knocked again, I finally opened the door and snapped, “What the hell, LaNaya?”

  “Thanks for letting me stay here tonight.” She opened her arms to hug me.

  I gave her a quick squeeze. Up close, she smelled like Newport cigarettes and perfume.

  She walked inside and glanced over at Deandre. “Oh, I’m sorry if I’m interrupting y’all.”

  I took a deep breath. “Deandre, this is my sister, LaNaya.”

  He grinned at her. “Hey.”

  “You’re the NBA player, right? The real, life baller? Kai told me about you.”

  Deandre looked over at me as if he’d just won the championship. “She did, huh? And just what did she say?”

  I yawned. “It’s getting late. We can all chitchat some other time,” I said, anxious to change the topic. I didn’t want Deandre to know I’d told my family about him, because I didn’t want him to put more stock into our relationship than what it was worth; he was just a booty call, for the time being. Besides, even if I did catch some deeper feelings for Deandre, I would never reveal that to him. If the man knew he had my body and my heart, the chase would be over, and I’d just be one in a string of desperate va-jay-jays looking for action. I wouldn’t lower myself to that level—not for Deandre or any man, baller or not. 

  “Wait… Didn’t you used to play for the Dallas Mavericks?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “What’d you average? About seven minutes a game?”

  “Something like that, but that was one of the reasons the Mavericks didn’t make the playoffs.”

  LaNaya sniffed the air. “What y’all sippin’ on up in here? Is that yak I smell? Let me get some of that.” She plopped down on my couch as if I’d invited her. “I’m celebrating my independence tonight! I’m a free woman now!”

  “Free? Girl, please! You been trying to dump Javon since high school,” I said. “Y’all are too toxic to ever end, like a modern-day Ike and Tina.”

  “Kai, don’t go putting my business out there like that. And I ain’t no soft bitch! I don’t let Javon hit me without hitting him back. I give as good as I get. But that don’t even matter now, ‘cause I’m done with his ass.”

  “Right. Let’s see how long you stay away from that fool this time. I give it a week, tops.”

  “I’m about to show you how wrong you are, sis.” She unzipped her purse while singing Ne-Yo’s “Miss Independent” in a nasally voice that made me cringe. As she sang, she counted the wad of cash she now held in her hand: “She got her own thing…$500. That’s why I love her…$1,000. Miss Independent…$2,000. ‘Cause she work like a boss…$3,000. Play like a boss…$4,000. Her favorite thing to say, ‘Don’t worry. I got it!’…$5,000. Miss Independent! That’s $5,000, baby!”

  “How in the hell did you make $5,000 in one night?” I wanted to know.

  “Yeah, what kinda job you got?” Deandre asked, his eyes wide as he stared at the cash. “Looks like you’re the baller.”

  “Let me put it this way. I got a new gig! I quit Gold Diggers. This is enough for a deposit and first month’s rent on a new apartment…and it ain’t gon’ be no raggedy-ass joint next door to the projects either. I’m movin’ on up! I might even be your new neighbor, sis.”

  “Where in the world are you working, LaNaya?” I asked. “Better yet, I don’t even wanna know.”

  “Did you say Gold Diggers? Ain’t that the titty bar on Livernois, next to all them abandoned buildings?”

  “You’ve been there?” I asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

  “Naw. I don’t run up in places like that, but I’ve heard all types of foul shit about the chicks who work there.”

  My stomach dropped; I couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. I wondered if he’d seen my sister popping her big booty on the stripper pole or maybe even paid her for a lap dance. I had to wonder if he’d fucked her in the champagne room, and the thought made me so queasy I almost could have vomited right then and there. I took a sip of cognac to steady my nerves, determined not to let them see me tripping.

  LaNaya cut her eyes at him. “I just said I don’t work there no more!”

  I touched my forehead and massaged my temples. “I’m getting a headache.” I pulled on Deandre’s arm. “We’re goin’ to bed. Please put a sheet down if you’re gonna stay. Last time you slept on my couch, it took me an hour to vacuum up all the damn body glitter.”

  “Relax, Miss Neat Freak. I’ll put a damn sheet down. But what I really need to know is where you keep that yak.”

  “In the cabinet on top of the dishwasher…and don’t drink it all!”

  She hustled to kitchen like a kid running after an ice cream truck.

  I was sure she’d guzzle down every drop of my Hennessy Privilege before sunrise. The girl never knows when to stop, I thought. Too much drama, too much bling, and too much alcohol. Then again, excessive was a way of life in our family. With Mama, it was food. With me—well, sexaholic comes to mind. It isn’t that I like to sleep around, but whenever I did find a brotha who’d fulfill my desires, my judgment was often compromised. />
  As LaNaya scurried across the room to get to the liquor, I noticed Deandre taking a glance at her bouncy ass. I couldn’t really blame him; LaNaya’s ass had caused traffic accidents, and men behind the wheels of brand new cars had run red lights and crashed right into trees just because they were distracted by the sight of my sister in her too-tight jeans. Despite that, I still felt so disrespected. I couldn’t believe he’d have the nerve to check her out with me standing right there beside him, about to take him to bed. I wanted to tell him to get the fuck out of my apartment, but I didn’t want LaNaya to realize there might be trouble on the homefront. She thought my life was perfect, and she might have been right if I hadn’t had to deal with all of her melodramatic shit.

  In my bedroom, Deandre was on top of me, kissing my neck and cupping my breasts. I felt his stiff dick against my crotch. I wanted him badly, but I was still pissed about him taking a peek at LaNaya’s booty.

  “Damn, baby, I don’t think I ever been this hard,” he said, which I knew was bullshit.

  “Didn’t you hear me say I have a headache?”

  “Yeah, but what I got is better than aspirin.”

  “It’s not gonna happen tonight, so get off me.”

  “That’s what I’m tryin’ to do, baby—get off. You gonna blue-ball me?” he asked, his voice so loud that I was sure LaNaya could hear him.

  I whispered, “Let’s just try to get some sleep.”

  He rolled over, pulled his dick out of the slit in his boxers, and began to stroke it. It was long and dark and dripping with pre-cum. Normally, I would have celebrated that like I was on paid vacation, but I was too mad to be horny, so I just turned my back on him.

  “If you ain’t gonna gimme no pussy, I’ll have to get the job done myself,” he said.

  I listened to the sounds of him jacking off for another minute or two, but I said nothing.

  A minute later he said, “Lift that thing up and let me cum on your titties.”

  “Hell no!”

  “Then where you gonna let me cum?” Then, just like that, he grunted and muttered, “Reese’s! Oh, Reese’s!” over and over again.

  Before I could tell him to leave me the fuck alone, I felt his warm sperm squirt on the back of my thighs. I looked up at him like he was on crack.