Honey Honey

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance


Status: Finished

Genre: Romance


After moving to Philadelphia and leaving an old flame, Andrea looks to create a fresh start. She meets Miguel, a street-smart ex-con who looks to show her a new way to live. Grateful for someone in her corner, Andrea unintentionally finds herself in an underworld of prostitution and crime.


After moving to Philadelphia and leaving an old flame, Andrea looks to create a fresh start. She meets Miguel, a street-smart ex-con who looks to show her a new way to live. Grateful for someone in her corner, Andrea unintentionally finds herself in an underworld of prostitution and crime.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Honey

Author Chapter Note

After moving to Philadelphia and leaving an old flame, Andrea looks to create a fresh start. She meets Miguel, a street-smart ex-con who looks to show her a new way to live. Grateful for someone in her corner, Andrea unintentionally finds herself in an underworld of prostitution, crime and corruption.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 27, 2014

Reads: 1304

Comments: 1

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 27, 2014



Slinging her Louis Vuitton duffle bag over my shoulder, she bent low and pulled the lever of the passenger seat and tossed it in the backseat. As she eased back out of the car, she pulled at the waist of her skinny jeans and adjusted my black tube top.

“Yo, Honey!” Panama called behind her.

She turned to look in his direction, my wavy hair bouncing over my shoulder. “Yes, Daddy?”

“You got everything you need before I lock this door?”

“Yes, Daddy.” She sat in the passenger seat and pulled the visor down, flipping the mirror open. Makeup covered my bruises well. Glancing at my reflection, I rolled my eyes before I applied a nude gloss over my lips. She was still mad. So mad at him, and couldn’t think of anything she could do to change it.  I am 26 years old. I have a degree. I have a daughter.

She watched “Daddy” come around to the driver’s side and get in the car. He was the reason. He made her skin crawl, but gave her butterflies in her stomach at the same time. He had convinced her to do the unthinkable simply by whispering in her ear about all the plans they’d have together. Just gotta get through this and we’ll get where we want to be, he told her.

He turned to Honey as he got comfortable in her car. “You look good with your makeup like that,” he said in his thick Brooklyn accent. “I think you’ll like this club. Hollywood said there’s mad money in here.”

“OK.” She wanted to roll her eyes. Hollywood was Panama’s broke ass “brother” – what pimp friends called each other. He was literally broke; he called Panama at least once a week for money to get his bitches in the club, money for rent, money for this, money for that. Honey wasn’t allowed to listen to the conversations, but she was aware of all that went on. Where all her hard-earned money went while Hollywood and his bitches smoked weed all day.

It was going to take almost two hours to get to Brooklyn from Philly. Honey – the stage name she hated; at home, she was Andrea – cherished the time in the car. Daddy was his normal self.

“So what is this club like?” she asked as they rode north along I-95 and onto Route 1, the “free route” from Pennsylvania through New Jersey and into New York City.

“I have no idea,” he said. “That nigga Sha said it’s supposed to be poppin’. And you a new face, so you should make at least a pound.”

Andrea looked out the window and rolled her eyes again. It was always about money, and the stakes seemed to be getting higher, this time $500. As long as Daddy had a stack – or $1,000 – in his pocket, they were happy.

On the way to Brooklyn for the first time, Honey reclined the chair and slipped her wedges off, propping her feet on the dash.

Miguel, he refused to go by his government name anymore, looked at her and rested his strong hand on her thigh. “You tired?” he asked. “Get rest. You got a long night.”

She wanted to be the smartass she used to be with him. The one who would say, “Thanks for the advice, since you know exactly what I’m going through.” But she was quiet. He shut her attitude down almost instantly.

He looked down at her as she closed her eyes. He swore he would love her if he didn’t love money more. She was so sweet. Such a square. He was sure she hadn’t been with more than five dudes before he met her, and he turned her into a money-making machine. She had never done a damn thing like that in her life, and she made him at least $800 a day. Tricks loved her. Her peanut butter complexion. Her almond-shaped eyes. She had wide hips and DD breasts. Shit, he even loved her fingers, the way she touched him. But there was one thing he couldn’t shake when it came to her. He always felt a tinge of jealousy when he thought about her spending an hour with another man, or even five minutes with someone she wouldn’t even make eye contact with.

She just smiled about it. Never had anything to say. And this was no different.

All she saw was how much money a trick was worth. Her intelligence and girl-next-door demeanor attracted the men with money – lawyers, doctors and corporate executives – looking to get away from their wives and spend money to make sure it stays casual. She didn’t do drugs like half these other bitches. Shit, Miguel didn’t even let his bitch drink in the club. And she did just what Daddy told her.  He picked the perfect one. Years of training helped him spot her ass a mile away.

As she dozed off in the car, her cell phone lie next to her. It was a pearly pink. A perfect, girly phone. Just like her. She was so girly, with everything. He picked it up to go through her text messages just to make sure she wasn’t having a secret relationship with some trick. No matter how he saw her now – as just his bottom bitch – Miguel couldn’t forget how they were when they first got together.

He picked up his Blackberry to text his ex-fiancee Bea, as he did every day when Andrea wasn’t paying attention. They chatted about the usual, when she was going to come into town, how things were with their daughter, and of course, how much they loved each other. 

Honey woke up as the car came to a stop. Looking out the window, she noticed they were in line waiting to pay the toll at the Holland Tunnel for access to Manhattan.

“I guess I was tired,” she said. “What time is it?”

“Almost 12:30,” Miguel said. “Get your makeup right. Soon as we get through this tunnel, we’ll be at the spot in less than 20 minutes.”

Honey started to dread her job, but pulled the visor down and flipped the mirror open. She had come a long way from the girl who met Goldmine with flip-flops and capris. At 88, she was taking Goldmine’s tricks, and Goldmine wasn’t having it.

She fluffed her weave – which Miguel invested a pretty penny in, enough for people to think it was her real hair. She popped a piece of gum in her mouth and put a fresh coat of sheer lip gloss on. Her gold, dangly earrings were going to match her club outfit perfectly as well as her natural-toned makeup with gold accents. She put the finishing touches on just as they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge. Andrea paused to look out the window.

It didn’t matter how many times she had crossed the bridge, the New York City skyline always fascinated her. She felt like she was in a movie whenever she was in New York. Brooklyn, however, was not as fascinating as Manhattan, especially when they turned on a near-empty street in front of a club called Rockwell’s Bar & Lounge.

Miguel parked the car and turned to Honey. “You don’t mention me at all, OK? When they ask you how you heard of this shit, you don’t say Panama or Hollywood. Entiendes?”

“You tell them your girl Destiny told you about it.”

Honey adjusted her tube top before she got out of the car. She stood outside of the club entrance until a Latin man with long hair came to the door and unlocked it.

“Yo, can I help you?

“Yeah, I’m a dancer,” Honey said with confidence. “Is this Creation’s party?”

“Where your bag at?”

“In the car, I just wanted to make sure –“

He cut her off. “Who told you about Creation?”

“My girl Destiny,” she said, flashing a smile. “How much is tip-in?”


Honey headed back to the car to get her bag and tip-in from her Daddy. He handed her a 20-dollar bill. “I’ll be here when the club closes.”

Of course you will. I’ll be doing all the work while you watch movies and talk on the fuckin’ phone with Bea, she said to herself. I’m not dumb.

The Latino man opened the door for her, closing it and locking it behind her. As she walked into the club, she was met by a light-skinned guy in a do-rag who grabbed her bag, unzipped it and searched it for God knows what. A slightly darker, slightly shorter, bald, middle-aged man pulled out his handheld metal detector and asked Honey to stretch out her arms as he waved the wand around her entire body.

“It’s 20,” he said gruffly.

She gave him the 20-dollar bill and grabbed her bag. This club was no different than any other ghetto spot she had danced in in Jersey. The only difference was this was a cocktail lounge-turned-strip club. There were no poles. A small divide separated the bar from the entrance. It was a modern bar – a silver bartop and contemporary stools with the wide range of liquor highlighted by a blue backlight and reflected in a floor-to-ceiling mirror. Honey was impressed, and thought about what it was like the rest of the nights during the week.

She walked up the ramp to a spacious, dark dance floor with lounge furniture and mirrors lining two sides of the black walls.

Beyond the dance floor were the “dressing rooms.” Aka the women’s bathrooms. The familiar stench of body odors filled air.  Bitches were yelling at each other, fighting over the single mirror in the small bathroom that had just two stalls and one sink. Just like any other club she had been in. It was nice though, Honey had to admit, admiring the contemporary décor and gray and black color scheme.

Honey always stayed to herself when she changed. Always kept her socks on until she strapped her clear stilettos on. But that didn’t mean she didn’t observe what was going on or size up the competition as she put on her leopard-print one piece. Most were darker than she, which always gave Honey the upper hand. She could always tell which ones had children – they would look fit from the back, but their bellies hung over their g-strings and were lined with stretchmarks. She was lucky enough to not have any stretchmarks on her stomach, although she had a few on her hips that had faded over time. Guilt washed over her as it usually did when she thought of Adrianna in Texas. She pushed the thought of her daughter and her family out of her mind, tying the halter around her neck and another string in the back. She bent to buckle the straps of her clear stilettos and stood tall. While there were girls hovering in the mirror, she stayed a short distance from them and sneaked a peek of herself and fluffed her hair, catching eye contact with one of the other girls staring at her. That’s usually how it went when she showed up at a new club. She learned not to smile at those girls, since they took it as mockery instead of being genuinely nice. She grabbed her bag and headed to the bag check, transformed from a stainless steel kitchen. There was no food being cooked tonight. Especially since dude threw all the dirty bags on every available counter.

“Damn, baby, never seen you here before,” the young bag-checker said with a crooked smile. He was a young light-skinned boy, probably excited to work in a strip club. “What’s your name?”

“Honey,” she said, without smiling. She hated the small talk with the dudes who worked in the club. Always trying to get a discount, or something for free. But she knew it was good to have the crew on her side. “It’s my first time here.”

“In this club or this job?”

This time she smiled, knowing that he was looking for a way to take advantage of her.


She handed him her bag and he gave her the tag. He marveled a bit at the Louis Vuitton bag she handed him, maybe to see if it was real or not. She put the tag in the wristlet Coach purse where she stored her money, Magnum condoms and wipes.

As the other bitches stayed in the back, talking and fighting and being loud in general, Honey took it as an opportune time to size up the club and get some water at the bar. She watched a man size her up as she sat down. He sat next to her.

“Yo, I’m David,” he said. “I know you’re new here, so let me tell you how this works - $5 a dance on the floor. When you see a white screen go up by the DJ booth, you can take anyone upstairs. We charge $30, but whatever you charge and whatever you do is between you and the trick.”

Just like that. Honey looked at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar and gave herself the you-can-do-this look. But she sat at the bar and watched men walk by for about half an hour before she mustered the courage to get up and stroll around.

She learned to size men up in less than a few weeks of dancing in clubs. There were dudes who were obviously married and nervous about being there because they wanted one thing – sex. There were young tricks who came with their friends to talk shit, drink and have the time of their lives, and maybe get their dicks sucked. And there were the assholes who were ugly as shit, and this was the only place where a woman wouldn’t reject them. They loved strip clubs, and they were the most relentless. Thinking they would get the upper hand, they were usually cheap ass bastards who tried to negotiate hourly prices, and those were the ones Honey never saw again, no matter how many times they’d text or call her.

By 1:15 a.m., the club was still dead. Some men were mingling in the bar, so she didn’t bother talking to them. She noticed quickly that when the men were ready to talk with girls, they would head over to the dance floor. All she needed was one man to grind on and she knew she’d catch the attention from there. But the club seemed packed with just as many bitches as there were tricks. The upper hand Honey had, however, was that she was light-skinned and sober.

Even if it didn’t matter what a trick looked like, Honey always sought the attractive ones first. And there were two standing in the middle of the dance floor. One was shorter – maybe 5-10 with a slightly darker complexion than her own. His slim build was sexy – she could tell he had a nice muscle tone just by looking at him. His fedora was pulled down over his eyes, but Honey could still tell he was a cutie. His friend was much taller, much darker and much skinnier, but had pretty eyes. She walked up to them and touched the taller one’s chest.

“You dancin’?” she asked, trying to size him up with eye contact. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.

He smiled and took a step back from her. “Naw,” he said. “We work here.”

A little embarrassed, Honey stepped away from him. “Oh. Both of you do?”

The dark one smiled. “Yeah, but if I didn’t work here, you know I would.”

Honey smiled. “My fault.” And she walked away.

“Goddamn, I love me a redbone,” he said, watching her. Honey just shook her head. As long as she never gave that man anything, she could get anything she needed at this club.

Amonte rolled his eyes at his brother. Bitches were always hitting on him and his brother. He wasn’t about to spend money on shit, especially not pussy. He looked after the ho who walked away. She had already moved on to some other dudes, working to get her money. Probably so she could get a drink at the bar because she already spent the money she made at other clubs on dumb shit. He tried to lump her in the same category as everyone else, but she didn’t seem to be like any of the other bitches who were just bullshittin.

He couldn’t figure it out, but she definitely didn’t belong there. He shrugged it off as Jones approached him.

“We’re bout to open it up,” he said.

Amonte followed the middle-aged man to the back room. Access to the VIP was right next to the women’s restroom, temporarily transformed into the dressing room for the night, and just behind the kitchen which had been transformed into the bag check. The steep stairs were hard to climb – it was pitch black, but it was the place the women made their dough.

Amonte had seen the cheap bitches suck and fuck for as little as $40, and the fights that come in after that.

“You fuckin’ it up for the rest of us, low-ballin’ bitch,” one girl had yelled. “Just to buy some fuckin’ chicken wings and French fries.”

Amonte had seen it all. He’d seen tricks take their socks and shoes off to fuck on a nasty ass floor, where dudes would toss their condoms after their 10-minute fantasy had been fulfilled. He headed upstairs and pulled the screen down on the balcony that overlooked the dance floor. He walked in the DJ booth next to the lounge and told the DJ that it was time.

Mitch nodded and turned on the wireless mic.

“Alright, fellas, the executive suite is now open, so you pick that lovely lady and come get yourself a private dance.”

Honey looked up at the DJ booth and noticed the screen David had mentioned earlier. She was ready to make her money and get the fuck out of there. She grabbed a trick – didn’t notice whether he was attractive or not – and turned her back to him, slowly rubbing her ass against his crotch until she felt him get hard. He grazed his hands along her hips and her waist before he cupped her breasts with both of his hands. She turned to face him, and he kept making eye contact with her. He was sold.

“You ready for that private dance?” she asked, grabbing his hands and guiding him along every curve in her body.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “How much?”

“Depends on what you want,” Honey whispered, leaning close enough to intoxicate him with her scent and far enough away so she didn’t have to smell his breath.

“I want it all,” he said. He looked her up and down, fixing his eyes on her face – her skin tone, her eyes, her teeth that were all there and straight. She revealed her dimples when she flashed a smile. As she turned around again, he noticed the Panamanian flag tattooed on her lower back and the word “Honey” just above her ass crack. He bet that tattoo would look even better with her bent over in front of him, her back arched while she screamed his name.

She brought him back to reality. “$100, and you can have it all, baby,” Honey whispered. He nodded and she grabbed his hand, leading him to the back. He paid Jones the $30 it cost to have access to the room. “Come on baby.”

Honey led the way up the stairs, almost tripping in her stilettos. When they got to the suite, it was nothing like she had seen before. A full-on fuckfest was happening right before her eyes. She looked at her trick; he wasn’t fazed at all. In a weird way, Honey could’ve sworn he was even more excited.

She was greeted by the bouncer in the fedora and was taken aback. Why, she had no idea. “Oh, hey.” She suddenly felt embarrassed about what she was about to do.

“What’s up?” Amonte said smoothly. Without giving her a second glance, he said, “Y’all can go over there.” He never made eye contact with her, but he watched her walk away. Watched the trick hand her a hundred-dollar bill that she stuffed in a small Coach purse hanging from her wrist. Where normally he didn’t even pay attention to the sucking and fucking going on – only to monitor the length of time and amount of people – he watched Honey handle the trick in less than 10 minutes. Felt his own erection as he watched her squat down and roll a condom on the man while he stood in front of her. Almost groaned when she made his dick disappear in her mouth. Craved her touch while she stood up and pushed her dude on the couch and pulled her bottoms to the side and straddle him. Holding his hands and letting him expose her breasts, her nipples hardened from his touch. She eased down on his dick, and watched his head fall back with desire. She started slow and moved her hips faster and faster until her trick stopped her. He had cum. It was hard to tell with the loud music.

She smiled at her trick and eased off of him. She made $100 in less than 10 minutes. She pulled a wipey out of her bag and used it to pull the condom off. She pulled another out and cleaned herself. She passed Amonte as she threw everything out in the trash can.

Honey headed down the stars and back to the dance floor. As she came out from the back, another man grabbed her wrist and the same dance ensued. Within a couple of hours, Honey’s satchel had $400, not counting the tips and the money she got from dances. She wondered if she had priced her services too low, since no one tried to tell her she was charging too much that night.

She took a break at the bar for water, but tipped the bartender anyway with one of the singles a customer had slid in her waistline.

As she sipped the water, she noticed a stocky black man stare her down. She flashed her signature dimpled smile, inviting him to walk toward her and grab a seat.

“Hi,” she said.

He only smiled.

“You want a dance?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Fuck,” he said.

Was he slow? “$100.”


She rolled her eyes. The first one who tried to negotiate with her all night. She took pity on the slow dude and sighed. “Well, that’s all you’re getting,” she said.

They walked to the back together, and this time, even Jones took notice. “Damn, Honey’s on a roll tonight,” he called out laughing.

She laughed with him and climbed the steep stairs again. Amonte saw Honey come upstairs for the fifth time that night. He wasn’t sure any other girl had been up there that much – or maybe he just didn’t notice. He glanced at his watch – 10 til 4. Almost closing time. She was the last one in the VIP room, so he figured she could handle herself and headed downstairs to tell Jones to stop anyone else from coming upstairs.

Honey asked for her money and grabbed a condom out of her purse. As she started to roll it on, the man stopped her. “Suck and fuck.”

“I said one or the other,” she told him, looking around for the bouncer. He might be more trouble than he’s worth.

He just repeated, “suck and fuck.”

She rolled her eyes. He wasn’t slow. The bastard knew exactly what he wanted. She was just going to give him a blow job and hope that it was over as quickly as possible. She rolled the condom on, but he got mad.

“No. Suck.” He took the condom off and pulled her head toward him.

Anger started rising in her chest and she shook free of his hold. “I’m not sucking your dick without a condom,” she said. And she wasn’t about to waste another condom on his ass. As far as she was concerned, condoms were worth as much as services rendered.

The bouncer walked back into the room. “It’s time to wrap it up,” he said. “The club is closing and bitches are leaving.”

It was a lifesaver for Honey as she adjusted her outfit and started to walk away. The trick grabbed her.

“I no finish.”

She shook her head and his hold again. “I’m sorry, baby,” she said, trying to stay nice, “but you used up the condom.”

Dude got angry, but Honey had already walked away and headed to the bag check. She paid the $3 for her bag and headed to the bathroom to get dressed. As she squeezed back into her jeans and tube top, she heard men arguing by the door and prayed it wasn’t about her and what just happened. Panama couldn’t rescue her, and she just made too much money to be banned from a club on the first night. She quickened her pace, slung her bag over her shoulder and walked out the restroom.

The bartender was talking to her last trick.

Ella!” He pointed at Honey.

“Oh, shit,” she muttered.

Ella?” the bartender pointed at her.

“Sí, ella.” The dude wasn’t slow; he didn’t speak English! Since he was so dark, Honey didn’t realize he was just a dark ass Dominican.

“Yo,” the bartender approached Honey. “Dude says you took his money and didn’t do shit. He’s my friend, and he’s one of my best customers, so I hope you didn’t fuck him over.”

Honey rolled her eyes. “Listen, he wanted me to do everything for only $50. I was cutting him a break, but then he wanted me to suck his dick without a condom. So it was over. It’s not my fault.”

The bartender translated what Honey told him and the trick only seemed to get angrier. He lunged toward her, and the bartender and the bouncer in the fedora jumped in his way. “I no finish,” he insisted.

Honey smiled, realizing she had some sort of protection. The smart-ass came out of her as she said, “No es mi problema, mi amor. Pase una buena noche.”

No pase nada!” he yelled, pushing her and sending her into a rage.

“You don’t fucking touch me!” she screamed, not realizing the fact that she was drawing attention to herself from the girls who were trying to leave for the night.

The bartender held Honey away and motioned to the bouncer in the fedora. “’Monty, take her out the side. This nigga’s gonna kill her.”

Monty grabbed Honey’s hand and led her out the side door. Even if it was a safety precaution, electricity shot up her arm and made it tingle all over. She felt safe, even safer than she had with Panama. He stopped her on the sidewalk in the alley and did something he had never done before. “Let me get your number,” he blurted.

She looked up at him, speechless and confused. Didn’t he just watch her fuck four different dudes in less than two hours?

“Take my number,” he said as she stood there, not saying a word. “Where’s your phone?”

She pulled her phone out of her small purse and handed it to him. She admired his strong hands, even if he was only punching numbers in her phone. She loved his smooth, caramel skin tone.

“I’m calling myself right now,” he said with a slight Brooklyn accent that was sexy as hell to her. “What’s your name?”

“Honey,” she said quickly.

He laughed. “You know I don’t buy any of that ho shit. What’s your name?” He flashed straight white teeth when he laughed.

This was where Honey was trained to give the fake name of Stacey, but “Andrea” rolled off her tongue almost instinctively.

“Spell it for me,” he said while he walked her to the front of the building. “You got it – or you want me to walk you to the train?”

She looked at Panama leaning against her dark blue car, waiting. “There’s my ride right there.” Suddenly, the bouncer that gave her butterflies didn’t matter. “Thanks,” she said. She walked toward the car to a stocky man wearing a Yankee fitted with a white V-neck T-shirt, dark denim shorts and Prada sneakers. That couldn’t have been her daddy. Pimps didn’t dress like that. Probably just another hack.

Panama looked irritated when Honey got to the car.

“Shit, ho,” he said, his words making Honey cringe. “Why are you the last bitch out this muthafucka? And who the fuck was that nigga?”

She didn’t say a word. She put her bag in the back seat and sat in the car, waiting for Miguel to get in. “Andrea, I’m talking to you.”

“This trick wanted to kill me in the club,” she said. Andrea sounded like such a square when she tried to talk like she was part of the game. But she laughed anyway. “I had to get escorted out the side by a bouncer.”

“Damn,” Panama laughed. “You fucked with him like that?” He always enjoyed when tricks fell in love with his Honey, but he didn’t care to know details. It nagged at him -- a side effect from their relationship before he lured her to the game.

She handed him her wristlet, so he could count the money she made. He always counted the money in front of her. “533! Damn. In less than three hours?! My bitch is a stallion!”

Andrea laughed. No matter what she did, it was forgotten as soon as she was done, and she didn’t want to relive it. “Can we go home now?”

She leaned back in the passenger seat and closed her eyes as they drove away from the club. Panama got on the phone immediately, calling his pimp friends to brag about the money his bitch pulled in. She smiled, and listened to a little bit of the conversation, trying to pick up the pimp jargon. A yawn crept in, and sleep started to take over. Miguel’s voice was soothing and strong as she settled into her temporary bed.

Panama stayed on the phone with Sha and Hollywood so he could stay awake during the drive home. He glanced down at his sleeping girl and smiled. All was getting better in his world. He was going to have enough money to take care of him and his family.

As the car glided to a stop in front of the apartment building, Honey opened her eyes. Her body was tired; hours of dancing was the best workout for any person. She was ready for a shower and the bed.

An old house converted into an apartment building by a Russian contractor from New York, the three-story brick building was full of charm in northeast Philly. The walk up to their top-floor apartment, however, wasn’t. After they slowly climbed the three flights of stairs, Panama unlocked the door to the apartment, watching Andrea drag her feet in and drop her bag at the foot of the bed. She never ceased to surprise him. He picked a good girl.

As she stood at the foot of the bed, he came up behind her and put his arms around her waist, kissing her neck.  “You made me so proud,” he whispered, pulling her hair to the side. “Come on, let’s take a shower.”

Andrea smiled, surprised that Panama used the word “let’s.” She couldn’t remember the last time they showered together, let alone share the bathroom together when he wasn’t sitting on the toilet and yelling at someone on the phone.

But these times she cherished. When it was Andrea and Miguel, none of those other bitches or tricks, or that lifestyle, even mattered. When they were alone, Miguel would go back to the man he was when she met him. When they were broke and laughing over a drink at Dave & Busters on Delaware Avenue. When she brought him into her house, unashamed of the bed she made on the floor. No one had ever taken her in so quickly and so easily. She felt blessed.

That’s why it was easy to enter the “partnership” with Miguel. She wasn’t going to do it forever. Just enough for them to start a life together, like he said before. Now that she had been in the game for several months, she cherished the moments when the real Miguel would come out, since they were fading faster and faster as they made more and more money. The money seemed to be pouring in, too. He promised her he would handle everything and make sure all of her bills and anything her daughter needed would be taken care of. And it all was. Andrea was the worst with money, so she was glad to have someone look out for her.

She loved for him to take charge, whether it was money or sex. She especially loved for him to take charge of her during sex. She didn’t have to think about it; she didn’t have to work for it. It was more of a relief than anyone would ever know.

He pulled her tube top off and unhooked her strapless bra. He unbuttoned her jeans and helped her out of her G-string. She walked to the bathroom to turn the shower on, and he showed up behind her, naked. Andrea always loved Miguel’s body. His dark skin made her look borderline white. His chest was perfectly sculpted although eating at KFC every day was starting to soften his fresh-from-prison hard body. She still couldn’t believe he spent his 20s behind bars.

Their backgrounds and personalities contrasted almost as much as their skin, but Andrea didn’t care. Everyone deserved a second chance in her mind, and since she first got to know him, she realized he had a heart of gold – and an insatiable yearning for it. He was very materialistic and wanted everyone to know what he had, but she didn’t mind it as much, since she was part of that property and he used the money she made to buy her gifts that were classic and stylish, just like her.

She wrapped her hair in the Chanel silk scarf Miguel had bought her – one of many gifts since they started making more money – and stepped in the shower. She had no idea Miguel was going to make love to Andrea the way he used to – before she became his bitch.

His rough, heavy hands caressed her wet body while she leaned to pick up her body wash. She loved to wash his body when he let her, and was surprised when he took the loufa from her and washed her down. Not being able to touch her as he used to was eating him up inside. Panama couldn’t tell if it was the jealousy or the fact that he really did care for her. He smiled at her when she closed her eyes and let the water run down her face, though she was careful not to wet her hair.

He always thought she was so beautiful, from the first moment he saw her. Now, at least 20 pounds lighter, her facial features were even more apparent, her big almond-shaped eyes, her dimpled cheeks, her full lips masking perfectly straight, white teeth, a smile that brightened the entire room. He understood why tricks would spend $150 just for 15 minutes with her.

Andrea wiped the water from her eyes, finally noticing Panama watching her. “What?” she said, smiling back at him. “Do I have a booger?”

He shook his head. She could ruin a moment with the best of them. But it was cute tonight.

“Naw, you’re good, nasty ass,” he laughed. He wanted to cradle her in his arms, but the thought of other men rubbing their dirty hands on her body made him have second thoughts. The one thing he got was her personality. Her eclectic taste in music. Her sarcasm. Her brains. No tricks got that. They could have her body, but not her mind, not her heart.

Panama turned the water off and helped his girl out of the shower, reaching for a towel. He almost smiled at the color; they shopped for what seemed like 12 hours just to find the right color that she wanted. To him, purple is purple, but Andrea knew what she wanted. And she found it at Ross. They made at least a stack a day and she found towels at a discount department store. But that was his Andrea. His Honey. His bitch.

“I don’t know if we should even use these, all the damn trouble you made me go through,” he said with a laugh.

She looked at the towel. “They’re perfect though. I love them.”

She grabbed another from the rack above the toilet. “I think you look good in purple.”

He rolled his eyes, and patted her body dry. His blood started to boil as he rubbed the towel along the contours of her waist, hips and thighs. Her body was starting to take an even more beautiful shape than when he first met her at the temp agency.

He let her dry him off, trying to control his breathing and steady himself for her touch. But as she dried his chest and his stomach, watching her concentrate on the contours of his own body, he sighed heavily and grabbed her wrist to stop her from heading lower.

They locked eyes, and the animal attraction they once had had awakened from hibernation. Miguel pressed his body against hers, forcing her to lean against the bathroom door. He kissed her forehead, eyelids, and searched for her mouth. He hungrily kissed her, his tongue searching for hers.

Andrea tried to hide her shock. He hadn’t kissed her in weeks. She remembered the day he stopped kissing her all too well, but she closed her eyes and melted into him anyway.

“I miss these,” he whispered between kisses. “I miss your soft ass lips.” Andrea smiled and cherished the moment.

It was hard for him to kiss her anymore. No. 1 – no pimp ever kissed his bitch in the mouth, no matter how long she had been down. No. 2 – he didn’t even want to know where her lips had been, pleasing some trick. But as soon as he kissed her, none of that even mattered, especially when he felt her soft curves melt against him. He knew she was devoted to him and that thought alone made his dick hard.

Their kisses deepened and he reached under her thighs , carrying her to the bed, getting chills when she dug her nails into his arm to steady herself. Her breasts bounced as he walked the short distance to the bed, and made him stiffen even more.

The fact that he lifted her in one fell swoop was enough for Andrea. His strength was almost overwhelming to her. Panama knew no trick could make her squirm the way he was about to. No one knew how to make Andrea come like he used to and like he was about to now.

He looked down at her, watched those almond-shaped eyes squeeze shut, and smiled at her moan of pleasure as he glided easily inside of her. No matter what, she fit him like a glove, like she had just been with him her whole life. He loved that. He wanted to collapse on top of her and give her everything of him, but he couldn’t give her that power. He was the one with the power. She squeezed his arms harder and harder, squirming, but it only made him move faster and faster. His pace slowed as her breathing grew more ragged and he felt her muscles tighten around him. She was quiet, except for when she opened her eyes and smiled. “I love you,” she said, as she reached her climax.

It was almost too much. Panama closed his eyes to avoid reaching his limit too quickly, but it was too late. Within seconds, the wave hit him too. He released his built-up tension with a quiet groan.

Andrea opened her eyes as if she was awakened from a drunken stupor. Did he just come inside of me? She looked up at Panama, and he looked down as if he felt immediate regret.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, he thought. What the hell did I just do?

“It’s OK,” she said quickly. “I’m going to get my period next week. So we’re fine.”

She became the mind reader now, and she unfortunately read the bad things better than the good thoughts. He did not want another baby, especially not with her. And he didn’t want anything to happen to his money-making machine.

She felt more insecure than she had in a while, but she sighed. It was a beautiful experience no matter the outcome.

As they lay in bed, Miguel pulled Andrea close to him, though she was perfectly fine sleeping on the edge of the bed. He wanted to talk about their goals, how he thought Rockwell’s was like a goldmine, but Andrea was already asleep, snoring lightly. It was another thing he was jealous of. She was so comfortable, she could fall asleep practically anywhere – and fast.

He looked out the window. The early Monday morning sun was shining brightly, beckoning everyone with normal jobs to start their workweek. Panama had been up for more than 24 hours. It wasn’t long before he drifted away as well.

© Copyright 2021 NadegeWatson. All rights reserved.


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