Dirty Heat by Cairo

Author:Cairo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Strebor Books

FOUR

“YE-EHHHH!”

“Yehhhhhh-Ey!”

Eyes closed.

Lips pursed.

Hair swinging.

Titties jiggling.

Nipples peaked.

Hips swaying.

Ass bouncing.

Hands up over my head, white gold, diamond-crusted bangles clanking, I’m feeling sexy and free.

Fela Kuti’s “Teacher Don’t Teach Me Nonsense” blares through the speakers, giving me life.

Yes, God.

I hop, skip, shimmy my shoulders. Throw my head back. The music, its melodic beat, is hypnotic, causing my hips to sway, my pelvis to thrust. I feel myself getting caught up in it, like it’s moving me from the inside out.

The island of St. Lucia is breathtaking. The people are warm and welcoming. The weather is gorgeous. And the nightlife is full of energy, giving me life.

Although I am still reeling from the shock of being daring enough to hop on a plane and travel across the Atlantic Ocean to vacation alone, I let go of my inhibitions and allow myself to get lost in the moment.

Red-glossed lips, mink-lashed, I am dancing the night away out on the party deck of one of St. Lucia’s hotspots. Serving them—the locals and tourists, that is—in my skimpy, hip-grabbing white halter-top jumpsuit—underneath, I’m wearing a tiny thong—with a pair of red six-inch Manolo Blahniks.

I know I’m a bad bitch.

My sun-kissed skin is shimmering under the moon.

My hair is laid right.

Yes, Lord. You can’t tell me shit.

Flawless.

This big, juicy ass is clapping for the gods.

I toss my head back. Throw my arms up in the air. Glance up at the twinkling stars. Close my eyes. Then slowly open them again, gazing out into the growing crowd.

All eyes are on me as I dish up a full-view of ass, hips, and tits.

A few men whistle and catcall.

Tonight, even if I’m not fucking—yet, I am giving them the illusion that I am.

That I am the island whore.

The harlot.

The jezebel.

The dancing thot.

In my mind’s eye, all I see are a bunch of naked, hard-bodied men, a slew of hard horny dick.

All for the taking.

Fingers popping, pussy on fire, I’m dancing as if I am a woman with a purpose, to have a good goddamn time. I shake my ass as if I’m a single woman, as if I hadn’t been fucked by my man just hours before my flight departed.

I wind down to the floor, then pop my ass cheeks. Bitches had better grab ahold of their men and hold ’em tight. There’s a weekend slut on the loose.

“YE-EHHHH!”

“Yehhhhhh-Ey!”

I sway back and forth, lunge forward, shake and roll my hips. Not caring if my breasts spill out. Then I quickly get swept up in the fast, rhythmic beat of “Flatten Riddim” as it vibrates through my body.

I start high-kicking and spinning.

By the time the deejay eases into “Your Loss,” a song by a reggae artist I’ve never heard of, Figaro, the dance floor is crowded, and I’ve worked up a sweat and a deep thirst for something wet…and refreshing.

“Damn, baby, I love the way you move,” a baritone voice floats over the music in back of me. I turn to see who its owner is, looking up and gazing into the eyes of the closet thing to perfection I’ve seen in a long time.

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