The Pleasure Zone by Cairo

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

TWENTY-TWO

Everyone desired pleasure.

And Nairobia was an expert at using her femininity to get what she wanted. Call it manipulation. Call it being cunning. Call it whatever you liked. Nairobia called it the art of seduction. She knew all too well how to seduce. How to lure the object of her interest in, then slowly have him/her eating out the palm of her paraffin-smooth hand. And she planned on sharing that knowledge with the world in her next Tell-All.

She believed women should know how to smile more, play more, flirt more, and tease more. Not be so uptight. Not be so combative. Not be so dependent on the attention of a man. She found most women carried lots of unnecessary baggage. And were too needy and disturbingly clingy. It made them ugly. Made them appear broken and weak.

Nairobia despised broken, weak women. And she pitied women who didn’t know how to embrace their sexuality, their sensuality, and their femininity.

As far as she believed, no quality man wanted a woman bearing those flaws, or scars of insecurity. He needed a whole woman—a sensual woman, a sexual woman, one who knew how to embrace her strength and her femininity, while still allowing him to be a man.

Still…

A woman needed to keep a man guessing. She needed to be bold and daring. Needed to know how to have a life outside of having a man. She needed to know how to live life on the edge…just a little. Throw caution to the wind and give into her desires, responsibly, of course. But not be so accessible to a man—all the time.

Make him wait. Just a little. Give him something to yearn, something to dream about. Women needed to know how to say, “Come hither” or “Here I am, my love” in her dress, in her eyes, in her body language, without ever opening her mouth.

There was an art to throwing oneself at a man without seeming…thirsty.

In Nairobia’s opinion, thirsty women were unattractive and depressive, which was probably why she had no females in her inner circle that she could honestly call a friend. Acquaintances? Why of course. She had plenty of those.

But a true girlfriend in every sense of the word, she did not exist in Nairobia’s world. She found most women backstabbing, conniving, and petty. Rich or poor, women could be messy. And Nairobia had no time for drama and mess. Period.

And any woman smiling in her face usually had an ulterior motive, especially one whose smile didn’t quite shine in her eyes. Like the one plastered over Lenora Samuels’ lips. She was the head of one of the world’s top literary agencies in the publishing world—LS Literary Agency—and, yet, she always came across as fake. Like now, as she sat across from Nairobia—at a cute Afro-Asian restaurant in Harlem, sipping her cocktail, while trying to convince Nairobia to allow her to shop her next book, Sweet Pleasures.

Nairobia stared at her, blinking every so often. Lenora Samuels was two screws short of crazy if she thought she would be foolish enough to let her represent her literary interests.

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