Cold Blooded: A Hardcore Novel [NOOK Book]

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Moe...Molasses...was the sexiest man I have ever been with in my life...

It's strange sometimes to imagine what an adventurous young chick will do for the attention and company of an unpredictable man. Nowadays, or at least in black urban America, it seems that the most desirable cats, the real heartthrobs, are the coldhearted, thug niggas. Of course, most of them don't start off that way. They generally start off as rough around the edges mystery men, possessing obvious amounts of sex appeal that these young women find to be intoxicating. Such was the case with Janeia Goode and her man, Molasses, who were held up in a low-budget hotel room in St. Louis.

The digital clock on the oak-wood nightstand read 8:16 P.M. Janeia stood not far from it, posing with her legs together in a black dress, with a high split up the right thigh. She was a caramel-coated diamond chick, sharper than a motherfucker. In the palms of her delicate hands she held the nickel-plated steel of a nine-millimeter pistol. She aimed it at the dresser mirror like a gangster chick.

"Spread your legs and lock your arms," Molasses's confident voice instructed her from behind. He stepped up and gripped her arms, while slowly kicking her feet apart against the deep gray carpeted floor. He wore a camel-colored wool suit with an off-white silk button-up shirt and no tie.

Janeia smiled at his touch, but only for a second before she pulled the trigger of the gun into her reflection in the mirror.

Click!

That's when Molasses smiled. He could feel the excitement running through her sexy-ass body as she continued to hold the unloaded pistol in her hands. She wanted his danger. He knew it from the moment she took his cell phone number when he first met her. She was patiently waiting at the bus stop on 83rd Street in their hometown of Chicago. She probably would have allowed him to drive her to her destination that day...if he had offered to.

He asked into her right ear as she handled his gun, "It feels powerful, doesn't it?"

Janeia looked into the mirror at his sly smile as he held her close from behind. He was dark and insatiable, like ghetto romance, determined to happen. A single platinum chain shone across his neck under his open-collar shirt. His hard-edged body was as firm as the steel of his gun.

In her response, Janeia nodded and grinned at him through her reflection in the mirror.

"Yeah," she answered. "I like power."

Molasses grinned and read the anticipation on her face. He then slid his hands away from her arms to caress her pert breasts. That was what she wanted, to be fondled the right way and undressed for seduction by a man who knew what the hell he was doing. Janeia had no patience for half-scared amateur niggas who would hesitate. A real man knew what he wanted and seized it with authority.

So Molasses kissed her back and unhooked her bra, like a real man would. He then nudged her head slightly forward with his, so that he could bury his lips into her hair, deep enough to find a naked spot on her neck to kiss.

And oh, how she melted when he reached down between her legs and touched her there, while pulling down the spaghetti straps of her dress.

It was what she wanted, a real good fucking from a mysterious thug nigga. And when he undressed her and stretched her naked body across the bed to penetrate, Molasses even let her hold his gun against his bare back, while he spanked her where it felt good and made her squeal for Jesus to forgive her for her sins.

Copyright © 2004 by Omar Tyree