Thug-A-Licious: An Urban Erotic Tale

Thug-A-Licious: An Urban Erotic Tale

4.2 46
by Noire
     
 

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“Have you ever wanted something so bad you was willing to crawl over bodies to get it? I mean, fiend for it so hard it didn’t matter who you hurt, how low you had to scrape, it was gonna be yours? That’s what music and balling did for me. They were the fundamentals behind my rise . . . and the perpetrators of my fall. They called me Harlem’s

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Overview

“Have you ever wanted something so bad you was willing to crawl over bodies to get it? I mean, fiend for it so hard it didn’t matter who you hurt, how low you had to scrape, it was gonna be yours? That’s what music and balling did for me. They were the fundamentals behind my rise . . . and the perpetrators of my fall. They called me Harlem’s black prince–a rising star who carried street dreams on his back. But the streets, ya know. They got a way of coming for theirs. A method of sneaking up on you when you ain’t looking . . .”

Andre “Thug-A-Licious” Williams came up on Harlem’s meanest streets. But thanks to his nearly ankle-breaking hoop moves and explosive mic skills, he makes it out–and dominates the rap scene with chart-topping urban hits.

Thug has sexed all the hottest freaks and has a slew of baby mamas to show for it. But no matter how many women he takes to his bed, only one can claim his heart: successful beauty salon owner Carmiesha “Lil Muddah” Vernoy, his ride-or-die queen who has stuck by his side and guarded his back through thick and thin.

But Thug also has a nightmarish history with someone else. Pimp Williams, his older cousin and ex—partner in crime, is a cold-blooded killer who spreads havoc all over Harlem and will stop at nothing to get what he wants–even if it means betraying his own family, crushing Carmiesha, and forcing Harlem’s black prince down to his knees and back to his bloody beginnings.

“Urban erotica has never been hotter!”
–Nikki Turner, author of Riding Dirty on I-95

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Following street lit sensation Candy Licker, Noire returns to gangsta Harlem to tell the tale of Andre "Thug-a-Licious" Williams, a "Dawg-4-Lyfe" whose death is announced in the preface and whose life unfurls in a series of dark, stop-start flashbacks. At the time of his death, Dre, or Thug, was, improbably, "the baddest NBA rookie in the league," who was, at the same time, a rapper with a "club-banging album with triple platinum potential." Noire doesn't show us much of Thug's practice on the court or time in the studio (though a number of his rhymes are strewn through the narrative): the action is concentrated on his dick (which is big) and his exploits (nine children by nine different mothers by page 257, along with herpes). Through it all, Dre loves Carmiesha "Muddah" Vernoy, with whom he's hoping to settle down. He shields her from his criminal activity with cousins Pimp and Smoove (Carl and Todd Williams). It's Pimp who does the worst of it, and who also does time in jail while Thug accepts a basketball scholarship to Syracuse. Meanwhile, Muddah, who has gone to college and started her own beauty salon, Locks of Love, is keeping a secret that will eventually catch up with her and with Thug. The plot sputters, and the lives of all concerned are unrelentingly grim, but the sex really is hot. (On sale Aug. 29) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780345486912
Publisher:
Random House Publishing Group
Publication date:
08/29/2006
Pages:
352
Sales rank:
322,223
Product dimensions:
5.20(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.75(d)

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Chapter 1

It was the night before our critical championship game against the Lakers and I was chilling in the G-Spot, watching some fine-ass stripper work the stage.

“Do that shit, Honey Dew! Show these niggahs how you can work them pliers you got stuck up in your pussy!”

The girl was built with perfect proportions and every dick in the Spot was hard, including mine. The G-Spot was a gentlemen’s club for celebrities and hustlers deep in the game. I was a successful rapper and a rising baller with long paper, so I got a lot of nods of awe and recognition, and a few lame niggahs even stared at me, wishing they had my skills.

I’d had some beef with niggahs in the Spot a few years earlier, so after glancing around to make sure everthang was straight, I put my hand over the rock growing in my lap and sat back to enjoy the show.

The lights went dim, and suddenly a single spotlight flashed over Honey Dew’s outrageous body. She gave us a few slow, nasty moves, and niggahs clapped and broke out the dollars as she bent over and spread her fine ass cheeks. She laughed and winked over her shoulder at niggahs in the audience, then squatted down and sucked a full bottle of Coke off the floor, gripping the neck with nothing but her tight-ass pussy.

“Dat ain’t shit! Dat ain’t about shit!” some drunk poseur standing beside me with gold fronts on his teeth yelled. “Dey got dat dere shit beat in the dirty souf! I know a ho down at Club Magic who can puff a cigarette with her pussy. And dat pussy be blowing perfect Os too!”

I prolly shoulda been resting at the crib on the night before a big game, but G had sent me a personal invitation, and I wasn’t about to turn him down. Some major shit had gone down between G and my cousins a few years back that coulda got bloody. By showing up alone tonight I was sending him and his boys a clear message that Thug Williams was just as gangsta as ever. Don’t let that NBA shit fool you. There wasn’t a drop of bitch in my blood. Not a dime’s worth of fear was in my pockets when it came time to roll up in G’s Spot.

I stood up and clapped hard for Honey Dew, then tossed her a bill that fluttered to the floor at her feet. She scooped up all her cash and gyrated her juicy ass off the stage, and I stayed on my feet as the DJ introduced a dancer called Money-Making Monique.

“Goddamn!” I leaned forward so I could see better. This jawn was rocking her hips like a motherfucker. Her long skinny fingers was rubbing and squeezing her firm breasts, and from where I was standing it looked like she mighta had three nipples.

Monique was a true freak. She did some damage to that pole that had my collar choking real tight, but when the music changed and a bunch of big niggahs in tiny drawers came out shaking their dicks for the ladies, I knew it was time for me to bounce. I walked over to the bar and gave a hustler named Moonie some respect. He was real loyal to G, but T.C. had dug him back in the day so I knew he was solid.

“Whattup,” Moonie said, showing me love.

I stayed cool. “Handling my shit, man. You know how it be.”

“Your album is hot, man. You been hooping like a motherfucker, too. The Knicks needed you, man. They ain’t been this hot in years. Keep ’em lifted, yo.”

Even though G had sent me a personal invitation, nothing in his Spot came free. I’d dropped a grand to get in the door, and another one to cover my drinks and a piece of pussy too. I was cool with it tho’ ’cause I knew I’d get more than my money’s worth in one of them back rooms. Some wild, funky sex always helped me get focused before a big game.

Juicy-Mo from 136th Street walked past and grinned at me real quick like she was scared to open her mouth and speak. It was hard to believe a dime piece like her was fucking with coldhearted G, and even though she was still fine as hell, it was only a matter of time before that niggah crossed her out.

I’d sat down with G in his office and exchanged a few cool words earlier, and I could see why he was so strong in the game. That old niggah was smooth and crafty. He had absolutely no scruples and didn’t give a fuck about nothing except runnin’ his dirty money game.

An image of T.C. flashed through my mind and I leaned against the bar. T.C. had warned me about fuckin’ with a OG like G.

“Look, Thug. That cat G took my brother Sonny out. If your cousins Pimp and Smoove wanna get shit all over their hands fucking with that motherfuckah, let ’em. But you carrying street dreams on your back, son. Me and Miss Lady got all our faith and hope riding on you. Besides, you too smart to get sucked into any pot that dirty niggah got cooking. Work your talent, man. Keep your hoop game tight. Pimp some broads. Cut all the rap music you can cut. But stay away from Granite McKay. Fuckin’ with him can be dangerous.”

“Yo, Moonie.” I signaled my man. “Lemme get some Moët, man. Two bottles.”

I took the bottles over to the cashier and got me a chip to room number nine. I’d already picked out the girl I wanted to get with, and when I got to the room she was ready and waiting.

Her name was Saucy and she was holding a full physical package.

“Whassup,” I said and closed the door behind me.

She smiled and I couldn’t believe how gorgeous she was. Her caramel-toned body was ripe and curved everywhere. Nice hips, big thighs, small waist. And at least five mouthfuls of big firm titties.

“Hey, Playa,” she greeted me with a big hug. She had on some slinky shit that was clinging tightly to her curves and felt good when she rubbed up against me. She reached over and pressed a button on the nightstand that let the cashier know I was officially on the clock. “You feeling good tonight?”

I kissed her lightly, then rubbed her bottom lip with my thumb. “I’m feeling a little better. Now that I’m with you.”

Saucy laughed, then walked over to the small table and got me a small glass. She held out the glass and motioned toward my Moët. “Well pour me a little bit of that, Daddy, and I’ll have you feeling grand in no time.”

I poured and passed. She accepted.

“I know who you are, but I ain’t seen you in here before.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “It’s been a minute. But it’s good to be back.”

We drank together for a few and shot the shit. Saucy mighta been a ho, but I liked her. She had an upbeat attitude and a sexy, playful personality. She recognized me and knew who I was too, and that gave me a big lift.

“All right now,” she joked. She was giving me a lap dance and I told her to turn around so I could watch her from the back. I couldn’t believe how she was holding it. She was slim in all the right places and phat where it was needed. She also had one of the biggest, roundest asses I’d ever seen on a slim girl. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. She tossed her hands in the air and jiggled her perfect ass cheeks until my eyes got crossed.

“The Knicks got a big game tomorrow, right? You ain’t pumping out none of that supersperm tonight though, are you?”

“Umm,” I hummed, gripping her waist and palming her ass like it was a basketball. The way she moved, I knew she had some good pussy. I could just tell. “I don’t know what you mean, baby.”

She laughed and bent over at the waist. I caught a whiff of her nook-nook and licked my lips and moaned.

“I heard all about your ass,” she said over her shoulder. “I remember when you used to hold the mic down with your two cousins, the ’Licious Lovers. They was just talking shit about you the other day on MTV and BET. Talking about how hard you rap and all them damn kids you got. Mama’s babies and daddy’s maybes! Just don’t leave no babies in this room with me tonight, ’kay, big boy?”

I was the one laughing now. “You ain’t gotta worry about that, sweetie. Trust me.”

She started laughing so hard she had to stop dancing and turn around to roll her eyes at me. “Trust you? Niggah, please! That’s probably what you tell all your baby mamas! But I can see why a bitch would wanna reproduce with you. You fine,” she grabbed my hard dick, “you heavy. And best of all, your bank is long and you paid.”

She gave me a crazy look and slapped herself on the forehead.

“Then what the hell am I talking about? I must be sleepin’! Who wouldn’t wanna have your baby!”

I laughed with her, but it messed with my head when people talked shit about my kids. Not because I was ashamed of having so many of them, but because for the longest time I hadn’t done enough for any of them. A playa had four sons and five daughters. I’d been real young when my first kid was born, and then the rest of them came so close together that I got paralyzed by all that responsibility. But my girl Muddah had corrected my vision on all that, and I was grinding hard for mine now. Had bank accounts and college funds and ere’thang for my babies. Life insurance too. It was the only way I coulda convinced Muddah to marry my ass. I had to be doing right.

“What else they be saying about me on MTV?” I said, changing the subject. I pulled her back onto my lap until she was straddling my legs.

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