back. Jayla continued to hold on to me as I cried for the cousin I lost.
After the funeral , Pee-Wee and I headed up the block to Kitty's with the majority of the people who were at the service. Kitty’s was a local bar owned by one of the baddest bitches alive. Katrina Jacobs was twenty-eight years old with the face of an angel and a body created to make grown men cry. She was a half - black , half - Dominican beauty born in the city of Santo Domingo. She moved to the United States with her family when she was just four years old. Over the years , they moved from Miami to Atlanta , then to Memphis , before eventually settling in St. Louis , which had been Kitty’s home for more than twenty years of her life.
“Kitty, when you gon ’ let me wife you up?” I toyed with the sexy vixen while she stood before me , refilling my shot glass with Patron.
“I don’t know.” She put her free hand up on her bangin’ hips. “Maybe when you quit fuckin’ with all these other hoes and come at me like you got some sense.”
Pee-Wee laughed so hard , he damn near fell off his barstool. My cousin knew I ’ d been wanting Kitty every since the first time I saw her. Her dark bronze skin and slinky black hair looked so good together. She was about five - foot - nine and somewhere around a hundred and sixty pounds. I studied her silhouette. She was thick as hell ; just the way I liked. Her breasts sat perfect , and h er round ass looked soft enough to bite. Everything about her drove me crazy – and i t had been a while since I felt like that.
“At least come over to my place tonight and have a glass of Moet with a nigga.” I came at her like I never came at any chick before. “I know you can appreciate a nice bottle of champagne.”
“I prefer Cristal.”
“I thought you might.”
She was hard to get, but she wasn’t playing. In the all the years I ’ d been coming to Kitty’s , I never once saw a nigga get so much as a cell number. She owned her own business, dressed to kill, drove a hot ride , and always looked her best. She was a Boss Bitch , and s he belonged with a Boss Nigga.
“I don’t close ‘ til two , ” s he reminded me . “I ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘ til then.”
And neither was I. I waited patiently for her for damn near six hours ; f or Kitty , I think I would have waited a lifetime. I recognized the hustler in her. She had enough workers there that night to cover her , so s he could have left anytime she was ready - and I knew it. She just wanted to seeytianted t if I would actually sit there and wait all that time ; i t was a game I would have played myself. Kitty was in a whole other league than the broads I was use d to bangin’. She had class and a bank account big enough to support that classy lifestyle without having to come up off of some nigga. It was time for me to step up my game.
It was a quarter to three when we finally stepped out into the cool night air. I opened the passenger side door to my carbon black metallic BMW 750 Li, but she wasn’t having it. Kitty was the type of chick that had her own and liked showing it off. So, I did the gentlemanly thing and walked her to her ride. Her two-door Aston Martin coupe was killing the parking lot. Watching her slide behind the steering wheel in those tight curve - hugging jeans was torture to my dick. It was time to get up.
We were both doing at least ninety on the highway. There was no traffic out at that time in the morning , so t he highways flowed smooth all the way from the riverfront to the lake area. It didn't take long to make it back to my place. Kitty couldn’t believe my house , and i t did my pride some good to finally have something that impressed her. That was my opening.
A s I began to give Kitty a tour of my kingdom , I popped a bottle of Cristal and handed her a glass. She went in and out of every room but one : m y bedroom. I couldn’t even get her to step one
After the funeral , Pee-Wee and I headed up the block to Kitty's with the majority of the people who were at the service. Kitty’s was a local bar owned by one of the baddest bitches alive. Katrina Jacobs was twenty-eight years old with the face of an angel and a body created to make grown men cry. She was a half - black , half - Dominican beauty born in the city of Santo Domingo. She moved to the United States with her family when she was just four years old. Over the years , they moved from Miami to Atlanta , then to Memphis , before eventually settling in St. Louis , which had been Kitty’s home for more than twenty years of her life.
“Kitty, when you gon ’ let me wife you up?” I toyed with the sexy vixen while she stood before me , refilling my shot glass with Patron.
“I don’t know.” She put her free hand up on her bangin’ hips. “Maybe when you quit fuckin’ with all these other hoes and come at me like you got some sense.”
Pee-Wee laughed so hard , he damn near fell off his barstool. My cousin knew I ’ d been wanting Kitty every since the first time I saw her. Her dark bronze skin and slinky black hair looked so good together. She was about five - foot - nine and somewhere around a hundred and sixty pounds. I studied her silhouette. She was thick as hell ; just the way I liked. Her breasts sat perfect , and h er round ass looked soft enough to bite. Everything about her drove me crazy – and i t had been a while since I felt like that.
“At least come over to my place tonight and have a glass of Moet with a nigga.” I came at her like I never came at any chick before. “I know you can appreciate a nice bottle of champagne.”
“I prefer Cristal.”
“I thought you might.”
She was hard to get, but she wasn’t playing. In the all the years I ’ d been coming to Kitty’s , I never once saw a nigga get so much as a cell number. She owned her own business, dressed to kill, drove a hot ride , and always looked her best. She was a Boss Bitch , and s he belonged with a Boss Nigga.
“I don’t close ‘ til two , ” s he reminded me . “I ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘ til then.”
And neither was I. I waited patiently for her for damn near six hours ; f or Kitty , I think I would have waited a lifetime. I recognized the hustler in her. She had enough workers there that night to cover her , so s he could have left anytime she was ready - and I knew it. She just wanted to seeytianted t if I would actually sit there and wait all that time ; i t was a game I would have played myself. Kitty was in a whole other league than the broads I was use d to bangin’. She had class and a bank account big enough to support that classy lifestyle without having to come up off of some nigga. It was time for me to step up my game.
It was a quarter to three when we finally stepped out into the cool night air. I opened the passenger side door to my carbon black metallic BMW 750 Li, but she wasn’t having it. Kitty was the type of chick that had her own and liked showing it off. So, I did the gentlemanly thing and walked her to her ride. Her two-door Aston Martin coupe was killing the parking lot. Watching her slide behind the steering wheel in those tight curve - hugging jeans was torture to my dick. It was time to get up.
We were both doing at least ninety on the highway. There was no traffic out at that time in the morning , so t he highways flowed smooth all the way from the riverfront to the lake area. It didn't take long to make it back to my place. Kitty couldn’t believe my house , and i t did my pride some good to finally have something that impressed her. That was my opening.
A s I began to give Kitty a tour of my kingdom , I popped a bottle of Cristal and handed her a glass. She went in and out of every room but one : m y bedroom. I couldn’t even get her to step one
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