Free Sex in the Hood Saga by White Chocolate Page B

next. A dead pit bull was staring right up at her. Now she knew never to run from The Duke, but she also knew if she were in trouble, she would be safe.
    Damn, fate was a motherfucker, the way stuff was happening at the right time to help The Duke manifest his destiny with The Duchess.
    â€œOh my God!” she shrieked, spinning around. Her big eyes were trying to figure out who shot the dog, but she’d never know. Henry was walking as cool as he could up to the porch to take the other dogs inside and grab the hose to rinse off her feet.
    Beamer was strolling back to the car with the smoking dog defense.
    And I’m standin’ here cool as Luke. The fastest, slickest ma’fucka on the planet. He wanted to say this to Beamer and Pound, That quick draw was some wild, wild, west shit! But Duke had to play it cool, standing there waiting for her introduction as if he hadn’t just popped his top fight dog. The way she was looking at him before the bullet, Duke knew there was no question. She was already struck. On Duke.
    Ain’t gon’ take but a minute to crown her queen o’ Babylon. And queen of my bed.
    â€œYou coulda shot me!” she screamed. Her right foot stomped the patchy grass. All that long, black hair swayed like a cape from around her back, tickling her ass and swooshing around her right hip. “Who did that?”
    â€œDivine intervention, baby girl,” Duke said. “Immaculate ammunition. Don’t matta the who, jus’ the what. That we gon’ protec’ you.”
    â€œWho’s gonna protect me from you?” she snapped back. Just as quickly, she stared down at her bloody foot.
    â€œYo, Vee,” Henry said, splashing her feet with water from a green hose. “It’s cold but clean.”
    She kicked off her shoes. Henry handed her a small orange towel to dry her feet as he washed her sandals.
    â€œNow,” Henry said, kneeling to slip her feet into the clean shoes. “I know you starvin’. Duke takin’ you out to eat.” Henry put his hand softly on her back and guided her toward Duke.
    â€œFrom the frying pan into the fire,” she said, striding so elegantly, even though she was mad, on those long giraffe legs.
    Damn, Duke, be cool, man.
    She stopped so close that he could have rea
    ched out and squeezed her big, juicy titties, pointing at him in that innocent pink sweater. She was close enough for him to smell that hot, virgin pussy, sweet, salty, and served up fresh, just for him. It was probably as wet as his watering tongue right now. She was ripe, ready to get plucked like a big, juicy grape bursting under his tongue, squirting sugar every which way.
    Timbo was throbbing like a mug, aching to poke into that tight jar of jelly and stir it, spread it, whip it, dip it, flip it, and sip it dry. But if the look in her eye was any indication, this chick was the type who would stay wet because she liked it so much. Duke just knew. He had pussy radar like that. Some bitches had a dry look in their eye. They’d fuck you, but they weren’t in it for the pleasure. They were in it for the treasure. This chick, she was hungry as hell for something she hadn’t tasted yet. She was scared to take the first sample because she knew she would be addicted. Fiending.
    â€œAs we were saying, I’m Victoria Winston.” She held out her hand in a business-like way. Her exotic eyes were hard but sexy and soft, too, fringed by thick black lashes. She was the perfect chameleon to snow plow the Moreno Triplets. She looked white enough to make them lose their minds, but once he brought out the sista in her, she would be fatal.
    And Duke would reign.
    Duke’s mind was a filmstrip of Duchess going into meetings, representing him, putting folks at ease with that creamy skin and drop-dead beauty, using her King’s English and brilliant business mind to manifest the Babylon that was his birthright.
    The touch of her fingers