No More Mr. Nice Guy by Carl Weber Page B

of him.
    â€œMy turn now.” I slid away from his dick and flipped him over, which probably shocked the shit outta him, considering I weighed 135 pounds and he weighed well over two hundred.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” he asked.
    Instead of answering, I grabbed hold of his balls and squeezed them in my hand just enough to get him into the whole pain/ pleasure thing. I’d seen it work on guys in the past, but this fool went nuts.
    â€œI love it, you black bitch,” he groaned.
    â€œThis is how I like it.” I climbed on top of him with my spiked thigh-high boots pressing against him. I lowered myself until I was lined up perfectly with his hard cock.
    Sebastian’s eyes grew wide as I slid his dick inside of me. Yeah, that was more like it. He may not have known what to do with that pencil-size prick of his, but I sure did. Now it was my turn to ride him.
    â€œOh, shit!!” He hollered as I began to buck up and down on him like an expert.
    I increased the tempo on top of him, as my tongue ran around the rim of his ear, sending his body shivering in delight.
    â€œAll right, motherfucker. Who’s your mama?” I demanded as I rode his little-ass dick like he was a bucking bronco.
    His head was already bobbing up and down in expectation, so it didn’t take him long to whimper a response. “You.”
    I clamped my muscles down on his dick, showing him what twelve years of yoga, five hundred squats a day, and no babies could do to your goodies. He damn near jumped out of his skin. “Say it again. Who’s your mama?”
    â€œYou are. You’re my mama. Damn, that felt good. Do it again!” he begged.
    A superior smile expanded across my face. “And whose dick is this?” I clamped down again.
    â€œYours! It’s yours. It’s your dick, mama! Nobody but yours. Shit, that feels so good.” I swear to God he sounded like a virgin getting his first taste.
    â€œYou know what, Sebastian? You’re a real prick.” I clamped down again, reaching into the garter hidden in my boot.
    He was too busy enjoying himself to see what I was doing, so when I whipped out the long, narrow blade and slipped into his earlobe, causing an instant bleed, he didn’t know what had hit him. He was dead within seconds.
    â€œFucking bastard. Nobody calls me a black bitch and gets away with it.” His fate had already been sealed, but talking shit, well, that was just the icing on the cake.
    Now that he was dead, the easy part was over and the hard part began. It was time to clean up the mess. Well, at least the forensic mess.
    I removed the condom from his shriveled-up penis and then got up to get dressed.
    â€œFuckin idiot got blood on my boots,” I snarled as I inspected my shoes. I wiped it off with a concoction I carried with me in a spray bottle. I then sprayed Sebastian’s body. This shit was good, and it would break down any DNA I might have left behind, just in case some bored forensic detective or a lab rat decided to do their job and get all CSI on a girl.
    I went into the bathroom to wash my hands and my private parts then threw the washcloth and condom in a Ziploc baggie, which I placed in my purse. I pulled off the blond wig and hazel contacts, then put on the tight black dress I’d worn earlier, along with a beret and a large pair of sunglasses. Even with the disguise, I didn’t plan on taking the elevator or going out the front door, in case there were surveillance cameras in the lobby.
    I grabbed my trench coat off the back of the chair. Just as I went to open the door to leave, my phone rang.
    â€œHello,” I answered curtly when I saw the number.
    â€œMs. Saint John, this is Nadja. The assistant director would like to speak to you. Please hold.” I really wanted to curse this dumb-ass bitch out, but I knew this wasn’t her doing, so I held my anger for the person responsible.
    â€œBridget.” Jonathan’s