Rich Girl Problems by Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker Page A

’em! Right . . . now.”
    She looked into his wild and wide round eyes and knew that if she turned on her heels, there wouldn’t be much he could do. But she opted not to. Instead, she smiled, slid her black lace panties from between her legs, down her thighs, and handed them to him.
    He unfolded them, sniffed lightly and slowly licked the seat. Her salty flavor teased his tongue. “You’ve really been a good . . . girl . . . with this pussy?” He smiled.
    â€œYes, I keep telling you that, Granddaddy.” She lifted his hand, took his left index finger, rubbed it over her clit, and placed it against his lips. “All yours, baby.” She turned around and placed her ass in his face. He licked between the slit and smashed both cheeks together.
    â€œJiggle it,” he demanded.
    She obeyed, jiggled her ass in his face as he pushed his tongue deeper between her slit, tossing her salad until she dripped stickiness across his lips. The heated wetness of his tongue swimming on the underside of her nectar caused her to close her eyes and envision him being forty years younger.
    Tall. Robust. Sensual.
    His lips, popped, pulled, and tugged, as he bit one cheek and then the other.
    â€œMmmmm, eat it up, baby,” Journee moaned. “I want that dick. That big dick, baby.” She hissed as she imagined he had a dick with immeasurable inches preparing to take her to a place beyond space, and just as she was ready to leap toward the sky, he spun her around and she looked into his face, her eyes dropping down to his diaper.
    Dear God.
    He roughly unbuttoned her blouse, revealing the double D’s he’d paid generously for. He licked one quarter-sized chocolate nipple and then the other. Journee eased one nipple into his mouth and he latched on with lollipop pulls and tugs.
    He moaned, switched nipples, and Journee pushed her breast as deep as it would go into his throat. She closed her eyes again, slowly slid her fingers between her wetness and played in her pussy.
    â€œThat’s it.” She sighed as she circled the tip of her index finger over her swelling and slippery slope. She could feel her juices gathering and sliding between her thighs like smooth cream. Electricity shot through her body as she imagined again that he was the man of her dreams.
    Six feet.
    The color of light and sweet coffee, with a cleft chin.
    Broad shouldered.
    He continued to suck, rotating from one nipple to the other, and she continued to twirl her pearl.
    He panted.
    Her heart raced as she envisioned her invisible man and his thick dick at the tip of her cherry preparing to burst through and free her fuckin’ misery.
    â€œAlmost . . . Almost . . .” she whispered as he moaned and her fingers reached toward bringing her sweetness home.
    Her flesh dripped.
    He moaned.
    Almost there . . .
    She groaned.
    Almost . . .
    He shivered and let her nipples fall from his lips, but she continued to work her clit, washing it in her sea of wetness. Her heart thundered. Her stomach tightened and her fingers squeezed her clit, forcing her juices to explode and leave sweet and gummy remnants between her thighs.
    She opened her eyes. Zach’s sleeping head lolled back and there was a drizzle of drool easing out the side of his mouth and a light snore sounding as if it poured from his nose.
    Dear God, please kill this motherfucker by midnight.

CHAPTER 7
CHAUNCI
    T he afternoon sky was a perfect pale blue as Chaunci stood on the edge of the pier and stepped into the boat she’d chartered to take her up the St. Lawrence River to Millionaire’s Row, a stretch of private New York islands.
    Chaunci held the hand of the hat-tipping captain while he assisted her to her seat, a pilot style reclining white leather chair with a retractable sun visor.
    She placed her Louis Vuitton signature tote in the chair next to her, crossed her legs, slid her marble brown Moss Lipow sunglasses up the bridge of her nose, and