Zane's Z-Rated: Chocolate Flava 3 by Zane Page B

said defensively, then noticed her teasing grin.
    “Well, you don’t actually suck. I guess it’s because people never expect women to be Little League coaches and well, I suppose my attitude is more of a defense mechanism. Besides, come to think of it, you never actually went out of your way to make me feel welcome.”
    She was right; he hadn’t.
    There was a long pause as she saw him staring at her. Not her body, but her face; almost like he was seeing something beyond her, something that softened him.
    “I’m sorry you had to come out,” she said, clearing her throat.
    “Are you sorry you came?” The question had a double meaning and he knew she was smart enough to catch it.
    “No, I’m not.”
    Another long moment passed between them. It was as though everything that wasn’t being said was being shouted at them like a chant at a playoff game.
    “I better get going. No telling what my boys are tearing up,” she said, breaking the silence.
    “Nyrah …” He said her name gently. “Stay a minute.”
    “Why?”
    “To talk.”
    “About what? About you wanting to see me open up and cum again? Is that it?”
    There it was—the brash ball field witch again, but it wasn’t really her; he knew that now. It was the mask she hid behind for emotional protection.
    “Yes, damn it! That’s exactly what I want. But I want it on my face. I want to eat your pussy right here and right now.”
    He had no idea what he was saying, or why, but knew that in spite of all the barbed words they’d had in the past, and all the moments each of them disagreed and glared at each other with guarded apprehension; and although each of them must have known they could never be attracted to the other, here he was craving her like a vampire yearning for human blood.
    “Stay because I want you to,” he said.
    Nyrah’s breasts heaved as she struggled for something to say, but no words came out.
    Jai watched as her expression went from austerity to confused need. He pulled the bat from her hand and let it fall to the ground.
    Without a word he laid her gently back on the table that usually held the water keg and Gatorade cups, and pulled her legs up and spread them. Her panties had a wide, wet stain from her earlier release and he liked the way her fleshy pussy strained against the material.
    He leaned in, the high muskiness of her sex invaded his nostrils, and like a kid lapping an ice cream cone, he took a long, hard lick over the moist material with the flat of his tongue. Her moan of pleasure made him push his face in and suck. There was something he liked about eating her through her panties and, with his tongue, he traced up and down, like he was sketching. Every few licks he pointed his tongue to stab at her clit button. She was so hot, her flesh soft and pliable in his hands. He heard her hiss and knew she liked what he was doing.
    Her panties became too much of a barrier. He wanted flesh— her flesh. He wanted to taste her, inside and out. He wanted tomove his nose into her cunt crack and lick her dry. He had to find her clit nub and expose it, tease it with his teeth, until she screamed his name.
    Sliding off her panties, he found—to his delight—that she was shaven and it drove him wild. He touched her, spread her, opened and closed her. He pinched her pussy lips together with his thumb and forefinger, then flattened his tongue and licked her, stiffening it and moving it inside.
    She was writhing under him but he felt she was holding back, trying to control it. He didn’t want her to. He wanted her to writhe, moan, to open up to him.
    He stopped sucking and whispered to her. “Open up to me; let me love it.”
    He didn’t know if she would and was giddy with blissful desire when she shifted and reached down to open her pussy lips to him. She spread them wide and, if there was a way he could crawl in and eat his way out, he would have.
    The pink maw of her wet hole called to him like only a sweet song could. He wanted