Long As You Know Who You Belong To by jwppublishing Read Free Book Online

was a big no-no in my book. I had done the relationship
thing a time or two, but most niggas thought my job defined me as a
person. Because I was a stripper I was expected to be their
personal sex slave, their blow-up doll, their 24/7 fantasy. But
fuck that! I was a person too! I wanted to be wined, dined and made
love to. I grew tired of the constant fucking and late night chill
sessions.
    Besides the fact that niggas never thought I was good
enough for more than a quick nut, I never believed that I was worth
more than that either. So once I realized that I deserved better, I
sought out better. Or so I thought. Enter Ronelle Kurt. Standing
5’11” with skin the color of a Hershey’s bar and smooth dark hair,
I thought Ronelle was it. I loved that man to the edge of the earth
and back. That was until I found out the nigga was married with a
kid on the way. My dumb ass didn’t take the lack of public outings
and the consistent late night rendezvous as signs that something
wasn’t right with our relationship before it was too late.
    I’d always talked shit about the girls who acted like
the earth was ending when their nigga broke up with them, but I
finally understood their pain. It was excruciating and unlike
anything I’d ever felt before. So I said fuck love and changed my
mentality back to being focused on the money. Now the fact that
love, feelings and dates were things that were all back on the
table terrified me. I was terrified of the set-up and the letdown
that was bound to happen. But on the other hand, me and my money
were getting lonely. I just wasn’t sure if I was ready to get back
in the saddle yet. Kimani was a hard man to resist and, because he
had been so insistent on taking me out, I finally caved and we set
a date. Now the day was here, and I wanted to throw up the fear
that was bubbling in my stomach.
    “Miss Buckley, you have a guest in the lobby named
Mr. Kimani Summers. Would you like me to send him up?” The
doorman’s voice boomed through the intercom system.
    I walked over to the speaker and pressed a button to
speak. “No, tell him I’ll be right down.”
    I took a deep breath, grabbed my phone from its
charger, and exited my luxury pad. I took the elevator down and
used the time to check my reflection again to make sure everything
was on point.
    Dressed in a pair of skin tight white jeans by AG
Jeans, a white knit turtleneck crop top with no bra, and a peach
colored leather motorcycle jacket by Rebecca Minkoff, I looked
fresh and flirty. The white open-toe fringe sandals by Charline De
Luca added “umph” to my outfit, and my long blue extensions were
pulled up in a high ponytail with a few loose pieces pulled down to
frame my face. I had to admit that I looked stunning and cool,
without looking like I was trying too hard.
    Butterflies fluttered around my stomach as the
elevator began to slow. 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, G… I took another deep
breath and stepped off the elevator. I smiled wide at the sight of
Kimani holding a large bouquet of purple orchids. He smiled that
sexy ass grin when he saw me, and my panties got wet right on
cue.
    “Hey, beautiful.” His voice was raspy and deep; it
was a tone that made you want to close your eyes and wish that he
was using it to whisper sweet nothings right in your ear.
    “Hi,” I said shyly. I walked up on him, taking the
flowers from his hand and giving him a church hug. He was not with that. Kimani grabbed me by my waist firmly and
pulled my body into his. I could feel his lips lingering near my
ear, and I swear I turned to putty right there.
    “Don’t try and play me like I’m that ugly nigga with
no game that’s always pressing you for a hug. Give a real nigga a
real hug, girl,” he whispered.
    I blushed so hard that I thought I had permanently
changed skin tones. I wrapped my arms around him, giving him the
real hug that he requested. His hands roaming my ass didn’t go
unnoticed, but I didn’t say anything about it.
    “Thank you for