Big Country’s snort of derision was more like a grunt of release as Bubba throbbed, begging to be the object she bounced her hips on top of next.
Damn if he wouldn’t have his satisfaction tonight, Big Country thought, and made the mistake of looking at Lynx. The rapture on his best friend’s face was different than Big Country’s lustful fantasies. No, Lynx’s expression spoke of infatuation and declarations of love and eventually having his heart ripped out of his chest.
Despite Big Country’s attempts to educate him about the truth of women, Lynx remained an idealistic fool where they were concerned. He was like Big Country’s old man in that way, glutting himself on saccharine smiles and syrupy words only to learn that what he’d been ingesting was more toxic than meth-laced arsenic. Didn’t matter to him if the ol’ man rotted in the hell he’d created running after Big Country’s mother, but he wasn’t about to let his best friend travel that same treacherous path.
His gaze hardened as the woman stepped down from the table.
She would devour Lynx.
“Son, you obviously got your balls crossed and it’s made your brain addled some. It’s understandable, she’s a fine woman, but—”
“We’re going to make beautiful crack babies.”
Big Country frowned, stuck the tip of his pinky finger in his ear and wiggled it a few times before removing it. “Uhhh…say again, cousin?”
“I’m trying to create a word other than Blasian. Something that blends Korean and Black. Korack.”
For the first time all week, Big Country threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, brother, I suggest you find a different configuration.”
Lynx shrugged in a “just-sayin’”motion.
Big Country’s gaze gravitated back toward the sienna-red-skinned woman, taking in her hair, pulled back into the biggest wildest afro puff he’d ever seen on a live person and the way her halter dress hugged titties so big and full he found himself wiping the corners of his mouth. Woman had a body lush enough to nest in.
Thing was, since moving to the Bay Area over a decade ago, he’d arrived at the understanding that a large group of women partying without a man meant either they didn’t fuck them,orthey were a modern-day Nazi-feminist coven bent on magically castrating any man that stepped too close to their circle.
Given that this group was mostly women of color, he decided against the latter.
“So, why’s Mama throwing this lesbian shindig, anyway?” Big Country asked, watching Sienna Red bump booties with a cute brown mouse of a woman, and a slender onyx-skinned woman who had to be at least six feet tall. The latter was dressed in a wifebeater, black jeans, and Doc Martens, which strengthened his assumption.
“If it was that kind of party, I’d wish for breasts and an inversion of my dick just so I could join in.”
“Brother, that’s gotta be the sickest shit I’ve ever heard pass your lips.”
“Don’t ever underestimate the power of the pussy,” Lynx said matter-of-factly. “Men, greater and lesser, have done some pretty fucked-up shit to have it.”
True. The male species did undeniably crazy shit just for a piece of a woman’s glistening furry tail. Unfortunately, they also had to put up with a heap more to keep it. Big Country himself hadn’t been exempt until he’d found some ol’ time religion and baptized himself in the knowledge that the sanest relationship with a woman was one governed by money, never the delusions of the heart. When it wasn’t, unfortunate incidents like earlier tonight occurred.
As their British Brood mate, London—begging to have his bridge knocked the fuck down—sidled up alongside Sienna Red and slick as you please, pulled her into a slow dance despite the song’s fast tempo, Big Country concluded that, lesbian or not, the woman was a professional hitter catering to any gender willing to meet her needs.
An uncommon urge to plow through the crowd, wrap his hand around London’s neck, and unleash a hail of blows that would turn the other man’s too-pretty face into a bloody pulp too nauseating for any woman to look upon, gripped Big Country. Instead of descending into violence, he turned to see how Lynx was reacting to London poaching their woman.
“Do you think it’s the suave, virile, biracial thing, or his British accent that has women willing to drop their panties like seeds, hoping they’ll get to climb his stalk and crack open his golden eggs?”
Lynx’s question was flat and reflective, with no trace of the violence Big Country was experiencing. “When I had an accent,” Lynx continued, “It only got me mocked…or beat up.”
Sienna Red turned into London’s embrace and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her ample breasts into his chest. Oh yeah, this woman would gladly take his dick and his money; he just had to get over there before London or any of these other motherfuckers made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.
Pushing off the doorframe, Big Country paused and looked at Lynx. “Sorry, ol’ son, but this one’s not the mother-of-your-children type. She’s one of mine. I guarantee it.”
“Nah,” Lynx said, unfazed and slightly amused as his topaz eyes flicked from the woman to Big Country. “But if she’s notone of yours, I’ll take that as my cue to openly pursue her. Good luck nonetheless; I have a feeling that she will make one of us a very happy man.”
Big Country frowned. He didn’t want to be on the wrong end of another one of Lynx’sfeelings, but when London navigated Sienna Red closer to a shadowed area of the bar, he moved.
Standing six feet six and weighing 290 pounds of dense muscle, Big Country had a way of clearing a path without effort or intimidation. London, who justhadto dip the woman and bring her up slowly, his rat-bastard eyes glued to Sienna Red’s shifting breasts, didn’t seem to notice.
Approaching her from behind, Big Country watched Sienna Red’s hips move against Londonwaytoo intimately for a man she had just met, working girl or no.
A slow tempo song came on as Big Country stopped behind the woman’s thick ass. He watched London’s hand ease from the small of her back toward the round of her—
