Noble pounded her so hard that her orgasm arrived sooner than expected. Her upper body fell against the counter as her walls drummed to a rhythm that only Noble could produce.
“Ooooh fuck… hold on,” she begged.
Noble did anything but wait for her to ride her wave of climax. He pumped faster and with so much vigor that she lost her grip on the counter. Irish felt crazy. Her head spun; her eyes possessed floaters in them. Her pussy hadn’t stopped thumping yet.
“Baby, I can’t take it.”
The pleasure had ascended her to heights that made her feel like she was floating. Noble had been relentless, not giving her a moment to catch her breath. Irish needed this though. His dick had power; it could cure her bad mood with one thrust.
“Damn,” he grunted.
His manhood pulsated inside her, filling her with his nut. The skin slapping had been replaced with heavy grunts. Noble pulled out and fell back into the seat. Irish turned around, laughing at the spent expression on his face.
“That pumpkin spice put me down.”
She laughed harder, feeling his remnants drip from her center.
“Come on, Papa. Let’s go shower and make up for lost time.”
Irish took him to her master bathroom so they could continue their lovemaking.
Seven
Cali’s going away dinner was tonight, and Irish was filled with so much sorrow. Most of the day, she’d masked it, playing it off like she was thrilled for her friend. Yes, she was excited but damn, she was going to miss her girl. Wanting to look her best, Ivory and Irish were being ushered to their hair appointment by Zavier. So far, he hadn’t been a burden by being her guard. Irish would’ve preferred for Noble to be at her side but he had business to take care of.
“I’m surprised you like this stylist, sis. You hate the young stylists.” Ivory laughed.
Irish rolled her eyes. “‘Cause they don't know how to do real hair. Just glue a damn wig to your forehead and style baby hairs. But ol’ girl said she grew up in the salon because her mom owned one. It seems like she got some of that ol’ school work ethic.”
“Yeah, she be slaying. Thankfully, I know her sister because her damn waiting list is three months long.”
Irish tuned Ivory out as they passed Rozalin’s salon. “Hey, Zavier, pull over real quick.”
“I know you don't wanna get your hair done by her,” Ivory sassed. “Don't forget how she took ol’ girl’s side.”
He pulled a few cars down from the entrance and Irish took off her seat belt.
“Girl, hell no, I don't want my hair done by her.” Irish placed her purse in the back seat. “I just wanna get something off my chest.”
Getting out the car, Irish walked to the entrance and entered. She didn’t know Ivory was right behind her until she caught the door. Chatter ceased immediately as Rozalin’s eyes widened by Irish’s presence. Shay put down her flat irons and opened her cupboard.
“Oh, hell no. If you think you're about to catch me slippin’ again, bitch you got another thing coming.”
Shay pulled her purse out and reached into her bag . She didn’t pull her hand out but she insinuated that she did possess a weapon.
“Girl, put that damn taser up. You ain't scaring nobody,” Clarice blasted her.
“Bitch, this ain't no regular taser,” Shay sneered at her then cut her eyes at Irish. “Don't think I’m about to make shit easy for you. I’ma light your ass up.”
Ivory chuckled and looked at Irish, who smirked.
“Shay, I’m not here to whoop your ass again, although it’s tempting.” She placed her attention on Rozalin, who pretended to be focused on her client. “I’m actually here to see this thirsty-ass bitch.”
Clarice gawked, quickly abandoning her client and rushing over to Irish.
“Girl, what’s tea?” she asked, damn near salivating at the mouth for some gossip.
“Irish, I would hate to have you arrested,” Rozalin calmly stated. “Please don't come to my business starting drama.”
