Lighter Shade of Brown (Urban Fiction) BWHM

Chapter 9

A crash into a wall in the outside hall way bitch slapped Cleo from a soundless sleep. Confusion clawed her mental, leaving her senseless and dumb. She pressed a palm to her forehead as she took in her surroundings. Where the hell was she? After a moment the last few hours exploded in her head like flashes from an old fashioned camera. She'd fallen asleep on C's couch and missed her cab. Ms. Angela had awakened her when she came home from work to shoo her upstairs to C's room to get in the bed. Just as her mind began to sweep away the last webs of disorientation a thud slammed against the door followed by a masculine grunt.

Alarm bells had Cleo scrambling for the lamp, but knocking it over instead in her clumsy desperation. Scared the intruder might've heard the crash she held her breath as her heart beat stuttered in her chest. Fear blotted away the last bit of her confusion, while struggling to sit up on the mattress. Oh lord! Who in the world would be crazy enough to come up in C's spot? Didn't they know that Latino brother didn't play?

Before she could find something to use as a weapon the door banged open. Not knowing what else to do she rolled off of the mattress, landing with a soft thump on the other side of the bed. Quietly as she could she scooted under the box spring, and then waited and listened. A few seconds later light flooded the room, and two sets of ankles strode in her line of vision. One set of feet wore hot pink strappy heels that appeared downright deadly to trot around in, but it was the other shoes that brought angry tears to her eyes, and had her scratching at the carpet as if she were a cornered dingo. A pair of red and blue hightop Jordan's came to a stop in front of her face. Right in front of her face!

Smacking noises and soft humming moans assaulted her ears like someone had declared war on her senses. The two sets of shoes touching toe to toe, slowly began to circle each other almost as if the owners were ball room dancing. Rage tore through Cleo's body like a train that had jumped the track. Her vision tunneled, and the only thing she could see were their fucking shoes. Having reached her limit, she attempted to slide from under the bed, stopping when she heard a high pitched feminine voice.

"Get yo' damn hand out my panties, C's." The heels stumbled away, teetering and wobbling from side to side. Cleo pumped her fist to prevent herself from grabbing the tanned ankles and snatching her under the bed. "Yo' fingers done been in my drawers, all-night. You got me to where I can't even think straight. Making bad decisions and thangs. Like I'm a hoe or some shit."

"Come here, baby." The Jordan's in hot pursuit stumbled after her, caging the heels in at the bathroom door. "You look so fucking sexy in this dress. Had me wondering ever since I saw you touch down in the club, what you had under it for me." A wet smack cut conversation for a minute. Cleo cringed. Somebody was going to die in that bitch tonight. "Fuck you wet, stop playin' and let me bust it open. You been grindin' on this dick half the night chica, you'd be lyin' if you say you ain't want it."

Oh that bitch didn't have to worry, she was going to get it and so was he. Had the nerve to try her like she was the motherfucking lotto. Humph. He'd learn. Oh yeah, he would learn tonight, better believe that. Just wait until she got her hands around his neck.

"Ooh, baby." She squeaked and half moaned. "You're gonna make me cum like that, boo. Feels too damn good."

"Damn that thang hot, girl." The heels disappeared in the air, while she bided her time. She planned to bomb rush their asses soon as the moment presented itself. A moment later the mattress squeaked above her, followed by a giggle. "Hold on, let me strap up first."

"Wait a minute. Don't move your hand." The voice squeaked. "I'm almost there. Rub a little faster, ooh yeah right there baby, make that shit vibrate...oh yeah...oh..."

"Like that?" C's panted, in a low voice. "Be quiet, baby. Damn. We don't want my mom's coming in here. Trust me."

Hot tears ran unchecked down Cleo's face as she used both hands to cover her mouth to prevent from making a sound. While each squeak of the mattress pushed her passed the boundary of pissed off into the outer limits of blind crazy. Rage nurtured her like a mother breast feeding a newborn baby, coating her belly with fury so hot it singed holes in her stomach lining. Tremors ravaged her frame from head to toe as each sense shut down one by one. When only her sight remained, her sanity divorced her mental capabilities, releasing her from the crouch under the bed. A phantom force propelled her forward, causing her to endure rug burns as she slid three feet from under the mattress across the carpet.