Definition of a Bad Girl Read online

  Definition of a Bad Girl

  MìChaune

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Urban Books, LLC

  300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109

  Farmingdale, NY 11735

  Definition of a Bad Girl Copyright © 2017 MìChaune

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.

  ISBN: 978-1-6228-6571-0

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

  Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Submit orders to:

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  Chapter One

  Leshaun pulled at the crisp white bed sheet as Zay tongued her pussy from the back. Face down, ass up, she moaned into the soft pillow and twirled herself against his face. His slurps met her ears as her body shivered from his tongue and prodding fingers.

  “Mmm, shit feels sooo good!” she shouted. “Don’t stop! Ooohh, shiiit!”

  Zay spread her phat pussy lips and flicked his tongue up and down. Smack, he slapped her ass and jabbed his tongue in and out. A breath later he parted her fleshy ass and teased her asshole.

  “Ooohh, fuck! Ooohh, fuck! Hmmm! Right there, baby! Yesss, eat my ass!” Leshaun bit the pillow.

  Zay feasted on Leshaun with a feverish passion. He slurped hard on her pussy lips while thumbing the pink nub that made Leshaun’s eyes roll. She wiggled her ass side to side and begged him to make her bust a second nut on his lips.

  “I need some dick!” she gasped. “Please fuck me! Please, I want it sooo bad.” She squirmed as his tongue shoveled in and out of her pink cherry.

  Zay pulled his mouth from her sweet wetness and sat back on his heels. He licked his slippery mouth and stared at Leshaun’s willing position with his heart pounding. Sweat covered every inch of their nude flesh. Zay looked down at his raging erection and then at Leshaun’s phat pussy.

  “Please,” she whined out of breath. “Just slide it in and out a few times.”

  Zay stayed quiet as Leshaun crawled to the edge of the bed. Her soft ass held him in a trance. She picked up a condom off the bedside table with her teeth. On the prowl, she crawled back toward him, her heavy breasts swinging with her seductive moves. He didn’t move an inch as she dropped the condom between his legs. She crawled closer and circled her fingers around his long penis. She discovered it was wet and slippery at the tip.

  “Wait—” he tried to protest, but his words were axed by the gentle strokes of her hand. He laid his head back, closed his eyes, and immersed himself in the pleasure of a woman. He moaned when her thumb circled the mushroom head of his dick, smearing his precum all over it. His stomach flipped when she toyed with his balls. Up and down she jacked him off.

  Leshaun had no shame about wrapping her lips around a dick. In truth, she enjoyed the feeling of a dick poking in and out of her mouth and the power that came with it. At the moment, she had no such urge to suck Zay’s dick. Instead, Leshaun looked into Zay’s eyes as she continued her slow hand job in full view of her hidden iPhone.

  Zay reached for Leshaun’s shoulders as she opened the condom wrapper with her teeth. He stared at what she did, throbbing as he anticipated what she was going to do next. All of his self-control began to flicker as she rolled the condom over his veined pipe.

  Leshaun shoved her hair over her shoulder and pushed Zay on his back. “Hmmm! This is gonna be fun, baby!” She smiled down at him as she straddled his waist. “You want to feel my pussy?” She reached back and pulled his erection toward her pounding slit. “I’ll make it feel real good.”

  Zay’s hunger for some pussy won out. His body responded to the woman above as she pounded up and down the stretch of his penis. Her bare ass bounced and smacked against his thighs as her nails dug into his shoulders.

  She fucked him silly; up and down she raced him in and out of her squishy hole. She took the dick, fucking herself hard and fast. Her titties wobbled, and she sped up, slamming herself at a stressed beat on his penis. Caught up in the haze of lust, neither heard the door unlock with a motorized click. Leshaun kept riding Zay, the sounds of her rebounding ass intermingled with their guttural moans.

  * * *

  What the hell is that on the stove? Leshaun jerked her head up so fast, one of her rollers fell ag ainst her eye. On her left side was Zay, lying on his back still asleep; and on his other side was one of her whores. No sheet was on the bed to conceal their naked bodies. As she removed the spongy pink curler from her face, it dawned on her: not only did she forget to wear her favorite scarf, but it wasn’t three o’clock in the afternoon, her usual waking time.

  Leshaun had warned Lysa and Janae, the two whores she let stay with her on occasion, plenty of times about cooking shit on the gotdamn stove and leaving it without telling someone. See, this is why I am never going to get these bitches to go from hookers to housewives, shit like this. Leshaun was beyond frustrated, and the smoke was messing with her ability to think straight.

  “Uughh!” Leshaun moaned as she struggled to collect herself. She slowly hopped up out of the bed. She owned a nice little hotel where she handled her business. The hotel had been in the Gamble family since her great-grandfather had it in the 1920s. He was one of the very few blacks to own some property and Leshaun had no intention of letting Price Street Hotel, aka the Gamble property, fall on her watch.

  As Jeremih was singing about “you and I,” the scorching smell of whatever the hell it was burning on the stove got stronger. While Leshaun loved the infectious beat, it was stomping a migraine into her head, causing her left temple to throb. The breaths she took were like forced labor pains and Leshaun struggled to keep count of the pace in which she was breathing.

  Something in her spirit wasn’t right, and other than the bright neon green digital time stamp reflecting eleven thirty-two in the morning and the fine, sexy muthafucker singing and trying to croon her panties off from the radio, Leshaun couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “I know it’s not eleven thirty!” Leshaun could barely hear herself complain.

  The search for her white robe led
her to the door adjacent to the bathroom, and Leshaun quickly grabbed it and threw it over her plump body. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was still black, still hadn’t had a bath, still five foot seven and 200 pounds, still part of the big bitches club.

  “Bitch Better Have My Money” by Rihanna boomed from the iPhone Leshaun had to look for. As she bent down to look beside the bed, she covered her nose and mouth; then she remembered the phone was placed on the bookshelf she had mounted to the wall next to the window, which gave her a clear view of Tunnel Road. On the shelf were the hottest street li’l classics from Nikki Turner, Brick & Storm, and De’Nesha Diamond. Unfortunately, the saying was true: if you wanted to hide something, put it in a book. Or in this case, leave enough space between Stone Cold Liar by Noire and Prison Snatch by Cairo. Everything Leshaun wanted to hide, including the phone that had filmed her sexcapade the night before, was safe there.

  When it came to Leshaun’s hoes or her time, she didn’t have many rules. Let her tell it, these broads were grown, and she didn’t have the time to be no damn babysitter; that’s why she always only let the girls who didn’t have kids work out of her rooms. Never compare her to an insecure man who felt the need to stand over a girl’s neck and tell her how to suck dick or which man she needed to wear or not wear a condom with. Hell, the answer to the last statement was all of them. The expectation was these hoes were old enough to know better. And calling Leshaun before it was time for her to wake up was one of her few, but big no-no’s.

  Leshaun got up from the floor and sat on the bed, slipped her feet into pink flip-flops, and reached over to grab the phone, knocking over some of the books on both ends of the shelf. When she finally got the iPhone in her hand, Kofi flashed across the screen. Even though he was one of Leshaun’s few male hoes and he gave good dick, Leshaun wore two condoms with that muthafucker ’cause she never knew where that dick went. As Rihanna continued to sing about a shady muthafucka who owed her, the phone seemed to ring for the millionth time. Leshaun finally pressed the TALK button. She just knew that whatever was wrong, it didn’t involve him.

  “Hello,” Leshaun spoke with clarity. It seemed as if hours had passed before she got a response. She didn’t think that this phone call would change her life forever.

  “Leshaun!” Kofi yelled. As he continued to yell and scream, Leshaun struggled to keep up with him as Kofi seemed to speak 1,000 words a minute. She wasn’t used to this. When Kofi spoke, he was eloquent, bringing to life some of the education college had afforded him. As the words crashed into Leshaun’s ear, she wondered how was she going to find out what was wrong when she couldn’t understand him.

  “Kofi, calm down.” Leshaun was slightly confused, sad, and aggravated that she couldn’t figure out what was wrong with this boy. She prayed to God he didn’t fuck the wrong man’s wife again and got stranded out in the middle of Bumfuck, Tennessee. Last time that happened, she ended up with a $50,000 hospital bill that she just got done paying a few weeks ago. His ass better not be in jail again, either. She couldn’t afford the trouble. Bailing his sleazy ass out was getting old, and Leshaun had half a mind to leave his ass there.

  “Leshaun. Leshaun!”

  Leshaun understood that much out of everything that he had said. “Kofi, what’s wrong?” Leshaun knew before she had asked the question she wasn’t going to like the answer. But it was important. In the pit of her stomach, Leshaun could feel a knot forming, and she almost wanted to roll over. Her stomach twisted and turned like water being wrung from a bath cloth. Sweat left her body like water being flung to the basin. The fear was something had happened to one of the girls.

  “Leshaun, you can’t smell that your hotel is on fire?”

  She finally understood him. The smell hit her nose again. “Hell yeah, I can smell it,” Leshaun confirmed as she moved about the room. She looked back on her bed and noticed her toys were sprawled all over, buck-naked, and if they had awakened they could’ve had a round twelve. “Tiana, Zay, get y’all asses up!”

  The night before had turned wild as Tiana and Leshaun took turns wearing Zay out and teaching him the ropes. Zay had the right body and the right equipment, but Leshaun needed him to get his skill level up so that he could throw dick in a way that made women give him the same amount of money and pleasure that they got from Kofi. That pink roller found its way in front of Leshaun’s face. Agitated, she unsnapped it and tossed it to the side.

  “Tiana, Zay, get up!” Leshaun hated repeating herself. She knew her voice was loud enough to wake the dead and that it carried. After finding her white and brown oversized purse, Leshaun grabbed it and tried to stuff as much money and as many personal possessions inside as possible.

  The phone rang again, and Leshaun shook her head. Answering the phone would’ve only caused her to get pissed off even more, so she tossed it into the purse along with a few pairs of panties, a few bras, all the rolled-up bills, and two flimsy summer dresses. When she got to her closet, the best she could do was slip into a pair of loose-fitting jeans and an old ’Pac T-shirt.

  “I’m gonna get them girls for burning my hotel down.”

  Tiana and Zay finally got their asses up, and they struggled to get dressed. Leshaun could them hear fussing about the smoke, which started to creep into their room. Zay opened the window, and the fire trucks and ambulance could be heard making their way to her establishment. While her tastes required a stay on the top floor of any hotel she paid for, when it came to the master suite of the hotel she lived in, all Leshaun wanted was the best room in the building. At that moment, she thanked God all the rooms were on one floor.

  They made their exit through the window and walked on the freshly cut grass and headed to the sidewalk, where some spectators were already looking as a large fire engulfed the other end of Leshaun’s nearly one-hundred-year-old property. Fortunately, only one of her hoes was working in the room, but Leshaun needed to figure out where they were going to work tonight because money still needed to be made and Leshaun had every intention of getting the hotel fixed fast.

  Chapter Two

  “The Price Street Hotel is up in flames! We toasted that bitch!” Lysa bragged as she and Janae walked on the dirt side of Meadow Road, walking alongside the Swannanoa River.

  Janae shook her head at Lysa’s immaturity. This dumb bitch confirmed for any eavesdropper, or someone unaware of their crime, that they were the culprits.

  The breeze was light and the air was thin. The watermelon Four Loko Lysa downed with her chicken biscuit from Bojangles had a stronghold on her mind.

  Janae wished she had worn a jacket, underestimating the cool weather at seven thirty in the morning. Janae wasn’t feeling walking out in the morning without a prospective customer in sight, especially to meet no new pimp.

  Nicki Minaj spit the first verse of “Roman’s Revenge,” and Janae shook her head. It was the tenth time the phone rang, and Janae dug it from her pants. Leshaun’s number displayed on the screen. “I wish I could throw this muthafucka in the river!” Janae vented as she tried to power down the phone. She thought she’d accomplished the task before, but with Nicki lyrics taunting her, she knew she’d failed.

  “I’d toss that muthafucka.” Lysa reached for the phone, and Janae put it back in her pocket. “We’re getting new phones anyway.”

  “Well, until then—” Janae barely got the words out before “Beez in the Trap” started blaring.

  “I’m getting sick of Nicki and shit!” Lysa yelled. “I wish you’d figure out how to work that phone.”

  “I’m almost tempted to see what she said, but I don’t want her to know I seen the message,” Janae admitted as she and Lysa kept walking.

  “Girl, you have some knockoff Android phone,” Janae pointed out. “She can only see that shit if you got an iPhone like she do.”

  “Anyway, where’s Lloyd?” Janae questioned. “And why we meeting at a river and not in a motel or a restaurant or something?”

  “Because the river
has no walls,” Lysa pointed out as she extended her hand to all the open space. Lysa twirled and danced in the space and slured the words to Sia’s “Chandelier,” rocking her hips as if she were on the rungs of one hanging from a cloud in the sky. No question about it, Lysa was drunk. Nicki Minaj cut in again. “Black folks go kayaking too, not just white people. And Lloyd comes here so often that people don’t pay him no attention. Shit, he gets customers this way. He’s where the rich dick is at, and this is where I wanna be.”

  Janae wanted new customers too. Part of the reason she started tricking was because it was easy money. Lysa had been all on Lloyd’s dick since she met him at Bele Chere a few years back. Hustlers and tourists came from all over the world to celebrate Asheville, North Carolina’s music and arts festival. While the event didn’t bring as much revenue for many of Asheville’s businesses, local pimps used the festival as an opportunity to network with artists and wealthy visitors to build new clientele. The women strutted in their best eclectic summer wear that ranged from neon throwbacks of the sixties’ hippie movement to the colorful designs and hairstyles of the eighties. Lloyd came to see if Asheville was a destination worthy enough to be placed on his radar. With the growth of the local pubs and Asheville being designated as the Craft Beer Capital, the city tapped into a new tourist revenue stream, and Lloyd found another home.

  As they walked along the river, nothing spectacular stood out other than various bland metal buildings that were vandalized. The one they were looking for looked like a makeshift trailer. Once they found it, Janae was amazed and felt like she had stepped into a high-end department store. She couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw the large number of name brand clothes, shoes, and perfumes lined against the walls. On her right, Janae saw various sizes of baby clothes, and antique dining and living room sets.

  Nicki Minaj was in the trap again. Before Janae could address the phone, a young white girl in a big purple bandana, a loose-fitting, hand-knit jacket, and a long, flowing jean skirt approached them. “Lloyd said y’all would be on your way.”