Sex in the Hood Saga by White Chocolate

She was evil, just like Duke said. She’d sell her own momma to get her way, to get paid, to get some dick, just to be a bitch.
    Then how could her pussy feel so good?
    â€œYou started now, Peanut. Don’t you dare get guilty an’ pull some coitus interruptus unless you’re lusting for rigor mortis in return. ’Cause the number one way to royally piss off Milan Henderson is to get stingy with the dick.”
    I’m double-crossin’ Duke, now she’s gonna double-cross me. Threaten me, too! An’ I’m too stupid to have known better. Talk about stuck between a cock and a hard place. Beamer would laugh if he were thinking about some other dumb-ass fool. Duke was right. The reason it was so easy for him to knock down Pinks was because Beamer had been holding him up.
    Then why does Duke rely on me so much?
    â€œFuck me!” Milan ordered. She tossed off the robe, letting it fall to the floor. Her fingernails clawed under the collar of his jersey, scraping over his shoulders. Stripes of pain burned his skin. Her hair was bouncing all over. She pulled the holder off his braids, letting them fly wild.
    She was making her ass bounce like she was riding a horse. The sharp little heels of her slippers were stabbing his thighs, and he was galloping right underneath her. Yeah, galloping toward the barrel of a gun if Duke were to find out.
    They fucked until they were both dripping, then they each blew a nut so hard, they collapsed on that couch and guzzled champagne straight from the bottle. After she put on her robe, Milan picked up the remote, pointed it at the TV and clicked.
    â€œWhere is it?” she asked, pushing buttons.
    The screen flashed with images of green fabric sliding to the floor . . . brown hair bouncing . . . redbone braids flying. . . and Duke Johnson’s number one baby momma getting fucked by his number one boy. His servant. His back-stabbing right hand with a death wish the size of Michigan.
    Beamer’s whole body shook so violently, he was afraid he was having a convulsion. He half wanted to tell Michelle to call 911. “Why the fuck—”
    She raised her eyebrows, crossed her arms and looked at him like he was stupid.
    â€œGive me the tape,” Beamer said with a dead-serious tone. “Thought you’d like a copy,” she said, pushing a button and ejecting a tape.
    Beamer threw it on the floor. His gym shoe slammed down on the tape, making the plastic crackle.
    â€œWhy you laughin’, bitch?”
    â€œMy new camera is so handy,” she said, aiming the remote at the TV. There they were, still fucking on the screen.
    â€œErase that shit. Now!” Damn, Beamer’s voice sounded just as deep and powerful as Duke’s usually did. “’Fore I tear up this room to find yo’ hidden camera.”
    â€œCameras,” she said, pushing buttons. “See, I have multiple angles. Do you know anything about digital film? It’s wonderful. You’ll never guess where it’s hidden. I can download the images, print them out, copy them to tape, e-mail them around the world if I want to. And the way you came at me—”
    Beamer shot up to his feet.
    I’m gon’ fin’ e’ry last one o’ them cameras an’ break ’em. No joke.
    â€œOf course, if you act up, Peanut, I can ring our friend down at the front desk, who’d be happy to call the police about the unruly nigga up in the Presidential Suite. Then you’d have to call Duke to bail you out of jail. After he and I enjoy our home movies.”
    Beamer stomped back to the couch. He stood over Milan and glared down. “What the fuck you want from me?”
    â€œI want you to make sure that Duke Johnson does not do whatever he’s planning to do with that white bitch.” Her lips got real tight against her teeth and the words came out like a growl, like she was biting down hard. “Whether he plans to fuck her, hire