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Neela Suryavanshi couldn’t believe she had ridden the New York City subway all the way to the damn South Bronx before someone finally noticed what she was wearing. And now she felt their eyes all over her young, tight body as she climbed the stairs out of the 161st Street station.
She was beginning to second-guess her decision that morning.
The teenaged boys who had followed her off the D train were taking their sweet fucking time behind her, snickering and trying to catch a glimpse up her short skirt.
Shit–did one of them have his phone out?
It felt like she was being catalogued and mentally stored away for future nefarious deeds in dark bedrooms.
Neela’s face flushed with an immediate sense of shame, but tinged with a naughty sense of excitement from being desired. Her legs trembled as she held the hem of the cute little black skirt closer to her thighs and exited out into the humidity of a mid-July morning in the city.
One of the idiots snickered when she almost tripped over her right heel on the last step, forcing her to let go of her skirt and grab the handrail in desperation.
“Careful, ma,” the voice came from behind.
Her ears hot, Neela ignored the comment and quickened ahead. A dark blue car honked briefly as she tip-tapped her heels across the cobbled street to where the safety of the city park awaited beyond, silently praying that those annoying fuccbois would not follow her.
“Come back,” one of them pleaded, pitching his voice high like a child’s.
“Yeah, you … you’re breaking my heaaaaart!” Another one yelled.
Hands pressed against her short black skirt again, Neela kept her eyes resolutely ahead as she crossed over to the opposite corner.
She was glad when the sound of the boys’ catcalling diminished behind her with every step, and not for the first time that morning Neela questioned just what the fuck she thought she was doing. Here, in the Bronx of all places. And dressed like this?
A furtive glance at the tinted window of a Dodge Charger parked nearby reflected the image those boys had been salivating over.
She tried not to make it obvious that she was checking herself out, but damn if she didn’t present quite the fetching figure. Not bad, Miss Neela. No wonder you’re getting so many looks!
Though, truth be told, she imagined that it was Billy noticing her.
Mmmmm … the thought was a nice one. His gaze roaming up and down her petite 5’4 physique, eyes wide with lust as they devoured every sultry inch of her. Watching her reflection, Neela twisted sveltely to the side.
I mean, who could resist all this?
She crossed her arms and caressed them with her fingertips as she tried to make her boobs look bigger beneath the tight, barely there fabric of her top. She had blown her hair out the previous afternoon, and the way her mocha brown skin tone contrasted with the off-white halter she wore was sure to get even that numbskull’s attention.
And to complete the allure, she had added a pair of crimson Madden Girl 4-inch heeled caged sandals to her feet–which went great with the sinful shade of “Diva” burgundy on her lips from MAC.
The effect the total look presented in the car window was perfect! Neela smiled at the reaction she was sure to get from her unwitting bae-to-be.
Damn girl, her internal critic exclaimed. You’re a bad, bad bitch. I’d do you!
And that was the plan. It was why she’d left so early in the morning to make the long ninety-minute subway ride all the way from Brooklyn to the Bronx in order to hang out at her crush’s place.
Why she had lied to her mom saying that she was on her way to the library to get a head start on her senior thesis for the fall semester at college.
Why she carried her sleek, periwinkle Michael Kors tote on one shoulder, which was supposed to contain her laptop and books, but in actuality had: her makeup kit and accessories, lotion, the clothing she had changed out of in the subway’s restroom at Cortelyou Rd, and fresh panties.
For in case things got really hot and steamy later that day.
Shit, Billy better pick up the signals she was sending him this time.
Neela realized her reflection in the car window had been pouting back at her. Oh no, that would not do. She smiled and uncrossed her arms, gave her image one last once-over for good measure, then spun around.
An older black man dressed in a suit and tie on his way to work snapped his eyes forward, pretending he hadn’t just been checking her out.
Neela’s stomach quivered a little, but she calmed her nerves and tried to bask in the attention she was receiving.
Wow, was she really that bad bitch today? The kind who men followed with their eyes down the street, and other girls talked shit about?
Up the block from the park, two furniture delivery guys on the sidewalk were also looking her way. One smiled and gave her eryaman orospu numaraları a knowing nod.
Well, that answered that question.
Good! Then she knew she had done well. Neela had the grace to blush when the moving guy whistled appreciatively, quickly averting her eyes but holding her head up as she walked nonchalantly into the park. Yes, gentlemen: here was a woman in charge of her body, who knew what she wanted in life.
Hah! A likely charade. But at least there was one thing she knew for sure she wanted on this fine summer day. And that was for one William Rodriguez to take her in his arms and make deep, passionate, eye-crossing, toe curling, sweet love to her. All. Day. Long.
And maybe even a little part into the night.
If only he would make the first move. That’s what Neela was counting on, and with just a little added incentive thrown in by hers truly.
And with how she was looking? There was no way it wouldn’t be obvious even to him. Should all go according to her design, Neela hoped they’d be taking their friendship to another level soon.
Would this be the day it finally happened? she wondered. God only knew she was so hard up for it.
It had been almost the better part of a year since she’d last gotten any. And surely Billy wasn’t a virgin. No, he had been known to have a few girlfriends on campus before she met him. No doubt he knew more about what to do between the sheets than she did.
Neela, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as experienced as she sometimes let on.
There had been opportunities for her to test the waters with Billy before now, sure. Although, those had been mostly in public settings, not exactly designed for getting it on.
Neela had wanted to hook up with him many times in the four months since their becoming friends last semester. She thought hanging out with him and his friends at the campus’s Quad, or watching movies alone in the dark back at his place, or laughing at his sometimes silly jokes, or playing Xbox with him, or pretending to accept his obsession of all things Star Trek … surely by now he had to know she was into him?
How dense could a twenty-one year old human male be?
Neela checked her phone. Great, still no response. She quickly tapped on the message icon and brought up their last text exchange:
Billy: “hey neels … u still popn thru?”
Neela: “Getting ready to head over now”
Billy: “coo jus txt when u almost here”
Neela: “K. The guys aren’t going to be there, right? You promised!”
Neela: “You there, Billy? I’m on the D train now, two stops from the
Bronx. You better let me in when I ring the buzzer, ok?”
Neela absolutely detested his illiterate texting style. It was a damn good thing he was so cute! But her last text was over ten minutes ago, and he still hadn’t responded. Was he ignoring her? Did something happen?
Neela sucked her teeth. His dumb ass was probably caught up in some online multiplayer frag fest, too busy digitally murdering other pathetic homebodies on the other side of the planet to check his phone.
Neela smiled to herself. Well, that’s all going to stop when Miss Thang walks through the door. Just you wait!
Billy’s place was only a five minute walk from the park, but already Neela’s feet were sore and throbbing. Oh, why didn’t she keep the heels in her bag until after she was already at his apartment? She guessed her mind really was on other things that morning.
That boy better be home, she thought
Neela had been to his block a couple of times before, but that had always been with Billy at her side. She’d never come to this part of the city on her own. And definitely never dressed like this!
If her mother only knew where she was now, especially why she was here–Neela quickly put the thought out of her head. Some things were better left unimagined. Still, she felt not a little nervous about being here in the big, bad, dirty South Bronx all the same.
She was a Brooklyn girl through and through, and nice Brooklyn girls–especially Indian Brooklyn girls–didn’t travel to the Bronx.
They do if they’re after that D, Miss Thang!
Neela had to laugh at her inner bitch for that thought.
Oh, why was she feeling so naughty today? But she was reassured by the bright sunshine that morning, making her more confident in her plan.
The street Billy lived on was a little on the rough side, but otherwise not very different from similar ones where she lived. Except on this particular street there were no other Trinidadian parents like her own, sticking their heads out of windows to keep watch of every move she might make.
If her father got word from one of the neighbors that his little girl was–
Oh stop that, now! Don’t think about them. Remember your mission, girl.
At ankara escort this time of morning, not many people seemed to be passing through the vicinity of the seven-story tenement where Billy lived. Those who worked day jobs were probably already on their merry ways to the offices, shops, and warehouses downtown.
Which was great for Neela. It meant fewer pairs of eyes were there to watch her approach Billy’s building looking like a girl who had traveled across the city just to get smashed.
None, save for one pair actually.
They belonged to a man sitting alone on the garden railing just outside the building.
A tall, clean-shaven, handsome Latino guy in his late 20s, wearing a plain black tank top and khaki trousers. He had the same golden-dark skin tone as Billy, but that’s where the likeness ended.
Whereas her college buddy was lanky and nerdy-looking like a Dominican Timothée Chalamet, this guy had a filled-out, grown man’s body–solid and dangerous!
Dark blue tattoos of intricate geometric patterns crisscrossed the corded steel muscles of his left forearm and bicep, while a scene from what looked like Dante’s Inferno slid across the right shoulder and disappeared beneath his shirt.
Neela’s eyes quickly continued their exploration, following the flat curve of his broad chest, tantalizingly hard under the cotton fabric of the tank top. He resembled some bronzed fitness model out of a Men’s Health magazine–and he was staring right at her.
Her heart beat loudly in her ears as she shyly tried to avoid the man’s gaze and continue toward the building’s front doors, but his brown eyes pierced her in questing, direct assessment, stopping her in her tracks. A smile played at the corners of his mouth as he looked her up and down with no attempt to mask his interest.
“You lost, miss?”
She saw his mouth move, and heard the words … but his wondrous eyes danced down her exposed belly, down her short skirt, and then up her bared thighs, which were parted ever so slightly as she stood pinned to the concrete in mid stride.
A spot below her stomach curled deliciously tight at his inspection, and for a second her tongue almost forgot the words of the language for which it was accustomed to speaking.
“Uh … n-no?” she stammered, her voice sounding too high like a frightened school girl’s.
In a single, fluid movement the man left the rail and came toward her. Suddenly she was a frightened girl. One feeling totally out of her depth. But he smiled wide as he approached with his hand out, and Neela was shocked to discover that in addition to possessing a godlike physique, this tall stranger also had dimples.
Oh come on, now! her inner voice shouted in disbelief.
“Please say you’re looking for me,” he replied with a rueful laugh. He took her hand in his, but instead of shaking it he leaned forward and brushed the top with soft, surprisingly delicate lips.
When he straightened, it was with an inquisitive glint in those amazing brown eyes. “I’m Rolando,” he said. “What’s your name, mami?”
Neela almost wilted under his stare. She was suddenly very aware that this gorgeous man she didn’t even know was still holding her hand. It felt tiny in his much larger, callused grip.
“I’m Neela,” she replied, with a little laugh of her own. “Did you just call me ‘mami’?”
“Oye! It seems to fit. You’re like a sexy little mami walking down the street. You don’t even look like you’re from ’round here.” He leaned back while still holding her hand, and made a show of checking her out again.
“And trust me … I think I would remember someone who looked like you.”
Neela’s legs went weak, but she rolled her eyes to mask how flustered she felt.
“Oh, please,” she feigned. “Does that line really work? And–I’ll take my hand back, thank you very much!” She broke his grasp with a shake of her wrist, but he seemed to willingly relinquish control at the same time.
“Ouch,” he said, brows knit in mock reproach. “That’s not very polite, Miss Neela. A guy’s just trying to say hello to a beautiful young lady.”
Neela folded her arms and twisted one leg behind the other, rather coquettishly.
Oh my god, girl, her inner goody two-shoes voice reproached. Are you actually flirting with this man?
“Okay, Rolando–if that’s even your real name,” she laughed and motioned with her chin at the building they stood before. “Do you live here?”
“I do.” He stared at her again. The smile was still on his lips, but his eyes were all 50 Shades of Criminal Intent right now, suddenly making Neela very warm in her barely there skirt and skin-tight crop top.
“Oh, so do you know Billy, then? Uh … Will Rodriguez?”
Rolando’s eyes narrowed. “Not, really. No. Is that who you’re here to see, Miss Neela? You’re visiting your man?”
She rubbed elvankent escort her bared arms to give her hands something to do. “Billy and I are friends, from college. And it’s just ‘Neela,’ by the way.”
The man nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, I see,” he said in a tone as if he did not believe her. “But school’s out for the summer, no?”
Shit, Neela berated herself. She realized what the situation must look like to this neighborhood Lothario calling himself “Rolando.”
Dressed as she was, on a block she did not live on, clearly not from anywhere around here. It’s probably written all over her face. He must think she’s the biggest slut from Brooklyn here to spread her legs and get laid. No wonder he was staring and smiling at her so much!
“Well, a-actually …” she stammered, but Rolando tapped her shoulder and shook his head.
“Yo, it’s cool,” he laughed. “I’m just playing with you. Didn’t mean to come off like the NSA or anything.” He shook his head and held out his hand, gesturing toward the entrance to the building as if he were a doorman at a hotel.
“Forgive my nosiness, mami. Oh, I mean–Neela! I’m sure your … friend, Billy, will be very happy to see you. Please, allow me.”
Neela took the lead, passing through as he held open the front door. Inside the small vestibule she paused, frowning at the intercom unit recessed into the wall. Her previous times here, Billy had simply bypassed the whole thing with his key fob. But now she felt at a loss for what to do next.
It was some fancy, modern upgrade that required you to look up the tenant’s name first before it displayed the apartment and call number on the screen. She felt flustered and disoriented, with the problem being two-fold:
One, she couldn’t remember the last name of Billy’s roommate, Kerwin, who was the actual registered lease holder on the apartment.
And, two; the close proximity of Rolando, who stood just behind her as she fumbled with the device’s keypad.
Neela sensed him there, could all but feel his eyes once again roaming up and down her body as she leaned forward to get a better glimpse of the dull neon green LCD display. She was all too aware of his scent, also–a heady mix of some nice cologne and an undercurrent of sweat, testosterone, and his unmistakable maleness. Which proved quite intoxicating in the tight confines of the small space.
A sinful heat spread to her thighs.
“You don’t remember your boyfriend’s apartment number?”
It was at that moment she finally saw the name of Billy’s roommate and the corresponding code. Jackson. Kerwin Jackson, that was it!
“I told you, he’s not my boyfriend,” Neela replied tartly over her shoulder, and dialed the number on the intercom.
It began to ring.
“Does that line really work?” Rolando asked, throwing her earlier retort right back at her. There was a tinge of humor in his tone. “Whatever. You. Say. Mami.”
Neela sucked her teeth and spun around, flustered. She speared him a direct look, which he took innocently standing there, waiting. And smiling. Dimples and all.
God, he’s so hot!
“You know, I wish he were my boyfriend,” she said, crossly. “Then maybe you’d think twice about flirting and checking me out when you think I’m not noticing.”
Rolando had his tattooed arms crossed, and he stared at her in the way a man does when he knows exactly what he wants.
“You think I don’t know that you know I’m looking at you, baby girl?” A rueful shake of his head. “Trust me, if I want to flirt with you I’ll flirt with you. Man or no man.”
Neela’s stomach did flip-flops, and the warmth between her thighs intensified. She became keenly aware that it was just the two of them in the vestibule, and that there was nothing to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to her in that confined space.
The air felt tangible between them. Building with kinetic energy and silent tension, punctuated only by the loud, melodic five-second burst of ringing from the intercom.
Come on, Billy. Pick up and buzz me in!
“I don’t think your friend is home,” Rolando said between ringtones, continuing to stare at her with those deep, mysterious brown eyes of his.
Abruptly, the ringing from the intercom stopped. Neela thought it must be on a time limit. She reluctantly broke her gaze from the gorgeous man making eye sex with her to check her phone. Sure enough, there were three text notifications from Billy.
Billy: “yo neels had to bounce”
Billy: “forgot I need to help my bro move his shit today”
Billy: “be back home in like two hours … can you hang out for a bit?”
Shit, Neela thought, feeling utterly humiliated and taken advantage of. What the fuck, Billy?
“Are you okay?” Rolando said, touching her on the shoulder.
Neela inwardly shivered at the contact, glancing up to meet those same brown eyes again. He was even closer to her now than before, and his crazy masculine scent was killing her.
“Yeeeahh,” she replied shyly. “Billy’s not home. Apparently I have a few hours to kill before he comes back.”
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