Page 4 of The Richest Gangstas in the Room
CHAPTER ONE
Yasani “Yah-Yah” Fontaine
A Few Years Ago…
February 9th, 2022
"That's it, right there," I whispered, my back arched against the silk sheets of the Palmer House Hilton Hotel's premier suite. My nails dug into Mr. Clyde's shoulders as he worked between my thighs, his black and silver-streaked head moving with practiced rhythm.
I moaned, not too loud or too soft, but just the way I had learned rich men like to hear it. Everything in this game was about balance. I would only give them enough to feel special but never enough to think they owned me.
"Fuck, you taste so goddamn sweet," Mr. Clyde mumbled against my skin, as his hands gripped my thick thighs.
I ran my fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, guiding him exactly where I wanted, taking control while letting him believe he was running this show.
"Make me cum, baby," I commanded softly, knowing he would do anything I asked when his face was buried between my legs. His tongue moved faster, and he inserted two fingers in my wet pussy, finger fucking me until I felt pressure building.
When I came, I made sure it was a performance worth every dollar he was gon give me. I called his name, trembled against his mouth, and let my thighs clamp around his head just enough to make him feel powerful.
Afterward, he climbed up my body, breathing heavy, he had that smug look of satisfaction on his face that niggas got when they thought they did something.
"My turn now, beautiful," he said, reaching for a condom from the nightstand.
I smiled, flipping us over so I was on top. "Let me take care of you," I purred, rolling the latex down his length with practiced ease.
As I rode him, I kept my eyes half-closed, my body doing what it knew how to do while my mind drifted to all the reasons I was in this hotel on a Friday night instead of anywhere else.
When Mr. Clyde finished, gripping my hips and groaning like he was dying the sweetest death, I leaned down and kissed his forehead.
"That was amazing," I lied easily, sliding off him to head toward the bathroom. Once again, it was a job well done.
* * *
I fastened my shirt slowly, one button at a time, I was calm and relaxed because to me calm mattered. Rushing made shit look desperate, and desperate was never a good look on me. I checked my reflection in the mirror, my hair was pulled back tight into a low ponytail, diamonds glistening in my ear, and my gloss shining on my lips, my face was smooth and unreadable.
Mr. Clyde sat on the edge of the bed behind me, his robe loose, legs spread, watching me like I was his most prize possession.
“Don’t rush beautiful,” He said from behind me, “You know I hate when you rush to leave me.”
I glanced at him in the mirror, his silver and black hair was slicked back, his olive skin that still had a youthful glow to it. I’m not gonna lie, Mr. Clyde was a fine ass older man. he reminded me of the music mogul Babyface. One thing I learned about fucking with older men, was that they liked pretending they still had control over something. and I was the type of bitch to let them believe it.
“I ain’t rushing,” I said softly, tilting my head, giving him a smile, “I just don’t wanna be late meeting with my lil’ sister.” Hechuckled as he reached for the nightstand and grabbed the white envelope.
“Four thousand five hundred,” he said, “And you earn every dollar every fucking time.” He slid the envelope into my hand, and I looked down at it, but I knew I didn’t need to count it. I didn’t have to. Mr. Clyde was consistent. That’s why he was my favorite trick.
“Thanks Baby,”
“You know you my favorite girl in the world right?” he said as he winked his eye and I smirked at him.
“You say that shit every time.”
“‘Cause it’s true.”
“Yea, Yea Tell me anything.” I chuckled as I turned around and stuffed the money he had given me into my purse.
“You know I always tell you the truth beautiful.” He laid on the charm.
“Well, you know I appreciate you Mr. Clyde, but I gotta get up outta here. I got somewhere I need to be.”
