Her man demanded loyalty, but her body wouldn't obey.Have you ever rolled over in the middle of the night and realized you were doing things you swore you'd never do Sexing brothers you vowed you'd never touch Bending backwards and stooping lower than you ever thought you'd stoop Well if you can feel me even a little bit, then let me hit you with a story that just might blow your mind. . .
When a beautiful, kept black woman pulls herself out from under the thumb of her deadly, manipulative lover, she learns that freedom comes with a price in Noire's sexy, gritty urban melodrama. Nineteen-year-old Juicy and her unstable brother, Jimmy, were raised in Harlem by their grandmother after a drug dealer shot their "junkie ho" mother. Her steady since she was 17 is overbearing Granite "G" McKay, major thug/owner of the G-Spot Social Club, part drug house, part strip joint. More than twice her age, G gives Juicy all the bling she wants, but their stagnant sex life and his mercilessness have made her restless. Ever-feisty Juicy sates her hunger by watching male strippers on G-Spot's Ladies' Night and then by hooking up with G's son, Gino, who's just come from California. But when Juicy discovers that Jimmy is on G's payroll-and when the person who told her gets murdered-she rounds up friend Rita and both risk their lives to double-cross the increasingly cold-blooded G. Juicy and Gino also hatch a plan to steal G's hidden loot, but are set up on a fake drug run to Atlantic City. Several beatings and a gang rape later, Juicy and Jimmy finally manage to settle the score in the ultra-violent conclusion. Noire's heady brew of lethal realism and unbridled sexuality should spell "hot and bothered" for erotic fiction fans. Agent, Ken Atchity. (Jan.) Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information. -- PUBLISHERS WEEKLY.
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January 25, 2005
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Excerpt from G-Spot by Noire
Chapter One I It was right around midnight and bodies were heating up at the G-Spot. I should have been at home studying for a chemistry test but instead I was sitting with my girl Brittany in a private booth at the most expensive gentleman's club in Harlem.
"This place is the shit, Juicy." The music was loud and Brittany was dancing in her seat. "Your man is large," Brittany said. "Old as dirt, but large. If Cecil owned a fly joint like this instead of a detail shop, I'd be hanging lovely every night. I can't believe they charge a grand just to get in the door, but with all these rich-ass basketball players and rap artists up in here I guess cheddar ain't nothing but cheese."
Saturday night was Ladies Night at the G-Spot Social Club. Although the lap dances and private parties catered to the men, one night a week sisters came out to drool over some of the sexiest brothers on the New York street scene.
Brittany was steady running her mouth. She was in my finance class at Fordham University, and I had invited her down to the Spot because I liked having company.
"Juice," she said, "this place is not only classy, but it's also hot! Thanks for getting me in for free, but damn, girl, when are the brothers coming out?"
"Hold on," I told her. "The male strippers are coming up next." And that's when my trouble will really begin, I thought, crossing my legs.
"Don't get me wrong," Brittany said. Dressed in a short white skirt and a silk halter, she was drinking double shots of Alize and had three lines of coke laid out on the table in front of her. "I mean, the girls are working it, but where are the men with the fine bodies? I want to see some hard asses and Mandingo backs. Maybe even get me some dill-zick, if they slinging any!"
As soon as she said that I looked around for G and saw him walking up the stairs like he did every night at this time. G was a man of habit. I could put my money on it that every night at exactly midnight, he would disappear upstairs to check on his drug operation and make sure each nanogram of his powder was accounted for.
The house rule was to get the men to spend every dime in their pockets, and every girl had to do her part. It was about getting them to buy drinks all night, pay for lap dances; and if they wanted to fuck, they paid for the sex and the room, too.
And Brittany was right. Money wasn't a big thing for the drug dealers and playas, but I could see how it would turn her on. The dollars had my nose open at first too, but not anymore. These days chasing the thing that I wanted most could get me killed. It was like being addicted to candy and working in a chocolate factory where the product was off limits. Night after night I sat in the G-Spot, the biggest sex den in New York City, and watched others get what I needed.