Birmingham Bashment
"When the DJ at Birmingham's hottest Caribbean club goes missing, Jamaican-British promoter Kenice asks venue manager Alex to fill in—and rewards him in ways the crowd never sees."
"The DJ's not coming. Food poisoning."
Kenice looked like she might commit murder. She'd been promoting this bashment night for months, the venue was packed, and now this.
Alex, the venue manager, made a decision. "I can DJ. Used to back in uni."
"Yuh serious?"
"Try me."
He was rusty but the crowd didn't care. The dancehall hits kept coming, the floor stayed packed, and Kenice... Kenice watched him from the VIP section with new eyes.
That thick body in her dress, curves spilling everywhere, those hips moving to his mixes.
At 2 AM, she came to the booth.
"Yuh saved mi night."
"What do I win?"
"Come find out."
The office door locked behind them. She pushed him into the chair and climbed into his lap, that thick body heavy and warm.
"Yuh were incredible out there," she breathed.
"I'm incredible in here too."
"Prove it."
The bass from the club floor vibrated through them as she rode him, matching the rhythm perfectly. This was bashment of a different kind.
"Yes! Don't stop! Give mi everything!"
Her thick thighs gripped him, her nails in his shoulders, her moans lost in the thumping music.
Round two against the desk. Round three on the couch. By round four, the club had emptied and they were still going.
"Yuh hired," she gasped. "Every Friday. Saturday too."
"What's the pay?"
She kissed him deep. "This. All of this."
Birmingham's bashment scene had a new star DJ.
And every night after closing, Kenice showed him why Caribbean women were worth the hype.
The club thrived.
So did they.
Best gig Alex ever took.