Brixton Beauty Queen
"When Marcus helps his neighbor Keisha carry her shopping up to her flat, he never expected the thick Jamaican beauty to show him exactly how she says thank you in South London."
The Brixton Market air was thick with the smell of jerk seasoning and ripe mangoes. Marcus had just grabbed his usual saltfish fritters from Miss Dotty's stall when he spotted her—Keisha, the woman from the flat above his, struggling with about six bags of shopping.
"Yuh need a hand?" he called out, already jogging over.
She turned, and Lord have mercy, that smile could stop traffic. Keisha was built like a goddess—thick thighs that tested the limits of her jeans, hips that could hypnotize a man, and a backside that had caused more than one car accident on Coldharbour Lane.
"Marcus! You're a lifesaver, babes," she said, her accent a sweet mix of South London and Kingston.
He grabbed four of her bags, his knuckles brushing against her soft brown skin. She was wearing that perfume again—coconut and something floral that made his head swim.
"Heavy shopping today," he noted as they walked toward their block.
"Got mi mum coming from Birmingham tomorrow. You know how it go—she'll inspect every corner of mi flat."
Marcus laughed. "Island mothers don't play."
"Exactly! Everything haffi be perfect."
They climbed the stairs, Keisha ahead of him. He tried not to stare at the way her hips swayed, the way her ample backside moved beneath the tight denim. Failed miserably.
At her door, she fumbled with her keys. "Come in, nuh? Let mi at least give you something fi your trouble."
Her flat smelled like cocoa butter and fresh flowers. She took the bags to the kitchen while Marcus stood awkwardly in the doorway.
"Come in proper, man! Mi nah bite." She paused, those dark eyes glinting. "Unless yuh want me to."
Marcus stepped inside, heart pounding. Keisha returned from the kitchen, closer than necessary. This close, he could see the slight sheen of sweat on her collarbone, the fullness of her lips.
"Been watching you, you know," she said softly. "Every morning when yuh leave fi work. Every evening when yuh come back."
"Yeah?"
"Mmhmm." Her hand found his chest. "Wondering what yuh hiding under these clothes. Wondering if you as fit as you look."
Marcus swallowed hard. "Keisha—"
"Shh." She pressed a finger to his lips. "Mi been single too long, Marcus. And you been too polite fi too long. Time we fix both problems, don't you think?"
She kissed him then, soft at first, then deeper. She tasted like the sugarcane juice she'd been drinking, sweet and intoxicating. His hands found her waist, then traveled down to grip that magnificent backside.
She moaned into his mouth. "Mmm, finally. A man who knows what fi hold onto."
Her hands were busy too, pulling at his shirt, running over his abs. When she found what she was looking for lower down, her eyes went wide.
"Lawd have mercy," she breathed. "Mi did know you was packing something special."
She led him to her bedroom, that thick body moving like a promise. The bed was covered in purple silk sheets, and she pushed him down onto them.
"Let mi show you how a Brixton girl says thank you properly."
What followed was the most intense afternoon of Marcus's life. Keisha rode him like she was trying to win something, her thick thighs gripping his sides, her full breasts bouncing hypnotically. She made sounds that he was certain the entire block could hear, and she didn't care one bit.
"Yes! Right there! Don't stop!"
He flipped her over, taking control, and she wrapped those thick legs around him, pulling him deeper. Her nails raked down his back as she came, crying out in a mix of English and patois that he barely understood but completely felt.
Afterwards, they lay tangled together, her head on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin.
"So," she said, "same time tomorrow? Mi might need help with the recycling."
Marcus laughed. "Woman, you are dangerous."
"You have no idea, babes." She kissed his chest. "But you're about to find out."
From downstairs, they could hear the Brixton traffic, the distant thump of reggae from someone's flat, the sounds of South London living. But in that purple bedroom, with Keisha's warmth against him, Marcus felt like he'd found exactly where he belonged.
"Best neighbor I ever had," he murmured.
"Better believe it," she replied, already reaching for him again.