Tottenham Tingz | NEON LIT

"Mi can fix it but it gonna cost yuh."

Dwayne looked at the woman behind the counter and forgot his laptop entirely. Shanelle was all curves in a tight band tee, natural hair in goddess locs, skin like dark honey.

"How much?"

"Hundred quid. Or..." She looked him up and down. "Yuh that rapper from YouTube, yeah? Drop mi a verse and we call it even."

He rapped for her while she worked. Her hands moved over the laptop's internals with surgical precision, but her eyes stayed on him. That smile got wider with every bar.

"Yuh good," she admitted. "Like, actually good."

"Good enough fi a discount?"

"Good enough fi something better."

She closed the laptop and locked the shop door.

"I don't usually mix business with pleasure," she said, walking toward him with those hips swaying.

"Neither do I."

"Good. So this is just... special circumstances."

She kissed him hard, backing him against the counter. That thick body pressed against him, all warmth and softness and need.

"Take me to the back," she breathed.

The back room was cramped but they made it work. She bent over her workbench, that magnificent ass in the air.

"Don't be gentle," she demanded. "Show me what dat bad boy rapper energy really about."

He showed her. The workbench shook. Tools fell. Neither cared.

"Yes! Fuck! Right there!"

Round two was on the floor. Round three against the server rack. By round four, both were sweating and laughing.

"Laptop's fixed," she gasped. "Free of charge."

"I think I owe you more verses."

"I think yuh owe me dinner." She kissed him softly. "And then dessert. Again."

Dwayne's next track was about her. It went viral.

Shanelle watched it blow up from her shop, smiling. When he walked in that evening, she just pointed to the back.

"That verse was fire. Now show me what else that mouth can do."

Tottenham's finest tech goddess had found her rapper.

And he'd never let her go.