“Script Money” The Novel

Chapter Seven

Producing the Love for The Longevity

Imani made a heady exit with her new fiancé. Tilting her head, she cupped her hand under her punkish bang like a visor as she strode down the block, clasping Kareem's top while the fans ambushed them about their engagement. Kareem wasn't so amicable when he was inebriated. Imani's pixie furrowed back with her left hand was the perfect trinket shot of his four-carat birthstone; the image signaled Hollywood would take him off the shelf. She delivered the goods for social snaps and blogs and grinned along the way to their Bentley. Ronnie, the driver, awaited the passenger door opened and was enveloped with spewing fans as he ushered Kareem in, then Imani, who ditched the street and cattily waved as she slid in the back.

Would she ever regret this night?

"This ring is so beautiful, baby," says Imani, plucking off her heels and staring at her outstretched fingers. "You had to be original; why not mine? I like emeralds, I think?"

Kareem shrugs a little. "Maybe, but I like original," he says. He swings her legs onto his lap, scooting under Imani's thighs as he cradles her and adds, "The day my heart started beating, some jewelry council marked this rock as 'symbolic' right, didn't give a damn if I even liked (a ruby) but hey, it is what it is. Well, whenever you dip out on me, my heart stops. You've become this rock to me; now people know this is Kareem Cashmere's heart. Forever."

Imani presses her head to his. "And I love it." she begins kissing him, slipping her tongue in because she's wet, and he rakes her mind with the romantic intellect that's so intriguing. "So, since I'm almost your wife, what we gone do to keep this together?"

"I like how we operate with the fake shit out there; it's just us. I want to do whatever it takes for us and our family. I'll go to war with anyone on my dime before I let them bring one home."

"Kareem, I know you gon work to keep us happy, but what I'm saying is what I need to do when you feel like sliding out on me?" Imani directs her gaze above his cheekbones.

He freezes his expression. "Say what? I ain't cheating--"

Imani spanks his cheekbone before he lies.

"What?"

"Don't start lying to me, be honest."

"Okay."

She says, "If she's good enough for Hollywood to find out...you bring the bitch home."

"Bring her home... hand-delivered to you." Kareem brightens up curiously.

"Don't give me that look; remember, before I let you in, I was a dike." What Imani did remember was reading tabloid magazines behind the counter in a Finish Line store, poring over "whodunit" tragedies that severed celebrity couples, how sources from the inner circles claimed that someone was unhappy, and Hollywood ripping a perfect snapshot like tonight right down the middle and then smacking it right on the cover that once adored them. She wouldn't bend her morals to spike her celebrity relevance. Instead, she agreed to satisfy Kareem Cashmere to reach their longevity. But Hollywood was waiting with a dagger nonetheless.

Their driveway seemed more abundant with the newer cars. On the way home, Imani had tongued Kareem for minutes; as they parked in front of their estate, she could feel her lust for her man pique. "Did you bring some of your equipment to the house?" she asks him with a kinky smirk.

"I got some stuff in the back of the car I rented for Ara."

Ronnie, the driver, gets out and tugs the door handle.

Imani shoves the door and tips her bare toes out of the Bentley; the cobblestone warm beneath her feet from the August humidity; she prances to the trunk and knocks. "Hurry up and pop the trunk!" she murmurs, poring over her ring again in the dark. Finally, the trunk opens effortlessly with a gentle hiss. "Ohh, hey babe, you think this the same camera they shot Tarzan with?" said Imani opening a steel case and picking up the black video recorder. It resembled a submachine gun with its rubbered grip and shoulder support.

"Be careful; that's an 8k Red Dragon with a sensor upgrade. It costs more than that Cadillac over there."

"Mmhmm. Just turn it on," replies Imani impatiently. Kareem grips the camcorder as he turns on the HD screen and ignites the gloomy driveway with a bright light attached to the Red Dragon. "I can't believe a freaking camera can make my life so exciting. I wanna do all kinda nasty shit with you." Imani smirks and begins dancing as he turns on the HD screen, aiming the lens at her body. "Like what, baby? Tell me." He grins and takes in her "confessional expression."

"Just keep pointing that thing at me, Daddy, and I'll show you...Hey!" Imani turns and twerks her hips, unbuckling the thin belt around her waist and then springing toward the house, giggling. Kareem remains his distance like a pervert, instead stalking her from behind as she browses over her shoulder, padding to a fountain and flicking water at him. "Alright, girl," she warned in light of the shenanigans, Imani curled her finger, and he stepped closer as she keeled over the ledge; she held his shoulders and kissed him greedily.

Suddenly, one of Kareem's hands trickles up her damp leg. And slips between her thighs and grazes her moist lips. Imani grinds her leg into his knuckle and groans. "I wanna do everything in this video," says Imani seductively.

"I got you."

Then Imani dashes off again, running toward the front door, which Fonda had unlocked moments before she spotted them entering the estate. "Hey, aren't you two...never mind. Congratulations!" the housekeeper stated as the newly engaged ran into the house as if they were making a rap video. Imani began popping her necklaces and caressing her expensive jewelry, aiming to mimic a thug like her fiancé was biting her lip as she pointed "finger guns" at the screen and backpedaled upstairs. "Oh, Daddy, I don't own a studio, but my diamonds are watery like Sam's tears, and I like my Oyster perpetual. And-and oh, my god, I'm engaged. So, that means I run (this) empire bitch!"

"Yeah, you good at running that mouth, now get your ass up there," said Kareem. He was sprinting up to the second level.

Their master suite began with a day room filled with a chaise longue and a small sitting area; double villa doors opened into the bedroom. Imani grabbed her tablet, pressing the screen to activate the studio lights above. She wanted bright and experimental, and she wanted a studio-quality setting for her shoot. "Babe, find somewhere to sit the camera," says Imani, turning on music elsewhere.

"Already on it," He says, taking in the playlist. "I used the tripod Randy left in here...is it me, or...do you seem excited about this." In the distance, Rihanna's "Needed Me" echoed as he tugged on Imani's wrist.

"I am because I'm yours, baby." Imani bites her lip as she peels Kareem's fleece off. He had flecks of fine dark hair sprouting from his elaborate tattoos, his entangled chains grazing her forehead as she sucked his chest lustfully. His necklaces clinked above her head as his top crumpled to the floor. The chains could stay on, but the clothes had to go. "You ready to watch me savage this dick." Instead, Kareem answers by unbuckling his jeans. His boxers were black and bulging as he did little to nothing for himself; Imani giggled and took off her dress before she kneeled in front of him.

"Uhh, open your mouth." He murmurs as he peels her lips with his thumb, staring down at her as he continues the fingering from dinner; Imani opens her mouth wide like an oral search a dentist demands. "Ah." She feels herself dripping as Kareem massages her tongue, flicking it for him as he tests her gagging impulses. She was looking up at him expanding her throat daringly.

She glances at the camera as her eyes flare.

It was on when he slid his pants and boxers down. Imani saw he was stiff and juicer with the foreplay; she held his thighs and began sucking his tip hungrily, twisting her neck as she furled her tongue around him slowly and wildly. Of all other features, Imani had swollen lips and a large mouth she knew Kareem adored. She grips his dick and glares at him, "I want you to fuck my face." she says, taking him deeper inside her mouth and slurping swiftly. She went faster, causing her head to jolt as she worked her neck, drooling as spit gathered in her mouth; he clinched his scowl as he palmed her left cheek, then dipped into her face as if it had some hidden "G-spot." Imani had ample inches to the throat, allowing Kareem to shovel her mouth as she gagged tolerably, piping down as much as she could until her eyes flinched. Ahh fuck." said Imani spitting and jacking him smoothly. "My king-size dick."

Imani inspects the camera watching her rub his dick around her lips.

She grabs her breasts and begins caressing her nipples while he rakes her pixie aside, so he can see Imani's tongue frolicking as he jams in her mouth again. Her gagging brings more juice, making his bar glisten near her eyes like a brown Magnum bar. It entices her, spotting the pleasure deep in his dopey eyes. Kareem aims to play some naughty fuck expert, coaching as he grunts passionately.

"Money jump up there. I wanna taste how wet my baby is." Kareem tears his body away from her momentarily. Imani stood and seductively took off her thong. Gripping her hips as he taunted the camera, he rubs her cheeks like a smooth ball, then spanks her. "Ah, yes." Imani winces as it turns her on even more. She tugs on his chains and mouths his lips rampantly. Her fiancé makes her crawl into their bed, craning her neck and clavicle into their duvet as she lets her knees raise her ass north.

Kareem Cashmere is possessive as fuck.

He owns everything he does to her. She spreads her thighs wider as she peers sidelong at his chiseled abs and gleaming jewels. Imani simples jiggle her cheeks, grinning. He begins licking her lips, nipping his tongue along her clitoris as he suckles her warm flesh. Kareem's hands felt like their sole purpose was for spreading her cheeks and dragging his mouth up her crevice, slowly stabbing his tip between her fleshy entrances.

"Oh fuck, yeah." The sensation against Imani's skin was like feeling cognac splash through your liver. Her body was hot and trembling as he ate her. He had clunky gold rings on which Imani felt brush her hole as he slid his fingers in her pussy, engaged to Eros, and it seemed as if she were a smartphone rendered toneless---vibrating and shaking as she came and erupted onto his tips. "Oh, make this little pussy come, Daddy." She realized her voice expelled screams, attached to words she'd never expected to be candidly saying. "You got it coming like water, babe," Kareem says, then dips his fingers into her mouth. Imani was under no spell but his.

Everything he did tonight he'd done before.

Being his fiancé intensified each act.

As if this was Imani's first time fucking Kareem.

Her pussy was gushing and spewing onto her thighs embarrassingly. She was a dripper. Imani could squirt; then again, it wasn't hard for her to accomplish, so it wasn't spectacular when it happened. It was his fetish. When he balked at her slender back and swerved inside of her, Imani could hear Rihanna drudging over a ballad she sang about love on her brain. Kareem was on Imani's brain; he was in her so deep the fire had engulfed her moans with inaudible whimpers as she bucked his dick, slamming into her deeper and deeper. "Oh, I'm coming," Imani jitters unbidden as she quickly removes him and rubs her "Money ball." Her wave shattered her as she spilled errantly.

Imani's fiancé believed it was amazing.

She altered onto her back and cocked her legs. Aiming her toes at the camera and the Venetian blinds near their balcony. "You so fucking wet." He gazes at the ruby rotating clockwise, then patting as Imani fondles her swollen lips. Kareem licks her clitoris for a time, spitting on her flesh and slopping it up before sliding his dick back in. Slowly, he teases his erection to come out of the dark.

"I love you." Imani pulls him as she hisses.

"I love you, Ma," as the bottom of her back arches.

Kareem buries himself so far she clings to him. Imani hears the clonking of their jewelry as she murmurs. "I want you to make this look good." She bites his chin and cradles her legs around his shoulders. All at once, he is speeding up his pumps and panting as he strokes onto his fourth-quarter runs. Imani winces as she begins spilling into her crevice and spotting her legs quivering.

Did he do it again?

Squirting again as Kareem pulled out for a third nerve-ending orgasm made her wish she'd never have to hurt him. She was, enraptured and candid. His love was like royal folklore where the dame becomes the radiant queen intertwined in an exceptional man's throne, and the success through what she and Kareem had endured only furthered her perfect fairytale.

"Come get this money for me, Ma." He stroked as she beckoned another "money wave." Suddenly she tilted her chin and guided her mouth near Kareem's tip, humming seductively as he began erupting in her mouth like fizz from a champagne bottle. "Mm." Imani was in awe of his load as he came in enormous spurts, filling her mouth as she beamed in front of their video recorder in the distance.

"Come on; I think Money needs a shower."

Exhaling staggeringly, Kareem says, "Yeah, that's a great idea."

* * * * *

"Wow, that came out sexy as hell." Imani agreed minutes later after they showered. Tired, her naked body strolls past the LED screen mounted across from the bedposts, crawling onto the bed and clambering on Kareem's legs. Imani straddled his lap, her back to him as she took in their sex tape. "I think ratings would go crazy, a hundred million people seeing us go in." He says.

"Hmm...distribution jump maybe nine percent."

"More like fifteen."

"It's average, though, right?"

"It's us, babe; we stop saying life is average when we become the shit they watched before Tubi. We inspire guys to spit enough flavor so movie night even reaches this point." Kareem strokes her spine, yawning.

"You wanna sell it?" probes Imani looking back.

"No, babe, this is my wife. We not hurting for views; wait, do you wanna sell it?"

"No, but I want to collect them. They make come like a bitch. Look, soon as I look at the camera, I go fucking nuts." Imani plants her palms into their mattress and perches forward as she claps her cheeks against Kareem's skin.

He was rock hard again.

Suddenly Imani feels him gripping her ribs and pulling her back onto his dick. She squeezes the sheets as he swerves in again. "Kareem."

Gently he clinches her throat. "Just look at the screen." He grunts.

"Okay." her body tremors like a fan.

* * * * *

Elsewhere at her Fayetteville estate, Samirah Cromartie stands in her media room glaring at the 103-inch TV screen well after 1:00 am. She watched clips of her chauffeur and Kareem's suspicious handoff with Herm Franco, then a ninety-second clip of the "street side proposal," along with the analyst who seemed compelled to stir (her) name while tagging the announcement. "Hollywood's courting royalty with a lovely slap in the face! "Throned" couple Kareem Cashmere and Imani Thicke, preparing to sweep the entertainment aisle by romantic storm as Kareem proposes outside a downtown restaurant." she listened on. Livid.

"Seems like buying a man a whip makes you whipped," says Glendall. She told him to come by and pick up his boxes instead. Samirah allowed him to taste her at first. Then she fucked him as kudos for hunting down Raleigh. "Happy now?"

"Go to hell; I'll take suicide before I am happy with you again."

"I'd like tickets for that show. Anyways, I want seventeen percent out of marketing when you put Gizzle's script back on top. And I recommend you put your brother back on the score." Glendall demanded that Samirah remove Kareenm's story for his client, primarily for her naivety.

Samirah rolls her eyes. "Bye, Glendall."

"I'll be in touch," he says as he leaves.

Next, Samirah exchanged her screen for yet another feed.

One of Kareem Cashmere's master en-suite appeared.

They planted seventy-five cameras and had ninety-two microphone cords placed on the set of "Throned." In his terms, this excess equipment didn't exist. Kareem had obsessed over his paramount bedroom privacy. Although Samirah sat vexed, he'd curb her desire for erotic foul play from a quiet distance.

Instead, she got things firsthand, stung like syringes in her chin. "So what? Samirah and I made the recipe for Script Money. I took her down, fine..." Samirah did playback on that line a hundred times, Kareem's voice gnawing at her heart like a carnal wolf. "--where was Script Money at when Ms. Money was taking me to some bullshit fast food interview that'll help put start-up into this company?" The director choked back the regret, parting her mouth to exhale her need to lash. Instead of simply fucking her co-producer, she'd fallen into his notorious typhoon.

Kareem douses the affair behind his fiancé like a flame in a sink.

For a second, Samirah glared at her surveillance cameras. To make sure Glendall had exited her premises. Then sat in her swivel chair and gradually spread her thighs wider. She was wasting over a secret "Throned" sex tape.

And slowly becoming one of their many viewers to come.