Imani Wisdom's brainchild -- Pink Noire Publications -- has been known for her unpredictable style of storytelling. Now its founder is expanding the "pink and black" brand to shine on prolific artists. From the inspirationalist, Danica Worthy to bestselling author, Stacy Deanne, Pink Noire understand these talented individuals know how to express their craft through words, song, dance, and stroke of a brush.

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Little Black Book From Melodi

"Absolutely. Where do you want it?" she asked me, applying the cherry red lip-stick flawlessly to her full lips, puckering them. I presented the back of my hand to her.

She glanced at Sam, giggling. Nina grabbed my hand, pulling me toward her and planted a kiss on my right shoulder. As she released me, I looked down at my stamp, admiring the perfect shape of her lips.


Sam had already chosen her spot, rolling her head back and waiting. I watched as Nina place her red signature on Sam's neck. Her sensuous mouth lingered there, her tongue playing on Sam briefly before re-leasing her.

I grabbed Sam for balance, my body unsteady from the alcohol, and closely inspected her stamp. "On the front of your neck, freak?"

"Well, how would you see it if she kissed me on the lips?"

"Which ones?" I asked sarcastically.

Her eyes lit up. "Now that you asked…"

She turned away from me, headed back to Nina. I shook my head, grabbing her hand and pulled her past the velvet rope. After a few steps, we were mingling amongst the sexy couples in the V.I.P. lounge, many of them wearing Nina's cherry kisses—now a pink fluorescent color under the black lights.

I stared in awe at how many pairs of lips glowed in the darkness. Some on the nape's of necks, others on breasts while some sat curiously high on a thigh or two.

Sam came up behind me, her breath hot on my neck and handed me a small shot glass.

"Here, it's their signature, 'Fuck Me Crazy'. Try it with me." Looking at the red shot glass, I drank it quickly, squirming as it slid down hot, my throat on fire.


"I know, I told you! Fucks you crazy!" She laughed. "Go through the last door and down the stairs, the third little cubbyhole on the right is reserved for us—I'll meet you down there. I gotta pay this bar tab."

I watched as Nina placed her red signature on Sam's neck. Her sensuous mouth lingered there, her tongue playing on Sam briefly before releasing her.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, the lighting and mood were instantly recognizable. Mellow R&B. Scented candles and soft sensual moans…

Wait a minute. Third room on right? Second? Shit, I can't remember…

I tried to focus my blurry vision on the narrow corridor, with small rooms along both sides. This place was staged perfectly for sex and secrets. Dim lighting and beautiful red satin curtains served as the most colorful doors I had ever seen.

Ignoring my urge to run back up the stairs and curse Sam out for sending me down here drunk and confused, I gave in to my curiosity, following the sounds of feminine curses.

 Treading softly, I approached the second room on my right—the red curtains pulled to one side.
There are people in here already…This can't be it…can it?

Peeking inside the candlelit room, there was a beautiful mocha mistress, her slender frame perched on the edge of a red chaise lounge. She smiled at me—saying nothing before rolling her eyes up and cooing softly.

The dark chocolate man with her could only be half seen from behind as he settled on all fours wrapping her long legs around his neck.

I continued to watch as the licking and sucking began, her soft coos becoming louder—a panting, raspy staccato. She grabbed one of her breasts, squeezing her nipple and rocking her pelvis to the rhythm of his tongue, the candlelight dancing with them.

I was speechless, standing motionless in the doorway, fixated on this beautiful, passionate display of all that I had sacrificed at home—in exile, awaiting my wedding day….

Fuckin' Samantha! I can't believe she brought me down here!

As my nipples grew underneath my halter-top, the thin material did nothing to hide them. I shivered as I tried using my fingers, but my breasts were too sensitive to touch. My body was tingling now with erotic energy and I had no way to turn it off.

Walk away, before she sees you still standing here!

I couldn't. Hypnotized and hungry, my eyes remained locked on them, my legs stuck in place by imaginary quick sand.

The mystery woman opened her eyes, grinning as she found me still there watching. She never uttered a word as she invited me in, commanding me with just a simple whisk of her index finger.

Without hesitation, I stepped forward, disappearing behind the red satin and completely facing her—standing in the lion's den.

Moving with the grace of a dancer, she unwrapped herself from her lover and stood in front of me.
"Greg, get up. We have company."

He stood up, looking as fine from in front, as he did from behind, his beautiful hairless chest muscles bouncing the flickers of candlelight off of them. He was completely naked as well, his dick nudging my side as he stood next to his mistress.

"You're a beautiful woman," the mistress said to me. She glanced down at my three-carat diamond rock, which also bounced candlelight off of it. "You married?"

"No—not yet," I mumbled.

She stepped closer to me, quickly diverting her attention to Nina's lips. "V.I.P.?" she chirped, while Greg fingered my stamp, his eyes slowly outlining my slender curves.

His mistress stepped so close to me that our lips almost touched.

"So—you like to watch? Or are you expecting V.I.P. treatment?"

I'm just here with a friend... I opened my mouth, but the words never escaped.

She pressed her slender finger against my lips. "I know what you want." She placed her hand in between my thighs, sliding her fingers inside my panties. I inhaled deeply, trembling. Greg stepped up behind me, his dick poking me in my back, and quickly unfastened my bra, pulling the top over my head. He started to massage my breasts, kneading them between his fingers.

"Mmmmm….." I closed my eyes, defeated, giving in to him—to her.

My body had spoken...

Underestimated is the first word that comes to mind when I hear the name Melodi Roberts.

This author, editor, and creative genius stormed the literary scene with works: If You Don't Tell, and the "cherry-popping" tales, Untapped, just to name a few. Roberts unforgiving approach to express Black sensuality is a mere art-form -- you won't find blatant, glorified pornography in the confines of her work.


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