Heist

by Kiki Swinson; De’nesha Diamond

  Alvaro winks. “You’re my right hand. You’ll make it so, sí?”

  “Sí.” Hell, there isn’t any other answer. To deny Alvaro is to deny life, and knowing how fucked up Alvaro can be sniffing his own shit, chances are that his amigo wouldn’t stop at just putting a bullet in his head. His son and his wife would undoubtedly receive courtesy bullets as well.

  “Good. Good.” Alvaro finally removes the gun from Delmar’s chest only to swing it left toward Felipe and pull the trigger. Everyone in the room jumps while their colleague’s lifeless body propels backward and crashes into a glass table. “That’ll be all.”

  Delmar is sure that he pissed a little bit in his pants, but he bows to Alvaro and quickly rushes out of there, wondering how he’s going to steal a half billion dollars’ worth of drugs back from the DEA. “Dios me ayuda.”

  Chapter Three

  No lie. I came the moment Keston’s lips touched mine. It started in his car when I sucked on his beer-and-peppermint-tasting tongue and slipped my hand down the front of his pants and discovered the anaconda that snaked halfway down his thigh. This man is a walking, talking fantasy.

  One-night stands are tricky. You don’t want to bring some unknown brother to your house, hung or not, and you don’t want to roll over to his crib in case he’s one of those crazy muthafuckas with a basement that you’ll never walk out of. So as a compromise, we head over to the closest hotel—in this case the Marriott Marquis. A little fancy and expensive but neither one of us wants to drive to a dive on the outskirts of the city.

  At the front desk, dude pulls out a roll of cash that could choke a fucking horse. Just great. I’m a DEA agent about to hook up with a possible drug dealer for a quickie. Any thoughts of backing out of this shit disappear the moment he turns toward me and flashes those sexy dimples.

  “Enjoy your evening,” the perky blonde behind the counter says, handing Keston a pair of card keys.

  “We intend to,” he says with a wink.

  I blush. Fuck. I haven’t done that shit since junior high.

  We don’t even have the patience to wait to reach the room. The second I enter the small glass elevator, Keston pushes me up against the glass and starts slowly grinding against my ass while reaching a hand down in front of me and squeezing my pussy. There’s a few people milling around in the bars and restaurants below, and more scandalously, they can see us. That shit gets me off.

  “You know that I’m going to bust this shit wide open, don’t you?” His warm breath rushes up against my ear and causes my nipples to look like giant marbles sitting up in the center of my chest.

  “You got the dick,” I pant. “But do you know how to work it?”

  He flips me around and looks me dead in the eye. “You’re about to find out.”

  A minute later, we’re in the room, ripping off each other’s clothes. He’s so fucking strong that when he yanks off my jeans, my body is jerked up in the air for a few seconds. “Goddamn. You’re a fucking brick house,” he says, admiring my frame.

  I’m about to say something smart back, but that’s just when his boxers hit the floor and I’m introduced to that big-ass cock in person. “Oh … shit.”

  A sexy grin hooks the side of his lips as he gives his fat cock a few good strokes. “I sure hope that you ain’t thinking about backing out now.”

  Eyes still wide, I shake my head and watch that chocolaty monster grow a few more inches in his hand. I reach out and run my fingers along the entire length, loving the way it feels like silk. As a rule, I don’t put shit into my mouth until I get serviced first. Why the hell should I put in a five-star performance on a two-star nigga?

  Reluctantly, I pull back and inch my body to the center of the bed. His gaze tracks me while I slide my legs open and give him a good look at the strawberry and cream I got waiting on him.

  “Nice,” he says casually, but he doesn’t just dive right in. Instead he pulls up one of my legs and starts peppering kisses along the bottom of my foot while his dick rubs against my thighs. Oh, shit. I got myself a freak. I’m stunned for a few minutes until he sucks in my big toe and makes me cum right on the spot.

  “Holy shit,” I pant, blinking stars from my eyes. I’m just mildly able to recover before my beloved freak dips his tongue on the small spot behind my right knee. I shoot off again. What the fuck? All along my body, Keston zeroes in on all my G-spots. There’s quite a few that I didn’t even know I had. By the time he settles in to feast on the honey bubbling up around my clit, my mind is blown and my shit is sensitive.

  “Wait a minute. Wait a minute.” I try to inch away because I need to catch my breath, but he makes it clear that he’s not having any of that.

  “Where are you going?” He chuckles, pulling me back and then spanking the hell out of my clit with his tongue.

  “Aaaaahhh.” I grab his head and try to push it away, but he’s stubborn as an ox and doesn’t move an inch. I try to wiggle away again, but he has my ass locked down.

  “Mmmm. Cum on my face, baby. Give me all you got.” He licks, smacks, and moans like a starving man, and when he plunges his fingers into my pussy and starts stirring it around, I nearly black out. This muthafucka ain’t even fucked me yet.

  “I bet you ain’t had no nigga eat this pussy right, have you?”

  “N-no.”

  He plunges his tongue in so deep that he literally cleans all four walls. Holy shit. Fuck a freak. He’s a certified pussy monster.

  “I’m going to show you how the big boys do it, baby.” He shoves two fingers in my pussy and then pushes a third one into my ass. Like a bottle rocket, I blast off, screaming a whole lot of goddamns and oh my Gods.

  When I finally start pulling air into my lungs at a normal rate, this nigga climbs up and starts coating his dick with the pussy juice that is streaming down my leg.

  “Come and get you some of this candy, baby.” He’s still gazing at me like I’m T-bone steak, so I know my pussy is just getting a small break while I try to impress him with my head game.

  Dizzy, I sit up and reach for his iron-straight shaft. My mouth waters while I run my tongue down the side. It might just be my imagination, but he even tastes like chocolate. I don’t stop at the base of his cock. I keep going until I teabag his nuts, sucking each one into my mouth lovingly.

  “Awww. Shit. I see you got game.” He chuckles.

  Smiling, I work my way back to the head and immediately give him a couple of jawbreakers to start him off. He jumps and sucks in a breath. When I set a good rhythm, Keston pulls my hair back away from my face so that he can watch me work. Within minutes, precum starts to drip from the tip, and I gobble it up with as much gusto as he showed me.

  Clearly he’s not completely the man of steel, because his legs start to tremble and shake the bed. “Ssss. Get it, baby. It’s in there for you.” He switches hands on my hair and starts pumping his hips.

  I can deep throat only about half his dick, but it’s enough to squeeze the head and get him to call on Jesus for a few seconds. I slide my hands around his waist and then drop them lower to get a good grip on his firm ass. Just when I think that he’s about to blast off, he pulls back. His dick springs out with a pop and then swings like a pendulum in front of my face.

  “Get in position.”

  I blink stupidly at him.

  “Any position you want,” he says, grabbing his cock and stroking it. “Just make sure your ass is comfortable.”

  Given his size, I figure it’s best to just take him in a half-doggy-style, where I’m up on my knees but my shoulders lie flat so I can play with my clit while he squeezes into my wet pussy. I’m scared and excited at the same time. I’ve never had a dick his length and width. I’m hoping this shit feels good and not like I’m about to have a baby.

  Keston sidles up behind me, leans down, and plants a big-ass hicky on my right ass cheek. “You ready, sweetheart?”

  More honey drips from my pussy and slides all down my hand. “Give it to me.” I wiggl
e my ass and then try to push up on the dick myself.

  “A’ight, Ma. Calm down. I got you.” Keston slaps my ass, and while I wince from the slight sting, he slides into my glazed pussy. Immediately, my mouth drops open into a perfect circle as inch by inch I try to take all of him in. After a while, I feel like this brother has worked his way to the back of my throat. “How you doing, Ma?”

  “Ooooh.” That’s all I can manage to get out.

  “Awww. You like that?” He doesn’t make me take him to the balls, but he starts stroking and opening my ass cheeks so he can watch his work. “Shit. You got the kind of pussy a nigga can fuck up and fall in love with.”

  Meanwhile, I’m mentally climbing the walls, struggling to catch my breath and just absolutely loving the magic this man is working in between my legs. Where in the hell has this man been all my life?

  In no time at all, he has my pussy smacking, squishing, and making all kinds of funky noises while I’m moaning, groaning, and downright talking shit myself. Now that he’s gotten me wide open, I’m taking him straight to the balls, and the bottom of my pussy is threatening to fall out. “Oh God. Oh God.”

  Keston keeps bucking his hips. “Your pussy falling, baby. Are you about to cum?”

  “Y-yeeessssss.”

  “Did I tell you that you could cum?”

  “W-whaa …?”

  Without warning, he pulls out and plops onto his back. His dick is completely glazed with our sex juices. “C’mon over here and clean me up, Ma.”

  Eager, I crawl to him and sink my mouth down over his shaft. Chocolate and honey. I’ll be lucky if I don’t go into diabetic shock.

  “That’s it. That’s a good girl.” Keston pulls my hair up into a ponytail with one hand and reaches over to slide his fingers into my pussy with the other. “Make sure you get every drop,” he says.

  While my tongue is mopping him up, Keston finger-fucks me to another orgasm. I scream out while his dick is halfway down my throat. I gag, choke, and spit all over his shit. Even then there’s no rest. He pops me on the ass and instructs me to climb up. Now that I’ve been stretched open, my body swallows him easily. Once I’m on top, Keston crams his finger with my pussy juices on it into my month and orders me to suck and buck at the same time.

  Beneath my bouncing breasts, I peep out the big-ass smile spread across his face and know that he is having just as much fun as I am. It’s blowing my mind how much we’re synching together. Our bodies act and feel as if we’ve known each other our entire lives.

  For the rest of the night we fuck like dogs—literally. I’ll get a nap in and then we’ll go again. I’ve never met a man who has this much energy. Keston is always careful not to cum until he’s ready. When he does, it’s a full load blasting all over my flat abs and tits. It’s hot, sticky, and sweet.

  “How do you feel?” he asks, massaging his cum into my skin with the bottom of his dick.

  “Wonderful.” And it ain’t a lie. Shit. I feel like a brand-new woman with my pussy still creaming like a muthafucka. After that, I just pass out. Vaguely I think I hear a cell phone going off. Keston answers it, mumbles a couple of words, and then curls back against me with his sausage dick resting between the buns of my ass.

  When I wake up the next morning, the bed is empty and there’s money on the table. “No, the fuck he didn’t.”

  Chapter four

  “The return of the Jackal? Law enforcement is baffled by a string of bank robberies in the Atlanta area leaving the calling card of the Jackal, the eighties bandit that’s still at large and wanted by the FBI. The thief—or thieves—targeted what were once described as the impenetrable vaults at the Wells Fargo branch downtown. Early reports estimate the robbers getting away with more than ten million in cash….”

  Jonathan Banks shuts off the television with his remote and turns with a smile toward his life-long friends Rawlo, Tremaine, and Mishawn. “The Jackal. When was the last time you heard that name on the evening news?”

  “Looong time,” Rawlo says, nodding with an equally large smile before tossing down his cards. “I fold.” He pushes back his chair and moans and groans as he unfolds his arthritic frame from the metal chair. “I’m going to go take a piss.”

  “I fold too,” Mishawn says, tossing down his cards. “I never understood why we all agreed to being called the Jackal in the first place. There’s four of us. Shouldn’t it have been ‘the Jackals'?”

  “I’ll call.” Tremaine pushes a couple of poker chips forward and looks downright pleased with his move. He looks up. “What? What’s going on?”

  “TREMAINE.” Jonathan thumps the table and then points at Tremaine’s ear. “Turn up your hearing aid. We’re discussing something important.”

  “Huh? Oh. Hold on. Let me turn up my hearing aid.”

  Jonathan and Mishawn roll their eyes while Tremaine fiddles with the volume on his hearing aid.

  “All right. Now what were you guys saying?”

  “Why the hell do you always turn that damn thing down?” Jonathan snaps.

  “My bad. My bad. I focus better when I don’t have to listen to all that trash talk Rawlo be spitting. Now what are we talking about?”

  “The Jackal,” Jonathan says. “Our name was mentioned on the news.”

  Tremaine’s brows dip. “What the hell for?”

  “Some copycat robberies going on around town,” Mishawn says. “I guess we’re supposed to feel flattered.”

  “What, you’re not?” Jonathan asks. “We finally got some people out there respecting how the real game is played. None of that smash-and-grab bullshit these young cats be doing nowadays. I mean, anybody can just run into a bank and point a gun. Where is the damn skill in that?”

  Tremaine and Mishawn bob their heads in agreement.

  “The game is man against machine. In our heyday, how many people got hurt?”

  “None,” Mishawn answers.

  “That’s right. Wasn’t no need to. We get in and get out. We got our money and they got insurance. Clean—no fuss, no muss. All we did was bruise a few egos who thought they were smarter than us.”

  “True. True,” Tremaine says. “Those were the good old days.”

  Rawlo stomps out of the bathroom still spraying the Lysol can. “Yo, Jonathan, you got some chips up in here? A nigga getting hungry.”

  “Check the cabinets.” Jonathan shakes his head. “That muthafucka be putting a hurting on my grocery bill.”

  Mishawn chuckles under his breath. “That’s why I never invite his four-hundred-pound ass over to my house. He’s like a human garbage disposal.”

  They all get a good laugh at that.

  “What’s so damn funny?” Rawlo asks, walking back over to the card table.

  “Nothing,” Jonathan lies. “Whose turn is it?”

  “YOURS!”

  “All right. Damn.” Jonathan drops his hand. “Two pair. Aces high.”

  “Shit.” Tremaine tosses down his cards. “Two pair. Jacks high.”

  “Better luck next time.” Jonathan reaches out and drags all the chips back over to his side of the table.

  “So who do you think it is?” Tremaine asks. They look at him, confused. “The new Jackal on TV. Who do you think it is?”

  The boys all stretch back in their chairs. Rawlo’s chair makes a loud crack, and for a whole second they wait to see if it will dump him on his ass. When it doesn’t, his face splits into a wide smile.

  “It could be anyone,” Jonathan finally answers. “It’s not like we have our ears on the street like we used to.”

  “True,” Tremaine concedes. “Not like the good old days.” A palpable silence drifts over the table. “I kind of miss it.”

  Everyone’s head bobs just as the doorbell rings. Jonathan huffs out a long breath and gets up from the table, but his face lights up when he answers the door.

  “ROBYN!” He throws open his arms, and his baby girl walks into his embrace with a wide smile.

  “It’s Jordan now.
How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  He groans and waves off her comment. “As many times as I’ve told you that you can be Jordan with your stepfather. You’re Robyn when you’re with me. Now come on in here.” He gestures her into his small apartment and then closes the door behind her. “Your grandmother’s name was Robyn.”

  “I know. I know.” She waltzes farther into the cramped apartment and spots her play uncles at their usual poker table. “Hey, guys.”

  “HELLO, ROBYN!”

  She cocks her head at them, and they all snicker. “You told them to do that,” she accuses her father.

  “I did no such thing.” Jonathan waves her off, pecks her on the cheek, and then returns to his poker game. “So what brings you by?”

  “The news,” she answers honestly. “Everyone is buzzing about this latest robbery by someone—or a group of people—calling themselves the Jackal.”

  Jonathan turns a smug face toward his friends. “You don’t say?”

  Jordan walks over to the table and props a hand on her hips. “Don’t play crazy. One thing older people do is watch the news.”

  Mishawn clears his throat. “We … might have heard something about it.” He shrugs. “We didn’t pay it no mind or nothing.”

  “Nope,” the other men chorus at the table.

  She eyeballs them. “Didn’t pay it any mind?”

  Four gray heads shake.

  Seeing how hard she’s studying them, Jonathan cracks up. “What? Surely you don’t think we’re running around town robbing banks again, do you?”

  The four buddies crack up.

  “We’d have to change our names to the AARP bandits.” Mishawn chuckles. His weak eyes are four times their normal size behind his thick bifocals.

  “No worries,” Jonathan says, winking at his daughter. “Your old man is still on his best behavior.”

  “Good.” She leans over and places a kiss against his cheek and then turns back toward the door. “I gotta head on to work. I just came by to check on you.” She turns, and on the back of her black jacket are the bright yellow letters DEA.