by Amarie Avant
I delight in his response. “You did. Hurt me again please . . .” Hurt me until I cannot think of the shame and guilt of these unwanted thoughts.
7
Jagger
When she begged for pain, my dick got so hard it hurt. Something in me twisted, darkened, needing the driving force of me on top of her, claiming her.
Mikayla is draped sideways across the bed. I penetrate her tight pussy with no remorse, my cock punching her cervix. This one thrust slams all the way to the hilt, causing a gush of wetness to drown my erection.
“Oh my god,” Mikayla growls.
Shit feels so good that I stay there. Deep inside, balls against her asshole. Her chocolate brown eyes go soft, stunned. With one jab I’ve hit that spot, the one that makes her back buck perfectly. My cock has barely gotten a taste of her pussy when she’s squeezing my erection in a succession of tiny orgasms.
“Hold steady,” I order.
She clings to the sheets, being pushed forward with each press, until her upper body is falling off the other side of the bed. Watching her tits jiggle, those tiny nipples perking up for me, I slam into her again.
“Want me to stop?”
“No, no, no . . .” she purrs, forcing her hands back over her head, holding steady onto the floor.
“Now we’re getting somewhere, sweetheart.” No stroking the pussy, just me slamming right in there, sending her legs trembling. I shift my hips, changing angles, causing my cock to be squeezed even tighter
“Fuck, oh, fuck,” she pants. She begs for pain, and so, I possess her with it.
“Want me to slow down?”
“Never!”
“Come on my cock again, sweetheart.” I bite my lip taking it. “Fuck, cum all over daddy’s cock.”
I force her legs wide open to the sides of me, my hands gripping the side of the bed, and I slide all the way out just to glide back into her hot cunt.
“Jagger,” she screams with each thrust.
“That’s right. Tight, sweet, easy pussy.”
I take her so hard that I don’t ever want to exit. My cock is imbedded in the depth of her, and the sweetest thing to me is that I had her first, and I’ll be her last. Mikayla’s walls spasm around me, almost milking me of my cum, but I slide out just in time, dipping down to her sweet feast.
“Jagggggg,” she screams.
Smiling against her wet, swollen lips, I say, “That’s right, keep being easy for me.”
Her thick thighs gyrate around my face. “Come all over my tongue.”
Knowing that Mikayla never takes all my dick without working our way up to it, my tongue overcomes the pain between her thighs with a long, leisurely lick. The sugary taste of her cream invites me in, and I lap up a pool of her orgasms. My blood surges with a fury of hunger. I plant my hands under her ass, grip tightly, and lift, bringing that pussy up to my mouth for easy eating.
“Stttt . . . stop,” she sputters.
Her legs shake. She cums with a succession of falsettos, begging me to stop. The sensations are damn near killing her, and I just can’t stop. This little kitty is addicting.
I climb up over Mikayla again. Her eyes are closed. She’s bound to fall off the bed, so I pick her up.
“Baby, let me keep hurting you,” I tell her, aligning my cock with her swollen lips. Mikayla’s body is like a wet, wilted flower in my arms. The only response she offers is a mew. “Let me keep fucking you. Your voice isn’t raw yet.”
Intently, I wait. Fuck her answer. I haven’t come yet, but it would please me if she agrees.
She licks her lips, eyes shaded, fully satiated. “Hurt me.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” I drag my teeth over her nipples, grating them. I haven’t entered her yet, but Mikayla’s hips slither. She’s ready for more dick. My teeth sink into the hard flesh of her nipple.
“Fuck,” she gasps, voice gone raw.
I place my hand at her abdomen to force her not to wiggle this time. Her tits bounce with each screw. I’m consumed with her taste and by just how beautiful her dark skin is when tinged red from emotion. I’m obsessed with her.
I ground my pelvis against her, deeper than it seems possible, and her pussy consumes my explosive climax. Arms heavy, I fall just beside Mikayla with a grunt. My cock throbs. My balls have never been so empty.
She places a hand over her mound. “Ow, that hurt so good, Jagger. I . . . I love . . .”
“You love me?” I roll up on an elbow, cocking an eyebrow.
“Um, yeah.” She erupts in a fit of giddy laughter. “You screwed my brains loose. And I hope you didn’t break my lady bits.”
I jump from the bed and head into the bathroom to grab a towel. I run it under the hot water and squeeze it out. Hot steam rises from it while I walk back into the room and place it over Mikayla’s pussy. Her eyes are closed. She gives a delectable smile while I cleanse her. Again she says, “I love you.”
Damn, she’d winced while saying the words. Was I washing her to harshly? A thought more sinister churns momentarily in my gut.
Did she need to convince herself of the words?
Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.
“Uh oh, that’s our tour guide.” Mikayla sits up, closing her legs. Again she grimaces while standing, and I realize the thought I had was just a crazy notion. “I’m guessing Trick is ready to show us the town.”
I step before her, stopping her in her tracks as she moves toward the bathroom. Curiosity lights her gaze.
“I’ll thank you later, Jag. You know I will.”
I chew on my lip as she continues to the bathroom, and I head to the door. “Give us a few,” I growl through it.
“Where to first, mate?” Mikayla says from the backseat. Jeans, a vintage, burgundy shirt with holes in it, high heel boots, and no makeup just further attest to how gorgeous she is.
I shove my hand through my hair. “Not you too. Mate this, mate that.”
“Hey, don’t bloody fuck with my bestie.” Trick navigates the streets. “We start with a pub. We always start with a pub when you’re with me. Every sight will be a million times better full bellied and tipsy.”
Mikayla chuckles. “No pubs. Can I get a classy restaurant?”
“Nay.” He shakes his head. “The last one had wine . . . this one . . .”
“You don’t sound reassuring.”
“This one appeared in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban as a bookshop next door to The Leaky Cauldron.” He winks at her through the rearview mirror, and she pumps a fist.
“The fuck you know about Harry Potter?” I arch an eyebrow.
“One must take a day off from torturing and murdering to enjoy the finer things in life.”
We end up at Borough Market, which is a massive shopping center on the southern end of London Bridge. Trick mentions that it dates back to the 13th Century, while popping a cigarette from its box.
“Since Roman times?” Mikayla asks, fascinated. “You pulling my leg, Trick? Because I can consult with my associate, Google.
“My Kayla, I wouldn’t just pull one leg, lass. I’d place and tie all your extremities in the proper direction to enjoy the sight of your—”
Blam. My hand cuffs the back of Trick’s neck, forcing his cranium against the steering wheel. A quick blare of his horn causes the families walking toward the open market to stare our way.
“First one’s free, mate.” Trick relocates his bloodied, broken nose, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Was waiting for you to—”
“Show his balls?” Mikayla sniggers sardonically. “Jag, don’t be a bully. Trick, don’t force his hand because if the two of you start a fight here, I will discreetly walk away. Got that?”
She gets out of the automobile, slamming the door so hard that we lurch a fraction of an inch.
At the market, green steel beams jut and arch above us. There are stations along the massive walkway. The spicy scents of Indian cuisines dominate much of the area, only trailing off for a few other fo
od stops. We walk around, sampling food and fruits. Mikayla snuggles in my arms.
I stop watching the hundreds of people pushing past us to ask her, “You’re cold?”
“Heh, not with you holding me tight.” Her gaze searches mine. “You’re far away, Jagger.”
Highly aware of what she means, I paw roughly at her ass. “No, uthando lwami, I am right here.”
Her hip pops mine.
“There are crowds of people here.” My gaze darkens on a man moving past us without food in his mouth or a bag of fresh vegetables. Each time we pass someone, I have to consider them a threat or not. It’s in my genetic makeup to be on the alert.
“Damn, had I known my boyfriend had one single fear, I would’ve exploited it sooner. Let’s ask Trick if there’s an English version of Disneyland here.” Her hips sway in that beautiful way they do when she starts to strut faster. Before she can catch up with Trick, I clasp her hand and pull her back.
“Please, no more people. I beg of you.” I kiss her forehead. “Murder is a natural way of life for me. I’m not afraid of too many people, Kayla. Just your safety.”
“Don’t be.”
“That’s not possible, Mikayla. For these past two months without you—” I pause hating myself for becoming sentimental in a crowd of people. “I’ve kept my eye on you.”
“Stalker. We have to play that scenario sometime if what you’re saying is true, Jagger.” A full blown, naughty grin brightens her face. “You stalk me good enough; you can have me.”
Trick calls us over to a stand. The creamy cheese permeates through all the other aromas. There she goes, strutting away from me again. I grab her hip this time, bringing her back. Then kiss her softly on the ear. “I can definitely do that.”
8
Mikayla
A second ago, Trick called us over to the grilled-cheese stand, and the lovely aroma was enough to know that I had to take a few pictures for my mother. Growing up with a chef, my weight fluctuated when she introduced a new item on the menu of her southern-cooking restaurant.
Now, Jagger pulls me back to him. “I can definitely do that.”
My entire body trembles at the thought of a stalker scenario. It might sound weird, but given that it’s a fantasy with a man who loves me, why wouldn’t I want to become the object of his obsession?
Reading my mind, Jagger chuckles softly. There’s a weightlessness to his laugh—vastly different from the man who said, “Obey you live, disobey you die,” when we first met. He’s changing. The outward appearance of him is still dangerously delicious. But the inside, it’s warm and fuzzy. As we walk over to Trick, Jagger catches me staring and a slow smirk appears on his face.
I bump his hip again. “Sheesh, I can’t believe how you make me feel.”
Jagger doesn’t respond, but the glow of those turquoise gems tells me that he can’t believe it either.
“Oh, don’t be shy.” Trick takes my hand, breaking our connection and pulls me over into the line. “I’ve been standing here for almost an hour while the two of you tried everything. Sure there’s no pea in the pod, eh?”
“For the hundredth time, I’m not pregnant. There is no room in my life for a miniature Jagger terrorizer.” I glance over the line, which is tediously long before us and behind us as well. Trick was not exaggerating. He’d mumbled about not having too much food in him before we made it to the pub for drinks while Jagger and I started at a relaxed pace, eating morsels of food.
There are iron skillets the size of the equator before us. Blocks of various types of cheese are being shown off on wooden shelves. One of them has a black casing that reminds me of dark fish skin, not appealing at all.
“What’s that one?” I point it out to Trick. Jagger continues to play undercover homeland security.
“That one?” Trick’s British accent is thick, “one” sounds more like “won.”
“Yes, the one that’s wrapped in scaly black fish skin.”
“Bollocks, Kayla, it’s a Swiss cheese, called a raclette. I’ll get us some.”
He seems so excited about it—well, perhaps not in the general sense of the word—jumping down or smiling, yet his rich, black gaze lightens a tad.
When we finally make it up to the front of the line, the cashier tells me more about the raclette. I’m handed a paper bowl with a fork. The potato dish inside has melted cheese drizzled over it and appears to be all the rage.
By the time we make it to the pub Trick has mentioned, I’m leaning back on my wooden chair about to bust. I place my hands over my slightly protruding abdomen and laugh to myself.
“Wot’s so funny?”
My laughter ends on a sigh. “Remember our first buffet, Jag?”
His clear blue eyes light up, and he chuckles.
“Last time I was so full, Jagger and I had known each other for just shy of twenty-four hours. My gut warned me that he was going to kill me, so I asked to go to a buffet for my last meal. We were in Vegas, so if you know what that means, I ate my weight in food that night. And this guy was so restrained, hardly even enjoyed his meal.”
“I did.” Jagger says, picking up his pint. “The only sweets I indulge in are right between those thighs.”
Trick shakes his head, chuckling softly. He lifts his drink to us. “Another cheer?”
I raise the hefty glass of beer that I won’t be able to finish. “To friendship and happiness.”
Trick slaps a hand on the table. “Happiness? So, we’re all taking a gig tonight?”
“Oh, goodness, here we go again.” I place my drink down, neither man had picked up their pints.
“You said to happiness.” Trick tips his glass at me. “Let’s have a little fun. Ohhh, what about the ballerina.”
“What ballerina?” My eyebrow rises.
“It’s nothing.” Jagger takes a pull off his drink, not interested.
A dose of jealousy wraps around my heart. I gesture to Trick who hands over his phone. When I take in the gorgeous girl, the jealousy kicks up a notch. Shit, her lips are seriously kissable! Then I feel sad for her. Is she a murder for hire gig or transport or, I stop to gulp, then ask, “Does she have to . . .”
“Once found, expired,” Trick says simple as that. “But we’ll have fun finding her, maybe she’s hiding away on some tropical island.”
“Alright, Trick, don’t be an ass. Let’s return to my version of fun.” I slide the phone back to him. “The market, the soccer game, stuff like that.”
“Eh.” He shrugs. “Wasn’t a bad soccer game.”
Jagger grips his shoulder before patting it. “You know our friend’s version of fun, sweetheart. Kiddy knives, shit like that.”
Trick doesn’t regard him at all. He measures his words while we’re out in the open. “What if we agree to a gig in which said person is deserving of the consequences. Mikayla, you game?”
“She is not.”
“Juggernaut, there will a come a day when you’re not always around your woman. Prepare her for it.”
“Jagger will not be around much longer because I love Prince Fari.”
Shoulders jolting, I adjust in my seat so as not to bring any undue attention to myself. Trick’s words prompted the voice in my head. White noise funnels into my ears as I watch the two of them bicker, unable to perceive a single word. I’m consumed with the invasion in my brain. I need a friggen lobotomy! I begin to call out for MamLalumi—
“What say you, Mikayla?” Trick inquires, hardened gaze on me now.
I shuffle over my words still transfixed with the sound of the voice in my head, rich like mine, though it cannot be. Not in a hundred million years would I break ties with the beast who saved my life and forced me to love him.
My tongue has untied itself, but Trick stands up from his chair, knocking it over with a crash and turns to the two-seater table behind us, where a solo patron is holding an iPhone up. He appears to be texting. Trick clasps a hand around the man’s wrist so tightly that his white fingertips redden.
“You wanna bloody fucking die today?” Trick’s lips twitch. His smile’s hard.
A trickle of piss from the man’s soiled jeans drips down to the wood floor.
The iPhone in the guy’s hand clatters onto the table. Trick snatches it up.
“W-wot ddd-did you do th-that that for?” The man steals the words right out of my mouth, although stuttering all the way.
“This fucker has been following us.” Trick slams his fist onto the table. “At the bloody pub yesterday morning at breakfast. And I swear I saw him last night when we all came in to the hotel.”
“Ttt . . . tosh!” The man spits out.
Jagger stands, glaring at the man. “Who sent you?”
Finding my voice, I stand up, asserting myself into the growing heated discussion. Too many eyes are on us now. “We need to leave, guys. Now.”
Jagger stalks toward the man who has completed the same act that billions of other people will today, texting on his phone. I don’t recall him on either occasion that Trick is mentioning, and he and Jagger are both too paranoid for my liking.
Back in the car, I lean forward in the backseat in an attempt to ease the tension between us. “Jag, Trick, are you positive that you’ve seen him before?”
“Yes,” Trick grits.
“No.” Jagger admits. “Doesn’t fucking matter, sweetheart. If Trick says he saw him, then we should act. Trick, did you see his car, run his plates?”
Tapping the back of his finger to his lips, Trick stares across the way to Borough Market. We’d almost walked a mile in silence, but it feels like he has tunnel vision, watching the man. “No. I'd hoped it was a coincidence."
“Could be,” I mumble, sans conviction, since there’s an imaginary brick wall separating me from the two of them.
“Trick, you go back to the bar, and ask around about him while I watch Kayla. Next time don’t be such a fucking hot head. We could’ve handled the situation without the added eyes on us.”
For the first time, Trick isn’t spouting off an opposing debate. He nods slowly, grabbing the door handle.