Morgan pressed flat hands to the bodice of the ball gown and sighed.
“Can we get a smile, Morgan?” Christiana said.
Morgan looked at her reflection and then at her future mother-in-law, who sat behind her, legs crossed at the ankles, and wearing vintage Chanel.
She gave up a tight-lipped smile, a disingenuous leer, and the cameras flashed. This wasn’t what this moment was supposed to feel like. She was almost sure of it. Her eyes watered.
“The bride is crying,” the journalist cooed. “Aww, this will be amazing for the viewers.”
“Morgan?”
Aria’s voice was so soft that it almost got lost in the excitement of the others in the room.
Morgan’s eyes met Aria’s in the reflection of the mirror.
“Uh-uh, she needs a minute,” Aria said, standing.
“Well, unfortunately, she doesn’t have a minute. The Free Press opened up their entire schedule to be here,” Christiana stated as she sipped champagne from the crystal flute.
“It’s cute that you think I was asking,” Aria stated. She stood. “Everybody get the fuck out. Out, out!” Aria said.
“How about we just take a beat?” the photographer suggested. The staff from the newspapers exited the room, heading back to the main floor as Christiana stayed seated.
The dead stare Aria placed on Bash’s mom was enough to make her rise from her seat.
“I suppose I should go smooth things over with them,” Christiana said.
“Mmm-hmm,” Aria said.
When they were alone, Morgan caved.
“I need him!” Morgan cried.
“Okay, Mo, I’ll call Ethic,” Aria whispered. “I don’t even know why you’re here trying on dresses. You haven’t even told yo’ fine-ass daddy.”
“Ewww, Aria!” Morgan protested.
“I’m just saying.” Aria snickered. “If you’re afraid to tell him, it isn’t right.”
“I’m not talking about Ethic,” Morgan whispered.
“Who are you—”
“Ahmeek,” Morgan whispered. “I need Ahmeek.”
Aria’s eyes widened.
“Please call him,” Morgan whispered.
“Morgan!” Aria exclaimed. “What is happening between you and Ahmeek? He hit that one time! You think he’s going to come running up in here after one time? What you sitting on, girl? Is your whole damn vagina dipped in gold?”
“It’s dipped in Ahmeek, bitch. Get him here now,” Morgan answered.
A knock at the door interrupted them. “We really need to continue,” Christiana said, peeking in.
Aria looked at Morgan. “I will chase these motherfuckers out of here right now,” Aria said. “Just say the word, sis, and I’m stepping.”
“I’m locked in this goddamn castle,” Morgan whispered. “Just take my phone and drop my location. He’ll come.”
* * *
“Nigga, open your mouth,” Isa said as he gripped the collar of the man on the floor before him.
“Bro, please, man,” the man sniveled.
“Now you begging, nigga? Now you showing respect?” Isa asked. He bit into his bottom lip as his fist crashed into the man’s face.
“Meek, man, please!” The call was desperate like he needed someone to intervene.
Ahmeek stood behind Isa, one leg propped against the wall as he held his cell phone in one hand. He held out his other hand. The word Flint was spelled out in ink on his fingers. He balled his fist, flexing it, casually, calmly. Without looking in the man’s direction, he said, “Nigga, you know the rules. They’re clear. We putting whole loaves of bread on your table, and you thieving, nigga? You still running around the kitchen scrounging for more. Stealing crumbs. Like a fucking rat, just getting what the fuck you can,” Ahmeek stated. “Beg God, nigga; don’t beg me. I don’t save lives, I end ’em, homie.”
Isa stuffed a handful of Xanis in the man’s mouth. “Swallow that shit, nigga, before I blow your head off,” Isa stated.
The next step should have been death. They were an unforgiving crew, but when Morgan’s name appeared on Ahmeek’s phone screen and he viewed the pin she had sent, revealing her location, Ahmeek’s plans changed instantly. He could get to her, or he could finish this business. Cleaning up a body would take all day. He only had a small window of opportunity to see Mo, and his gut told him that she couldn’t wait. His intuition urged him to drop everything. There had been no message behind the location. No words, just coordinates.
“Yo, Isa, we out. Let the nigga breathe,” Ahmeek stated. “Looks like your prayers were answered, G. Tighten up.”
Isa asked no questions. He pushed the man to the ground, and they stepped over him as they walked out of the warehouse.
“Since when you giving niggas second chances?” Isa asked.
“I got other business,” Ahmeek answered. “I’ma get with you.”
He climbed onto his bike, wishing he had time to stop and switch to his car. If Morgan wanted to leave with him, he preferred the safety of four wheels. Walking light and such meant he had to think of all possibility of danger. Caring for someone like Morgan meant taking no risks with her at all, but there was no time. He hit the highway as his mind did circles, thinking of the reasons why she had ignored all his efforts to reach out since Vegas. He had called and sent texts, only one a day, because anything more would give her proof that he was pressed. It would show her that he hadn’t slept, that she lived in the back of his mind, and that he had replayed the vision of her sitting on his tongue in his mind on repeat. He had turned down women for three days just because they weren’t her. He had it fucking bad for her, and it bothered him because the fact that she could go three days without calling him meant she had the power. All the cards were in her pretty little hands. When he pulled up to the address on his screen, he frowned. The wedding dress boutique threw him for a loop. He parked his motorcycle directly in front and removed his helmet before climbing down.
When he entered, he spotted her instantly. White dress, veil hanging from the crown of her head, standing on her tiptoes.
“Hi, can I help you?” a woman asked as she eyed him curiously.
“Nah, baby, you can’t. She can help me. Only her,” he answered, voice a ghost of his normal baritone as he stood there, enchanted by the fucking blessing that was Morgan in a white dress. His heart ached, and he took steps in her direction until her eyes lifted in the mirror, discovering his presence. The only thing missing from her face was happiness. She had the dress and the tiara and all the makings of a bride, but that smile was missing. As soon as she saw him, it appeared. Morgan startled him as she came down off the pedestal she was standing on. She ran barefoot across the store and into his arms.
“Get me out of here,” she whispered.
“Morgan!” Christiana called after her. Aria stepped in her path, blocking her as Morgan ran out the door in the white wedding dress.
Morgan lifted the dress, balling the mountains of fabric around her waist as she hopped onto the back of his bike. He placed the helmet on her head.
“Morgan!” Christiana shouted as she emerged from the shop.
“Go, go!” Morgan urged. Ahmeek kicked off the stand and rotated his throttle before taking off.
Morgan laughed in his ear as she held on to him. “I can’t believe I just did that!” she shouted.
Ahmeek chuckled as he carried her all the way to Detroit. To his loft. The one she wanted to redecorate and make her own.
Morgan climbed down, and Ahmeek reached for the tips of her fingers, catching his pinkie to hers and then pulling her into him. Morgan beamed as one hand caught her chin and he tipped her neck back, forcing her eyes to meet his. He held her prisoner there for a beat before kissing her.
“Are the twins with him?” he asked.
“Not anymore. Aria sent a text to Alani and Ethic to pick them up from him. When she texted you, she texted them too,” Morgan answered.
He nodded. “Come on,” he
said, leading her into the building.
They stood on separate sides of the elevator. Him basking in all his cool and her letting her nerves eat her alive. She was questioning everything in this moment. If she left Bash, her life would be ruined. Everything she had worked hard for would be gone in the blink of an eye, but she would have Ahmeek. Or would she? Would he stick around, or was this just something fun for him to do in the moment? Morgan was unsure of so many things, and her bond with Ahmeek was too new to question his intent. She didn’t want to scare him away.
“You’re beautiful, Mo,” Meek complimented. “Like for real. Not on no bad-bitch shit, not on no face-full-of-makeup shit. Just fucking stunning, yo. I lose time looking at you, love. You just take niggas hearts and eat ’em for breakfast, Morgan Atkins. Fucking playing games with me, yo.” He scoffed and shook his head like he was her latest victim, like he didn’t even know how he had let it happen.
Morgan’s entire body warmed. It was statements like that … the way he looked at her … the way he spoke to her … any thought she had about making a mistake with him was erased.
“How long do I have you?” Ahmeek asked.
She shrugged. “How long do you want me?” she countered.
He finessed his beard and crossed the elevator. “You don’t want me to answer that, love,” he whispered. “I answer that and you’re never going back.”
He placed his hands on the wall behind her and leaned into her. Morgan didn’t even wait for him to ask this time. She gave up her lips without protest. No permission needed. They were his, so why ask? Who asked to ride their own bike anyway?
The elevator opened to Ahmeek’s penthouse, and Morgan stepped out first.
To her surprise, the wallpaper in the foyer was gone and replaced with gray paint and white trim. She looked at him in shock, but he pushed forward into the loft like it was no big deal.
The frill of the huge gown was cumbersome as she followed behind him. “I think I just stole a ten-thousand-dollar gown.” She laughed.
“Call the boutique and put it on my card,” Ahmeek said. He reached into his back pocket and removed his wallet, removing his credit card. He held it out for her.
“Just like that, huh?” she asked.
“Just like that,” he answered.
“Aria has my phone,” she said.
He tossed her his without a second thought. “Code’s the same—1128,” he said, just in case she’d forgotten.
Morgan didn’t even feel the need to snoop as she unlocked his phone. He gave up pertinent information without falter. It made her not want to look. She placed the call, paid the boutique, and then tossed his phone back to him. He spent the ten bands like it was ten dollars, without a second thought.
“Now can you help me out of this?”
She turned her back to him and moved her hair out of the way. Ahmeek arose from the couch and placed hands on her hips before placing his lips to the back of her neck.
“Nah, keep it on for a little bit,” he said.
Ahmeek pulled out his phone, and he pressed Play.
The sound of guitar strings played throughout the loft. She turned to him, and he stood in front of her. Towering over her. Taking her fingertips and lacing them with one hand. The slightest touch from him made Morgan quiver.
Never thought that we would ever be more than friends
Now I’m all confused cuz for you I have deeper feelings
“Halfcrazy.” Musiq was singing her emotions, except she was more like full crazy. She was too invested in Ahmeek. All in. So involved.
Cuz my mind’s gone halfcrazy cuz I can’t leave you alone
They didn’t even dance. They just stood there, his hand on her face, her eyes locked on his as the words to the song did all the work. She could see the confusion in his eyes. The turmoil.
“I missed you,” she whispered.
“That’s what your mouth says, Morgan Atkins, but you ain’t hit a nigga line,” he said.
“I couldn’t, but I thought about you. God, I thought about you every second. I’m here now. Can we just be here right now? In the present? Just me and you?”
Their kiss lasted forever. The song played five times and they never tired. It was like she had him back in middle school where somehow kisses were enough.
“Can I see your phone?” she asked out of the blue. He frowned but handed it over. No checking it first, no clearing things she couldn’t see from it. Just transparency. She typed for a few seconds, and then the song changed.
I see your face when I close my eyes
She tossed the phone to the table and lifted mischievous eyes to him.
“Ro James,” Ahmeek said.
She nodded.
“You want to dance to Ro James,” he assumed.
Morgan shook her head. “I want to fuck to Ro James,” she whispered.
“Pretty-ass mouth … dirty-ass lips,” Ahmeek whispered.
“Got to shake shit up sometimes. Give people what they don’t expect.” She smiled. She turned her back to him and held up her hair.
All day I dream about sexing you
“Get this off me.”
This time, he complied. He kissed her neck and then slid the zipper south, his lips following, kissing every inch of her back that was revealed on the way down. By the time the dress fell to the floor, Ahmeek was on his knees, hands steepled because he wasn’t a liar. He prayed before he ate. He followed Morgan as she swayed her hips from side to side, riding that beat like only she could. She felt the sting of his hand. A smack. He couldn’t help it. She had so much to appreciate.
He placed a hand on the small of her back and then pressed down, bending her over. Morgan placed her knees on the couch and Ahmeek devoured her from behind.
“You’re going to spoil me, Ahmeek,” she groaned.
“Every fucking time I see you.” He had to mumble the words because he had a mouthful. The delicacy between her thighs marinated on his tongue. She was like wine. You had to let it sit for a few seconds, let it breathe on your taste buds, taste the notes behind the initial flavor before you swallowed. Morgan reached for him. She had indulged in him twice, and neither time had she tasted him. That couldn’t happen a third time. She turned and sat on the couch, destroying his cushions with her wet, staining them, but neither cared as she reached for his jeans. When he was in her hands, she couldn’t help but lick there. Morgan didn’t repel at the taste of him; the anticipation of her had him coated in need. A little pre-cum on the tip of him that Morgan took her time cleaning up.
“Ohh shit.” Ahmeek wrapped four fingers around her neck. He lifted one leg onto the couch and tensed into her. He was a head connoisseur, but he didn’t know if he had ever had better. Sight alone. His strength between her pouted lips, that tongue going to work, her face tensing as she tried her hardest to slay Goliath, gagging on that thang, spitting on it, as those pretty fucking short, French-manicured tips Hula-Hooped on his length. She was the fucking best. The fact that she was never supposed to be on her knees for any man but was here before him, submitting to him, made Ahmeek’s prowess heighten.
“Mmm, so good, boy,” Morgan moaned. She moaned like she was receiving instead of giving, and it made him want to give … made him want to be benevolent.
“Lie down, love,” he whispered as he moved her hair out of her face. Morgan had a mouthful, and she didn’t stop. “Morgan.” She looked up. Her name on his tongue barely even existed. It was always love, sometimes Ms. Atkins, sometimes first then last, but never just Morgan. It caught her attention, and he stared at her for a beat before lowering to his knees. She sat on the couch and he pulled her to the edge before one thumb exposed the source of her pleasure. “Tell me what you want, Mo.”
“Eat my fucking pussy, boy, and stop playing!” she cried. He snickered and lowered his head. Morgan saw God. He pushed her legs to her ears, exposing everything, folding her thick ass up in a pretzel as he mopped her up. Tongue everywhere, he plugged her leak, eating h
er with a hunger she didn’t even realize he had for her.
“Mmm, damn, love,” Ahmeek groaned.
Morgan loved how vocal he was. If he liked it, he said it. If he couldn’t stand it much longer, he announced that shit like he were the captain flying high and he was warning his passenger about turbulence. Morgan felt his tongue in places where tongues didn’t belong, and her eyes closed.
This nasty-ass fucking … shiiit!
Then she felt her body stretch because no way was she built to take a dick so long and wide. He dug fingers into the cushion of her ass and pulled her cheeks apart, went deep, then pushed them together, smothering his dick as he pulled out. It seemed like he was withdrawing forever, all the way to the head, fucking inch after inch, then …
“Agh!” Morgan screamed as he pulled her hair with one hand and gripped one hip. Bracing for impact, Morgan tensed. He felt her apprehension, and he pulled out. His lips touched her back. Then her ass.
“Relax, love. It’ll never hurt with me,” he whispered.
Morgan exhaled her tension, and then he kissed her clit. One time. A quick peck like he was coming back to it again soon, then he split her pink again. Morgan’s sex pushed out air, farting, because he was so big he had left her vacant. Now he was moving in, now he was knocking down walls, and Morgan shouted as she reached for her clit. He could press the accelerator and she would steer. Morgan’s fingers were soaked as she rubbed and he stroked.
Her brow crashed, her mouth fell open, and she reached behind her body, grabbing his neck as she trembled.
“Let that shit go,” he whispered. Her sex throbbed around him, massaging him.
“Damn, baby. Throw that shit at a nigga,” he groaned. Morgan’s body was making all types of noise. Pussy farting, ass clapping, throat-trapping grunts of pleasure, and then whines of delirium sneaking out. He pulled her up onto his lap, and Morgan reached both hands behind her body, pulling his head to her ear. “Talk to me, Ahmeek,” she whispered.
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