Heist 2 Page 11

  Chuckling, I pop off that pie and flip her ass over before she can even breathe. Ass up, face down, I ease my ten inches inside her sopping pussy through the back and have to fight to keep my eyes from rolling out of my head. It ain’t easy because my baby stay on those damn Kegel exercises. This pussy is tight as a damn drum.

  No doubt, Johnnie hears how my breathing changes up. She flips her hair over her right shoulder and glances back at me with the sexiest damn smile that puts me on the verge of nutting before I even get to the second stroke.

  “What’s the matter, baby?” she asks, wiggling her ass and then throwing it back on me to steal my breath.

  “Wait. Wait.”

  She laughs. “Wait? Fuck that.” She throws that fat muthafucka back again and my damn toes curl. Johnnie gives me a taste of my own medicine as she boss her ass all over my dick and I can’t do shit but hang on for the ride.

  I don’t know how she does it, but each thrust, her muscles tighten. Hands down, this is the best shit ever. But I ain’t no bitch-ass, one-minute nigga; I grunt and growl my way through this until I finally gain control of my body. Once that’s done, I’m smacking and pounding her ass into submission.

  “Damn, baby. That’s my spot,” Johnnie moans. “Ooooh.”

  Ego swoll, I drill deeper and fist Johnnie’s long hair. I pull her head back so that I can see her nasty sex faces. If Johnnie knew who the hell she was really fucking with, she’d have building security toss my ass out of the damn window. Our asses are from two different worlds.

  Johnnie and her family rub elbows with the New York political elite. Both the governor and the mayor are her father’s close friends. Johnnie herself slaves away at a prestigious law firm, stacking a high six-figure income every year.

  “What took you so long to come out here and see me? Hmm?” she asks, purring like a kitten.

  “Ahhh. Ahhh.”

  “You missed this good pussy?” With my free hand, I smack her onion-shaped ass until I see my handprint on her brown skin. “I know you ain’t slinging this good dick to other bitches when you’re on your long excursions.”

  “Oooh. Ahh.” My eyes roll back as I listen to her slick way of interrogating me. Every nigga likes to keep a spark of jealousy in their woman. For one, it shows that they care, but it also makes them work that much harder to keep you in place.

  Johnnie tosses her hair the other way and glares back at me over her left shoulder. “Goddamn. Cat got your tongue?” she asks, pounding hard back on the dick.

  “Damn, baby. You’re going to fuck around and make me come too soon.”

  The booty claps around my shit, giving it a standing ovation. My fat cock glistens in and out of her ass. A beautiful sight that wets up my eyes. There’s nothing more beautiful than two black, sweat-slick bodies making love.

  Then she stops and expertly locks her pussy muscles. “I asked you a question.”

  My nuts shoot up and my ass start stuttering like a muthafucka. “Nah. Nah, baby. You know that there’s nobody but you.” Her pussy tightens again and I lose brain cells. “Ahh. Ahhh. Ahh.”

  “You ready to come?” she asks.

  I can only nod.

  Johnnie releases me. “C’mon, Harlem. Give me all of that nasty candy you got in that muthafucka.”

  While the booty keeps backing up on my shit, my breathing comes out hard and choppy. That shit can only mean one thing.

  “I’m coming,” I announce, pulling her hair back harder.

  “Then come on, baby. Give me all you got.”

  “Yeah? Are you ready for daddy?” I grit my teeth because ready or not here it comes. “Ahhhh.” I whip my dick out and hose her ass down with an explosive nut. The shit is so intense that my shit keeps gushing like champagne. “Oooh. Yeah.” I rub and squeeze my cock’s fat head so I can get every drop out. After that, I rub my still-hard cock in the warm semen on her ass and back and paint myself a Picasso. Shit so good that I get lightheaded and tip over the side and crash into a mountain of silk-covered pillows.

  I don’t know what the hell happened after that. My ass is knocked the fuck out. When my ass comes to the next morning, the California king is empty and the crib smells like coffee, bacon, eggs, and sausages. My baby is definitely wife material.

  Smiling, I peel myself off of the jizz-stained sheets that are sticking to me like glue and make a beeline toward the adjoining shower. Forced to use my baby’s smell-’em-good soaps, I kick off a couple of good notes from Al Green’s “Love and Happiness.” If my niggas saw me now, they’d take away my playa’s card. No questions. But at this moment in time, I give zero fucks.

  So wrapped in my fantasy, I don’t hear Johnnie sneak back in this bitch to jot I luv u on the stained-glassed shower door. When I shut off the shower and see it, I fly higher on cloud nine. I grab a towel and step out of the shower smelling like raspberries and crème. I grab the black velvet box out of my pants pocket from off the floor and then thread my way into the kitchen.

  “Morning, lover,” Johnnie greets, smiling in her sharp lawyer attire: black pencil skirt, white blouse, and hair piled in a high neat bun. But it’s those damn black-rimmed glasses that make me want to grab her by her hair and drag her back into the bedroom, caveman-style. “How did you sleep?”

  “Don’t front. You know you put a nigga in a coma.” I slap my hand on her juicy-round butt and give it a hard squeeze before stealing a morning kiss.

  “Mmmm,” she moans, trying not to spill her pitcher of orange juice.

  I don’t give a damn about messing up her clothes. My dick is hard as fuck. Yet, when I reach for one of her pearl buttons, she pushes my hand away and steps back. “No, no, no. Sorry, baby. I got a big case this morning. We have just enough time for a few bites and then I gotta go.”

  I don’t want to hear that shit and unbutton two buttons anyway.

  Giggling, Johnnie sets the pitcher down and tries a little harder to get me to stop. Less than a minute later, the towel is on the floor, she’s up against the refrigerator, my dick is in her pussy, and she’s clawing my back with her stiletto nails.

  By the time we’re done, the last batch of bacon and sausages are burnt to a crisp and the damn fire alarm is blasting.

  Laughing, I’m yanking the batteries out of all the alarms when Johnnie picks up the velvet box from off the floor.

  “What’s this?”

  I stop and grin at her stunned expression. “What do you think it is?”

  Eyes wide, she pops open the box and gushes. “Ohmigod!” She looks over at me with tears making her brown eyes glisten. “Is this? Are you?”

  Knotting the towel around my hips, I walk over to her and kneel on one knee. “Johanna Robinson, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  She squeals so loud that I’ve got to wiggle a finger in my ear to make sure that she hasn’t punctured the muthafucka.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She drops down onto the floor with me and wraps her arms around my neck so tight that it chokes off my air supply.

  Happy as shit, I plant another fat kiss on her. By the time we leave her apartment, we’re both late as shit. I turn my celly back on after exiting her driveway to see my man Isaiah has already hit me up ten times.

  When I arrive at the texted address, Isaiah is pacing like a caged animal outside.

  “Nigga, where the fuck you’ve been?”

  “Don’t start, man. I’m here, ain’t I?”

  He huffs and tosses down his cigarette and smashes it with his foot. “C’mon. Let’s make this money.”

  I follow him to a van duped to resemble a famous delivery company and climb in. However, we don’t even make it out of the parking lot when we’re suddenly surrounded.

  “What the fuck?”

  SWAT and DEA vans appear out of nowhere.

  Isaiah slams on the brakes in time. “Damn, nigga. Did the muthafuckas follow you out here?”

  “What? Me?”

  My door is jerked open and I’m snatched out of th
e vehicle like a fucking cartoon character and slammed into the concrete. Muthafuckas keep yelling, “Get down,” even though I’m down as far as I can go with two or three boots threatening to crack my spine.

  “C’mon, assholes. You two are under arrest for arms smuggling!”

  1

  Harlem

  Five years later

  We’re at it again.

  Johnnie tastes so good.

  Better than I remember—and up until twenty minutes ago I thought that I remembered everything. Her skin is softer. Her thighs are firmer. And her pussy is tighter. How can that be? It’s been more than five years since we last been together. It was a night filled with so much promise and yet so much regret.

  “Oh, baby. Yeeesss,” Johnnie sighs like the seductress she is while squirming almost in rhythm to the sexiest slow jam in her head.

  “I fucking missed you, baby,” I confess, high off my own emotions.

  “Oooh,” she moans instead of telling me that she missed me, too.

  My high is knocked down a notch, but on her next sigh I’m lost in the mix once again. Sweat drenches our bodies, causing these cheap cotton sheets to paste to our bodies. It’s no worse than this old-ass mattress and flat pillows. We block this shit out and just concentrate on what our bodies do naturally: fuck the shit out of each other.

  “I’m coming, baby,” she pants, digging her nails into the grooves of my shoulder blades.

  “Yeah? Then c’mon, baby.” My hips pick up speed as I watch her toss her thick hair back and forth. A rosy glow stains her normal peanut-butter complexion. Her long legs tighten around my hips while the tight space between her pink walls gushes with more honey.

  “Oh goddamn. You feel so good,” I moan as my toes curl and that good feeling shoots up my entire body.

  Johnnie’s pants climb up the music scale. Her nails become talons across my back. We’re going to come together.

  “That’s it, princess. Come for daddy.” My grip locks on her waist.

  “Oh.” Her legs try to slice me in half. “Oooooh!”

  We’re in the zone, ready to blast off. Three strokes later, she’s screaming up at the ceiling and I’m roaring like a lion to an epic climax.

  Drained, I roll to her right and collapse at the same time, saving her from the brunt of my six-foot-three, two-hundred-plus-pound body.

  “Oh God. That was incredible,” she praises with a smile stretching from ear-to-ear.

  “Yeah?” My chest expands a couple of extra inches.

  She nods and manages not to look at me.

  “HARLEM BANKS, FIVE MINUTES,” a man’s voice blares with static crackling over an old intercom box.

  Damn. I slam my eyes shut as Johnnie rolls over to the opposite side of the bed.

  “Wait. Wait.” I reach for her, but she’s already out and scooping up her clothes from the floor. “What’s your hurry? We still have five more minutes.” I push up onto my side.

  “More like four and a half,” she says, stepping into her panties and still avoiding eye contact.

  I get an uneasy feeling in my gut. Something is up and I’m not too sure that I want to know what. “All right. You got four minutes. Spit it out.” I climb out of the bed with my ten inches swinging as I go in search for my own brand-less white undies.

  Johnnie slips on a matching lace bra to support her voluptuous D-cups.

  “I’m waiting.”

  She pulls in a deep breath and then blurts the shit out. “I’m getting married.”

  Those words hit me with the force of a wrecking ball. “You’re what?”

  She shrugs like we’re fucking discussing the weather. “You heard me. I’m getting married.”

  “Didn’t I just have my dick inside of you less than a minute ago? What the fuck are you talking about?”

  She doesn’t respond.

  I abandon my search for my underwear and storm across the small room to snatch her by her arm. “I don’t hear from you the entire five years I’ve been locked down and then you finally write to request a conjugal visit so you can fuck me and then drop that shit on me?”

  At last her twinkling brown eyes meet my gaze. “I figured, what’s one last fuck for old times’ sake?”

  After a second to let that process, I hiss, “You fucking bitch.” I push her up against the concrete wall.

  She laughs. “Careful. You wouldn’t want me to scream, now would you?”

  “The fuck?” I release her and then assess her with new eyes.

  “Don’t give me that look,” Johnnie says, reaching for her red dress. “It’s not like you didn’t get anything out of it.”

  Since I don’t want to turn my dime bid for arms trafficking into a death penalty, I step back and order myself to keep my hands off of her.

  “It doesn’t feel too good when muthafuckas use you, does it?”

  “I never used you,” I say.

  She slips the dress over her head. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever makes you sleep better at night.” Johnnie attempts to move away from me, but I block her path toward her bags.

  “I didn’t use you,” I insist. “I just didn’t tell you everything. There’s a big difference.”

  “Everything? You mean like your real full name? Or what you did for a living? How about that you had a kid? Or even a wife?” she snaps.

  “We were divorcing,” I bark back. “Not that it was a real marriage anyway. The papers were in process by the time I proposed to you.”

  “Whoo-hoo! Aren’t you a real catch?”

  “Give a muthafucka a break. You think a brother like me could just step up and tell you that his ass is a criminal and think you’d give him the time of day? Damn. Your father was the damn state’s attorney. Now he’s the governor.”

  “That’s right! A brother like you should have never wasted my time, filling my head with a bunch of lies.” Bitterness seeps into her voice.

  The hurt I’ve caused her still runs deep. Believe it or not, the shit gives me hope. Bitterness is an emotion—and any emotion from a woman is a sign that she still cares.

  “Johnnie.” I close the gap between us with one step. “I’m sorry I hurt you. It was never my intention. I love you and as soon as I get out of here I’m going to make it up to you. I got some money waiting for me on the outside. It’s enough to take care of us for a very long time.” I slide my hand gently against her right cheek. “Just wait for me, baby.” I plant a kiss against her full lips. “Can you do that?”

  Johnnie is quiet for a long time—and then she breaks the spell by laughing out loud. “Wait for you? Negro, please.” She shoves me away just as the door’s metal lock makes a loud click and an annoying buzzer sounds off.

  Two prison guards step inside the room. “Okay, you two lovebirds. Playtime is over.” They stop and look at a fully clothed Johnnie and me with my dick still swinging before cracking the hell up.

  “Damn, Banks. What’s the damn hold-up?”

  “I don’t know about him,” Johnnie says, “but I’m ready to go.” She snatches up her bag and marches toward the door.

  “Johnnie, wait.” I start after her, but this time my path is blocked.

  “Hold up, Casanova. Get dressed. We ain’t got all day.”

  I can’t let this shit end like this between me and my girl. “Johnnie!”

  She stops at the door near the other guard. “Thanks for the lovely time. I’ll be sure that the maid of honor drops you a thank-you note in the mail.” She winks and then is escorted out.

  Ain’t that a bitch?

  2

  Harlem

  One month later

  Nana Gloria sits iron-straight with her coarse hair raked back into a tight bun at the top of her head. Her square, black-rimmed glasses slide to the end of her nose as she continuously looks around. It’s the middle of the summer and yet she’s in her favorite sweater with her arms about her like she’s fighting off a chill.

  When I enter the room with my fake smile, she looks up and sighs.r />
  I know that sigh.

  I grew up with that sigh. It’s tiredness and disappointment rolled together. I’m tired of this, Harlem. I’m disappointed in you, Harlem. When are you going to start making smarter choices, Harlem?

  Gliding my long body into the uncomfortable plastic chair, I prepare for this month’s tsunami of guilt she’s about to unleash my way. After taking our measure of each other, we reach for the phone at the same time.

  “Hey, Nana. You’re looking good.”

  Nana Gloria’s groomed left brow shifts an inch higher than her right. “I look like shit and you know it,” she counters, tersely. “I haven’t slept in over forty-eight hours, the electric company won’t give me another extension, the hospital keeps calling about their bill, the insurance company keeps coming up with excuses why they can’t pay the bills while the doctor insists that Tyler needs another operation.” She pauses to suck in a dramatic breath. “I could go on, but the list would take up all of our time.”

  “All right, Nana. I get it.”

  “No. I don’t think that you do,” she says, her bottom lip quivering. “I’m so tired of this mess that you dumped on my lap that I don’t know what to do. I’m at the end of my rope.” Her grip on the phone tightens. “Something has got to give.”

  My head drops a few inches as her every word carves another piece right out of my heart. “I know things are hard right now—and I’m trying to work a few things out to get you some cash.”

  “Some cash?” she asks. “I’m not asking for gas money, Harlem. I could lose the house. You know how hard your grandfather worked to buy that house.” Nana glances around and then leans closer toward the Plexiglas. “Why can’t you just tell me where you have the money stashed? I’ll only take what Tyler and I need to get by.”