Black Queen, Dark Knight

by Amarie Avant

  I can’t see myself placing this woman in the hands of the Devil, and there’s no fucking way I’m returning to the girl’s impoverished home country, I try banking on technicalities. “I don’t babysit. Ava, you of all people know I don’t take assignments with kids.”

  “I understand. There’s no need reiterating, Jagger.” Ava nods slowly. “She’s 22, and by American standards, a legal adult. Your age limit stipulation doesn’t work here. Take the assignment to keep your life.”

  Fuck, I feel bad for the girl. She’s wasted countless years on education and is not yet at the finish line. To uproot her from the only life she knows and move her to Zihula… I can’t see her as a gold digger. It’d be a dream for a lesser woman, who didn’t mind sharing her marital bed. What the fuck am I even deliberating this shit for? I’ve got to figure a way out of this assignment. I growl, “I don’t want it, Ava! Join me in the shower or leave.” I start to walk backward toward the door. When I turn around, a three-story double door welcomes me. I reach over, open both, and proceed walking onto the Madagascar wood flooring in the foyer.

  “Benson, I’ll return shortly.” She tossed over her shoulder.

  I cock a grin while passing over a stream filled with the red and white Lionfish that I captured from the Indo-Pacific.

  “Oh, so you’re not going to tell me to watch my step?” Ava takes a measured move past the stream, which also doubles as my first line of defense. Who needs a watchdog when an intruder can accidentally stumble into the tiny rivers that travel throughout my home? Too bad she didn’t, it’s been ages since I watched someone die in this manner.

  “No, Ava.” I turn around. “I assumed you were smart enough to stay on guard around me.”

  “If you signal for your birds, I will kill–”

  I cut off her threat by slamming our mouths together. My mouth bruises her lips, while I grip the back of her neck, effectively shutting her up just as I planned. Her fingers grip on my biceps. Blood pours at her will.

  “You want to play rough?” I ask, as my fingers dig painfully into her neck, but not nearly as damaging as she just assaulted me. I force her to her knees. This isn’t about feelings. This is about release. Pure animalistic fucking. The two of us weren’t made for love.

  My eyes zero in on the diamond and silver embellishments of her fingernails. “Take those off!” I demand.

  “Oh, but I thought we loved to fight-fuck, Jagger. There’s nothing like violent sex,” she countered, making no move to follow my demand.

  “Off,” I growl.

  Frowning, she complies and unclips the jewels. To thaw her out, I decide to tease her a little bit. I unbutton and then slowly unzip my jeans, push them down, and just stand there for her to look her fill. Ava’s icy cold glare warms over as I finally fist my cock into my hand. She moans in delight, yet she hasn’t even had her first taste.

  Silky fingertips caress the thick veins at the base of my cock; her thumbs rub the engorged length.

  “I’ve never seen a cock so huge! Humongous,” she says, glancing up at me. Her eyes hold a sparkle of innocence that I’ve only seen when she’s holding my dick.

  Ava closes her mouth over the head of my erection. Her lips widen to capacity as her warmth pulls me in. It feels so damn good that all the pain in my biceps is momentarily flushed from my mind. Her mouth widens even more, drawing me in deeper. The back of her throat does this mind-blowing, titillating phenomenon, where her tonsils alternate from squeezing the head of my dick to banging against it.

  Ava watches me as her pink lips glide back and forth over my thick piece. It takes her forever to travel the length of it. She loves going slowly as she watches me watching her.

  She’s in a zone, mouth so moist it’s begging me to cream all down her throat and glaze those luscious lips. Her fucking eyes are begging for me to cum, too. Ava’s sucking slows down further, as her tongue gets to twirling around my heavy shaft. The feeling of the pink of her tongue, blazing across the deep veins of my cock, is out of this fucking world. Then the full and consuming warmth is back, as Ava deep throats me once again.

  A low growl vibrates against my tonsils. Sensing my seed is on its way, Ava gobbles even more of my cock down her throat. She’s ready for it. Desperate, even.

  My balls clench. With a wide-legged stance, my toes stiffen and curl. Powerfully, my warm, thick semen explodes down her throat. She moans at the taste, causing me to cum longer, harder.

  Those thick lashes of Ava’s flutter upwards and her aqua eyes now sparkle with satisfaction. She opens wide, exposing a mouth full of my cream, before tossing her head back and letting it all slide down. A grin brightens her usually serious face, as Ava’s tongue darts out to lap up the remainder of seed from my cock.

  “You think I’m done with you, eh?” I question, reaching down, my hand claiming the silk of her neck. I offer a little squeeze; just enough to momentarily jump-start her heart. I pick Ava up like she weighs next to nothing, and her lithe legs wrap around my waist.

  I’ve got it. My mind is made up. I carry her over the glossy wood floors, sidestepping even more streams of poisonous fish, and then up the floating stairs. As the sun shines in through the glass windows, I decided I’ll fuck Ava Sinclair until she expunges the information which ties me to the case, and then she can send it to some other poor unfortunate soul.

  In my bedroom, there are coal canvas paintings. For a moment, I consider tearing back the black and white canvas with a hummingbird on it, grabbing my other Magnum, and just shooting her down instead, as I had left my usual gun downstairs in our distrust of each other. Instead, I chose to toss her onto my custom-made bed. Ava’s body sinks into the white feather duvet.

  She giggles, somersaulting into a seated position. “Jagger, you can do anything to me right now, anything…”

  I step toward her, gripping her white blazer, and pull. The buttons ping-pong off me before scattering across the glass ground, where my stingrays swirl and dive beneath us. I know that her smoothly shaved pussy is quivering; it’s done that on many occasions when I’ve rubbed my cock over it. Now she’s before me, in nothing but her trousers. Her perky pink tits are erect. I bend down, nibbling on one as I reach my fingers out to grip her waistband, I take pleasure in the sound of it shredding in my bare hands. Ava doesn’t waste her time with under clothing. I throw the shards of material over my shoulder, and cup my hand over her silky soft pussy.

  “I’m going to kill… this pussy,” I tell her.

  My mouth salivates as I remove my palm from her cunt. My thumb roams over Ava’s freshly waxed folds. I hike her legs back over my hips, taking her into my arms. The head of my dick glides against her slit and then I slap it against her clit. This causes Ava to take a harsh breath.

  “Jagger!” Her eyes are pleading, begging, but my glare holds her into submission.

  My erection slides around her clitoris. The crown of my penis teases and taunts her little bulb. I crave that sweet juice from her pussy, for it to make my erection grow even more powerful, so I continue to tease Ava a little more. My cock glides, just a little, inside of Ava, causing her to moan. The tip of my dick is glossy when it comes out of her, making her whimper.

  “Mmmmm, Jagger…please, kill my pussy,” she begs. My mouth finds hers, shutting her up once more. Just as my tongue slithers around hers, my cock slams straight in. Hard. Quick. Her mouth opens wide and our tongues continue to twirl. Hips rotating just right, I slam in again and again, her wet cunt soaks my cock just right.

  “Oh Jagger, oh, I love you!” she growls.

  My pupils dilate instantly. Where the hell did that come from! My hands grip her ass harshly, and I fuck her until her voice is raw, until she’s unable to repeat such a lie.

  A long while later, Ava licks my cock clean then lies back beside me. “Jagger, you have a blood oath with X Member Society,” she says, continuing our earlier conversation, as if no time had passed.

  “I haven’t forgotten,” I inform her dryly.


  She begins to caress my hair behind my ear, but I stop her with my hand. We aren’t these types of people, who kiss without it leading to sex. And we sure as hell don’t pet each other. Ava’s eyes plead. “If you don’t take the contract, all the assassins in the country will come after you. Would you like that?”

  “Might make for good target practice,” I say, meaning every word.

  She doesn’t smile. “The assignment will secure you more money than you’ve made in an entire year. You could afford to take apart several cars and make even more…” she grimaces. “Junk,” she decides.

  “Sweetheart, the ride I was working on when you arrived,” I say, “May not look so hot, but it’s bulletproof.” She eyes me in confusion, aware that my trucks and bikes are about as interactive as the fucking transformers. It might not be able to speak or change forms, but the ability to change the color of my rides on the fly have gotten me out of serious binds when necessary. “Once I’m finished with my newest baby, it will be able to climb Mount Everest.”

  “Please…” she begs, throwing me off.

  My gaze trains on Ava. We use brute force. She’s showing weakness. Why? I expected a knife to my throat. I have her naked in all her glory. It’s the perfect time for a woman such as Ava Sinclair to go in for the strike. Why plead? Why give a fuck about me? So, I growl the word, “Why?”

  “You speak the language,” she says, as her weak explanation.

  “That’s irrelevant. The girl has lived in California almost all of her life. I doubt she speaks the language. How about it’s time for me… uh,” I glance around. Our fuck fests are usually at her place. Clearing my throat, I end with, “You to go.”

  “Humph, you are the master at running away,” she criticizes.

  “Get in, do the deed, get the fuck out, is my motto. You make it sound like a flaw?” I retort.

  She cocks an eyebrow. “Alright, Johansson, you know you can’t kick me out. No matter how much you’ve made off the organization, you’d be stupid to think you’re in charge. That you’re indestructible. More important men than you have tried to kick me out of better places.”

  “And they died, Ava.” This is the precise instant I’m waiting for. One of us is supposed to die today. I’ve declined an assignment that my blood oath has bound me to. I’ve broken the rules. My hand trails along the side of the mattress. I look her dead in the eye. “Make your move, Ava,” I demand.

  “Stop waiting for me to try to gut you, Jagger.” She chuckles. “I refuse to leave without your accepting the assignment. So, what do you propose we do? We can’t fight to the death, you don’t hit women.”

  “When my life is on the line, baby, all bets are off.” One of my many Magnums is in my hand. Ava doesn't blink.

  “It’s so pretty.” Her tongue snakes out and wraps around the tip of the revolver.

  “Fuck, only you can make me jealous of a weapon.”

  “I’d suck your cock again, honestly I’m a little sad. Your cock is literally the size of a crocodile, and even though I only got most of it in, I thought I blew your mind. However, you now disappoint me. You have yet to oblige my only request. So,” she sits up, and kicks her legs over the side of the bed. “I have something for you,” she says, standing up.

  Ava’s narrow ass is to me as she bends over to her torn trousers. I cock back the hammer, a subtle reminder of no sudden movements.

  “It’s just a piece of paper!” she scoffs. “You ripped off my pants, Jagger; you would’ve sensed a dagger. I’m sure. One of us could’ve been dead a few hours ago, had I arrived with another member to make the request.”

  The shredded pants fall back to the ground in another messy heap, as she turns to me. I look at her from head to toe. Her nipples are playing peekaboo between her hair, and her perfectly shaved pussy could use another round. But what takes my breath away with desire, is the shiny red paper in her hands. It’s an invitation to a super exclusive Lamborghini sales event. A model that only has approximately 40 a year for sale!

  “Ava? What the fuck can I say, doll? You know me.” Can I truly send Mikayla Bryant to the lion’s den for certain parts of this impeccable car? Rough motherfuckers like me are never granted the opportunity to attend secret purchase events.

  “I’m baffled. Jagger, it’s beyond me that you intend to strip such a beauty and want the supercar solely for the engine.”

  “Yet, that’s exactly what I plan to do,” I agree with a nod.

  I’m going to send Mikayla Bryant to her death…Or maybe her body isn’t as beautiful as her face? Then the prince of Zihula will possibly just send her on her way. Or better yet? She’s drop-dead gorgeous and changes his ways before they reign.

  Mikayla Bryant

  Day of The Going Away Party

  “TODDLER LEFT AT SOCIAL SERVICES CRIES OF MOTHER'S DEATH…” That was the headline in a newspaper clipping of me. Child Protective Services has always been a safe place to drop off babies and unwanted children. But in my case, I was mute other than mumbling over and over, "umama ufile, umama ufile," which took social services some time to figure out I was speaking the South African language of Xhosa. I was mumbling, "My mother is dead."

  The social workers contacted the police and took me to receive a full assessment at the county hospital, even though I had no marks or bruises. I was dressed in a simple shirt, cotton pants, and shoes with the tags on them. No personal effects. Nothing to indicate who dropped me off.

  The article indicated, based on the healthcare specialists assessment, that I was between four and five years old.

  My rich brown eyes were devoid of expression. And the child psychologist, who began to meet with me, determined that I was rather smart. I picked up the English language while coloring and completing other therapeutic activities.

  And a few weeks later, I was no longer the talk of the town.

  I was the angel Earl and Joyce were praying for. The social worker on the case wanted a swift adoption in order for me to develop a bond with a family. My new parents loved me enough to go through the trouble of meeting with psychologists and language therapists. Then there were the nightmares.

  Taking a deep breath, I turn the page from the first photo there is of me.

  “Mama, must you have that newspaper clipping in my farewell photo album?” I ask, sitting back in the breakfast nook.

  “Pft!” My mother grunts while squeezed beside me. We used to fit perfectly in this seat. I was smaller, obviously. She was, too. Our home felt so large the first time I arrived. It’s still just as clean, due to my mother always having a dishcloth and spray bottle in hand.

  “Kayla, that’s the first photo I have of you. If you only knew all the begging Dad and I did to start the adoption process with you the moment I saw that photo, then…”

  I speak up, “The social worker wanted to make sure you were interested in being bothered with me. I was like a baby. But you should've got a really cute, tiny one. Not a big one with issues.”

  “You learned the language miraculously quick. You were absolutely beautiful. I didn’t need to adopt a baby, I adopted an…”

  “Angel,” we said in unison.

  My sigh is heavy, I still prefer the newspaper clipping be tossed into someone’s fireplace.

  My heart melts as I glance at another photo of my younger years. My mother is clutching me for dear life. I was a lot older when I learned why she held me so tightly. She’d tried for years to give birth and wasn’t quite ready to adopt until she saw me in the news. My father stands behind us; he is just as proud in the photo as he was a few months ago during my commencement.

  She bumps my shoulder with her arm. “You better not cry.”

  “We both know you always start with that mess,” I mumble, sniffing back happy tears. I turn the next page of the photo album. A bubble of laughter creeps from my mouth. There’s a photo of me opening a Doc McStuffins Gift. The only problem is that I was 17 at the time. In the photo, my head had fallen back. All you can see
from the picture of my face is my long, lion’s mane of kinky hair. Oh, and pearly white teeth. Hair and teeth!

  “Cree is a fool for this gift,” I shake my head, considering my boyfriend.

  “Yeah, well, he’s been your fool since the two of you were thirteen, fourteen?” she questions, unsure of our age at the exact time. My mother’s voice, though nostalgic, implies it’s time to let go. She leans back against the flowery chair and gives a deep sigh.

  “We were twelve, Mama. And I love him. He’s the perfect man.”

  “You’re young, beautiful, and smarter than anyone I know—baby, I’ve been around the block or two, so that’s saying something. Cree is a good man. God will bless you with the perfect man, once you’re established in your career, long after your residency.”

  She’s mentioning the morals that I abide by. Only, I haven’t broken the news to Cree that this is the end of the line. God, I love that man. With a heavy heart, I exhale and turn the page. I burst into laughter, and it’s enough to mend my heart, for now.

  “I know chronological is the norm for these photo albums, but with so many oddball pictures of you, I had to do it.” My mom smiles her apology.

  I hold a hand over my mouth as I chuckle. “Well, this is just perfect.”

  In the photo my mother is referring to, I was five years old—celebrating my given birthday—and afraid of rodents. Needless to say, my parents wasted a pretty penny at Disneyland. We were in one of the infamous long amusement park lines. Except, it wasn’t to get on a ride. Dad had taken my hand and walked me toward Minnie Mouse, while mom snapped photos. I had on Minnie Mouse ears, shirt, and shorts. I was fatter then—or pleasantly plump. The photo captured me hightailing it from that damn Mouse. In the picture, my thick pigtails are midair. I’m glancing over my shoulder while darting away.