Black Queen, Dark Knight

by Amarie Avant

  Her brown eyes stare off into the distance. “Jagger, I just want to sit in a corner and cry. But I’m too logical for this. I’m not…this person. I’m level headed…will you touch me.” Her eyes finally meet mine. “Will you fuck me? I don’t want to think,” she croaks, hand over her mouth as she starts to cry again.

  Fucking her is a bad idea. A very bad idea.

  Damn, maybe I was wrong when I told Ava Sinclair I might be in love with this woman.

  No. Risking my life to save Mikayla’s was loyalty. She has my respect. But I swear before whatever is in the heavens, if I touch Mikayla tonight, there will be no fucking. I’ve tasted her, and I desire to kiss away her tears.

  We will make love.

  I rub the back of my neck.

  Mikayla stands up, pulling off her shirt. “Just fuck me, Jagger,” she says. My eyes are on her lips. My cock, that devil, he is barking and willing to screw her seven ways to heaven.

  The space between us dissipates as she reaches up to kiss me. “Please, Jagger, fuck me,” her words whisper across my mouth.

  She’s kissing me. I’m doing a lousy job of not kissing her back, but damn it I only have some resolve.

  What kind of monster falls in love?

  She paws at my jaw. “You know how to get into my head. You know how to replace logic and emotion and… everything until the only thing that is left is you.”

  Mikayla

  I can feel the numbness that I once begged for as a child rearing its ugly head. Ready to swallow me whole. After a rigorous schedule of a therapist and psychiatrist, I always equated the ending of my nightmares to me.

  A little girl who just got tired of being afraid… afraid of something so sinister that my cognition just flipped a switch.

  Off.

  I remember that new feeling of comfort. Not worrying about if my new family would leave me. Not worrying about other kids’ perception of my slight intonation in dialogue—hell, I learned an appropriate southern California accent.

  But instead of numbing myself, I’d rather Jagger be the remedy. He can worm his way beneath my skin most of the time. And he’s beautiful as sin.

  Blond hair covers a turquoise hot spring for eyes. He shoves a hand back.

  I lick my lips, rise to my tippy toes and savor his mouth. “Jagger, fuck me…”

  His arms are tense at his sides, which is understandable. I’m a mess, maybe we should shower first. But I’m unprepared for the thunder of pain against my chest as he shouts. “No!”

  My shoulders jolt at the force of his shout.

  “Mikayla, you’re angry. Feel that. I don’t want you weak.”

  I retort. “Oh, you can fuck me happy when I’m already smiling then?”

  He stalks back and forth. “We need to talk!”

  “For what? We are two individuals from vastly different worlds, Jagger. We have nothing to discuss.”

  Jagger doesn’t argue with me. My hands ball into fists, elbows locked down at my sides. “I’m taking a shower.”

  Jagger begins to touch me, my shoulder dips and I move away from him.

  I chortle. He doesn’t really want me. This is a game to him. “I’ll assume this door leads to the bathroom.”

  He stares at the ground, mouth set into a hard line. I glance down too disappointed in how I desired to throw myself at Jagger, how easily I thought he could become the antidote to my broken heart. My eyes narrow as I notice the floor is made of glass. Stingrays zip around. Where the hell are we? Jagger had said this was his home, but when I enter the bathroom, I note that it’s even more extravagant than Will Freedman’s villa at Caesars Palace.

  I begin to sniffle before I can stop myself. Don’t do it Mikayla. Jagger had said Qaaim was a murderer. Hell, that’s like the pot calling the kettle back, in Jagger’s regard. When I first encountered Qaaim a few hours ago, a feeling of discomfort surrounded me. I lock the door. Maybe it’s unnecessary, but Jagger should know he isn’t welcome. I force myself to focus on the bathroom. Smooth pebbles surround a humongous stone basin that I assume must be the bathtub. Not to mention the various plants growing around it. A glass encased shower is at the far corner. In another lifetime, the bathtub would beckon me. A friggen dream bathroom, but I chose the shower.

  Minutes later, hot water showers down on my back, and Jagger comes into the bathroom.

  “Didn’t even have to tamper with the lock, Mikayla. My fingerprints can get me into any room, regardless of who wants to keep me out.”

  “Alright, Jag. You won’t fuck me, so what is it that I can assist you with?” I ask.

  “Mikayla, those were…those are your people!” He slams the back of his hand into his other palm. “Your people! Not your uncle’s. You are the rightful–”

  “I am a princess, or so I’ve been told.” I shrug, placing my hand beneath the sensor, creamy white body wash pours down. The scent is aquatic, musky, and clean, all at the same time. Its essence is Jagger, and my eyes begin to prickle as he stands on the opposite side of the glass, glaring at me in disappointment. What the hell is he so angry about? Gulping down the plethora of feelings that swarm my soul, I start to suds up the liquid over my breasts. “I’m a princess of no country. No one takes me seriously. Now, what kind of queen would I–”

  “It’s your right, Kayla!”

  My lips purse somewhat. I’m waiting for him to follow the movement of my hand as it tweaks my hard nipple and glides down my waist.

  “My right?” I cock a brow.

  “Mikayla, you are worth the world…” Jagger’s gaze stays on mine, but I can tell he is drinking me in from head to toe.

  “If I were queen, you’d listen to me, right? Do as you’ve been told?”

  Jagger bites his lip, shoves a hand through his hair, and cusses under his breath, before starting to undress. The shirt goes over his head, and I find myself toying with my clit. All of those muscles, in all their glory, send saliva pooling into my mouth, and a gush of even more wetness streaming down my thighs.

  “Jagger, your chest,” I gasp at the purple bruises, knowing they were new.

  “It’s nothing,” he unbuckles his pants, kicking off his boots at the same time. What’s left is a hard, naked body, chiseled just so, and an ivory carved cock, saluting me.

  Jagger gets into the shower and tastes my lips so sensually, I can hardly stand. He rubs my throat. He reaches down to kiss my lips while moaning. “You are the princess; you will be queen.”

  He moves me toward the marble ledge area, where there’s one shower head coming from the side of the wall. Jagger offers me a seat, and he quietly pushes my legs open. Warm water from the shower trickles down my chest as he readjusts the shower-head which is over my shoulder.

  “Open your pussy for me,” Jagger commands.

  I press my fingers against my labia, bite my lip, and moan at the sensation of water streaming down my pussy. It’s hot, and feels good, but it’s only teasing me. Teasing me with the fact that I desperately want to be filled up.

  Jagger kneels before me, his words are titillating and make me even more hot and bothered as he says, “I’m going to have my taste, Mikayla, and then I’m going to try to remember not to break you, not fuck you too hard, unless you beg me to. I don’t’ mind if you beg me to screw the fuck out of you, Kayla.”

  Throat constricted with desire, I nod, my gaze connected to the warm summer sky that’s his eyes.

  His tongue glides around my clit before his mouth sucks it all in. In ecstasy, my head falls back, and more tears spring into my eyes. Yet the shower still streams down on me. My hips start to tilt, giving more of my pussy to his mouth. Jagger eats me with greed.

  “Oh shit,” I start to scream as his tongue dives deep. I tweak my nipples, offering myself a world of pain to go with the ultimate pleasure he’s offering. I’m preparing myself for the hurt.

  I need the hurt.

  Jagger’s smothering himself with my pussy, his tongue starts prodding at my ass and his nose is lodging
into my lips. I laugh giddily, these new sensations have me delirious. I start to press my ass forward off the ledge and end up with my legs wrapped over his shoulder.

  “Ja… Ja… Jagger…” My tone hits opera octaves as an orgasm breaks me in half.

  Jagger stands up, he doesn’t give me a moments reprieve. His cock slithers around my clit. I slap at him, panting, unable to beg for even a moment. His thick, fat cock thumps at my pussy in response. I grit my teeth from the sparks and wrap my legs around his waist, pulling Jagger into me.

  He feels me so good that I cry out in painful pleasure. I’m still so tight. The spark in Jagger’s eyes tells me that he’s enjoying this. He pounds into my pussy once. Twice. Then settles inside of me, widening me out with the thick girth of his erection.

  ‘I love you’ is at the tip of my tongue. It’s okay to say those words under these circumstances, right? We don’t have to mean them, right? I just barely managed to sniffle back a sob of delight. My body convulses as another wild climax crashes through me.

  He fucks me harder.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I pant. He paws at my breast, squeezing my nipples, while his cock drives in and out of me rapidly. Jagger grips my hips and pulls me up, I cling to him as his biceps continue to pump me up and down.

  “You… tasted… like… fucking… malva,” he growls, each thrust sending mini orgasms sparking along the walls of my pussy. He then burrows his face against my neck, bites me like a damn vampire, all while assaulting my pussy and calling me uthando lwami.

  “Ohhhhh….” I shout.

  “This is my pussy, Kayla,” He grunts, fucking me to the hilt. It hurts so good, his entire cock widening me out for him. Molding me to his magnificent shaft.

  “I’m yours,” I breath against his hair as he continues to lick and bite my neck. Maybe I can’t declare that I love him… Perhaps I do, perhaps I should be declaring my love. But this one thing is true. So again, I tell him, “I am yours…”

  We stay locked in this position as his cock molds the depth of my valley. Jagger’s mouth claims mine, again, in a passionate kiss. He screws me hard once more. His tongue twining around my own, cutting some of the pain I feel from how hard and big his cock is. Until he bursts inside of my pussy. My walls contract, my muscles tightening and shuddering, and begging for all of his cum.

  In this silence, I feel his powerful heart beating against my chest. Lord, we’ve done it all. Let me have him, please.

  Jagger

  The next morning, I’ve spent hours holding Mikayla Bryant closely and contemplating Ava Sinclair’s death.

  “You must be thinking pretty hard,” Mikayla mumbles in a groggy tone.

  I glance down at her, and subconsciously find myself kissing her forehead. “Why’s that?”

  “Your eyebrows are kneaded. You haven’t even blinked once and I’ve watched you for over a minute.” She burrows her face onto my shoulder. “Now, I’m starting to suspect you really are a vampire.”

  I shake my head. “No, I just have a few things on my mind.”

  “Like how we introduce you to my parents, without fully explaining our first encounter?” She raises an eyebrow.

  I bite my lip for a moment. How do we fix that? I instantly consider the X Member Organization. The litigation team can bury anything but for Mikayla’s family a level of justice would need to be served. The idea hits me, if Mikayla’s in agreement, the deaths can be pinned on a potential mark. “I have an idea.”

  “Don’t tell me, yet, Jagger. I still have to call them, and Cree, and Brit, but can we have a day or two that doesn’t involve too much thinking or murder?” she begins to chew her bottom lip. “Well, I’m aware you like murder, but a day without it, while spent with you would be nice, before…we return to reality.”

  She’s staring deep into my eyes. Though I’ve lacked much social stimulation in the past, Mikayla is inferring that ‘we’ will have some sort of future together. Back in Nevada, I thought the same. It didn’t include her past though. It was to be a future of the two of us as assassins. Man, have I grown in a little over a week, but if last night’s altercation between Mikayla’s people and I did not penetrate, then this does.

  She can’t bring me around her family or friends. I rub her crinkly hair and kiss her forehead again. “What do you want to do today?”

  “Doesn’t matter as long as we’re together.”

  ***

  We dress her in a pair of my cargo pants with strings and a shirt and I’m in a pair of army fatigues and an undershirt. I teach her to be mindful of where she steps while heading downstairs.

  “You have killer fish?” Mikayla asks, as she follows me to the garage. At my nod she shakes her head and mumbles, “What happened to the token Rottweiler or pit bull.”

  “I’m not home enough for a dog.” I open the garage door.

  Her bottom lip drops as we step into the display area, where all of my trucks and cars are. Mikayla stops at the Ferrari. “Oh, let’s drive this one. The wind flowing in our hair…”

  I stop at a concept jeep with no doors or roof. “Your hair will flow just the same in this one.”

  “Pft, Jag, you really know how to bring a girl down. I want to ride clean… not–”

  “This one was built by yours truly. Who will you trust the Ferrari, or me, the man who keeps you safe?”

  “In that case, I trust the Ferrari Manufacturer, it’s been around a lot longer than you have, Jagger, no offense.”

  “There’s no engine under the hood, so you can sit around looking pretty all you’d like, Kayla.”

  She gets into the car and dips her head down as if searching through the contraptions. I come to the car, reach down and press the button to open the hood. Then I hold out a hand for her. “Come see for yourself.”

  “You get on my last nerve,” Mikayla grumbles as she takes my palm.

  I help her out with a smile. “Sweetheart, if it's any consolation the engine is right here.” I pat the ride I initially offered her.

  Twenty minutes later, we’re on the dirt road in the concept jeep that Mikayla calls a go-cart. At every bump in the road, Mikayla holds her hand against the steel bar in front of her. I took the unpaved road, so maybe I should I slow down.

  “Let me guess,” she says, “There had to have been an easier way down the hill, right?”

  “Can I keep you on your toes?”

  “You have no problem with bullying me onto my toes, demanding that I face my fears, so … how should I answer this one?” she giggles.

  “I’m going to take you to eat, then we’ll grab groceries and clothing for you.”

  She beams. “The fundamentals are important, and I appreciate that. What else do you have in mind, Jagger? You’re not a simple kind of guy.”

  “We’ll finish off the afternoon with a little sightseeing.”

  ***

  My ride looks like a heap of junk in between import, luxury vehicles on the street. But when pull into the lot for Nkechi Café, it’s clear that most of the tourists stay away from this joint. I take Mikayla’s hand and help her from the contraption. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “I know,” she grins, then the outline of her beautiful breasts rise for a deep breath. “This place smells divine.”

  Inside, not one chair matches another. The place is filled with locals, laughing and chatting at their tables.

  Ms. Ghanda, the chubby owner, with silver dreadlocks and apron on, greets me at the door in Xhosa, “Molo wenza njani namhlanje, Jagger–How are you doing today, Jagger? Ixesha elide ndingakuboni–Long time no see.” She eyes Mikayla with approval while asking me who she is.

  “My friend, Mikayla Bryant,” I respond in English.

  “Well, you are a beautiful lady, Ms. Mik–Princess! Princess Mikayla!” She pulls Mikayla into a hug, and then lets her go and begins to bow.

  “Please don’t,” Mikayla stutters. “I’m not… I’m… just Mikayla.”

  “I was a servant for your mother,” Gh
anda’s voice breaks with each word. “When she died, I left the palace, I could not stay there.”

  “I’m sorry, we’re just very hungry,” Mikayla says.

  I grit my teeth but agree. “Ghanda, please, a table.”

  A while later, we’re seated. Ghanda hasn’t taken offense to Mikayla’s brushing off her attempt to talk about the past and Mikayla is polite enough to engage in other conversation with her.

  In fact, half the menu is before us as we eat. Mikayla begins to speak of clothing, although I know she’s not ready to brooch the subject of her parents.

  “I’m not sure how pretty or how easily recognizable I am with your undershirt and khakis, but when we leave here, can we check out Bamboo Convoy, down the way.”

  “Bamboo Convoy?” I cock a brow.

  “Yeah, it was a few miles back or so, closer to your house. Unless it’s too expensive, it’s probably too expensive. How about the shop that was in the same center, it didn’t look so couture-ish.”

  “Mikayla, let’s talk about your parents now.”

  “What was the other shop called, Jag?” She asks through tensed lips, while thinking, “The blue…

  “You mean, The Blue Cove,” Ghanda asks, placing salted fish between us. She chuckles. “Jagger won’t step ner’ a foot in The Blue Cove, or any of those other shops down there.”

  “Why not? Oh, all of your clothing are bulletpr–um…” Mikayla stops speaking, realizing she is mentioning something that she shouldn’t.

  “Jagger’s family owned the entire town, Princess Mikayla, for ages. Now he has that big mansion and looks down on those folks.”

  Ghanda shouts a greeting to a new customer as she heads toward the front.

  “Your family doesn’t own this town anymore, Jagger?”

  “No, and that’s not important, Kayla. What’s important is that you continue to disregard your people and your land.”

  “Can we just eat?” she cocks her head to the side.

  I rub a hand over my face. “You know what,” I sit back and look her in the eye. “You can be so fucking stubborn, Kayla.”