by Meesha Mink
“What the fuck am I doing?” she asked.
“You tell me.”
Naeema peeked through her fingers to find Bas standing before her. She started and pressed her fat ass back against the building, her heart pounding in surprise. “What you doin’ here?” she asked, taking in how good he looked in an off-white thin silk sweater and linen pants.
“I came to pick you up,” he said in that low and husky voice of his.
Fuck. She looked left and right and then past him to see a dark gray convertible Maybach double-parked. “That’s your whip?” she asked.
“Nah,” he said with a smile.
Naeema wasn’t sure she believed him, and there was no way in hell he’d robbed enough banks to buy a fucking Maybach—even one that was a year or two old. “Where we going?” she asked.
“Your crib.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “I don’t wanna go there.” She lied, because there was nothing she wanted to do more than go crawl under the covers of her bed and sleep off the anxiety rising in her. “I live with my mother.”
“Then come ride wit’ me, Queen,” Bas said, turning to stride away with this cool-ass swagger that would make Diddy rethink his whole way of being.
Naeema pushed up off the wall and followed his path across the sidewalk and into the street, where he stood with the passenger door opened and waiting. Naeema thought she was older than him by a few years but he had this confidence and suaveness that made him seem older. Still fly as fuck . . . but older.
A’ight, Naeema. This fly and suave motherfucker is still on your list of suspects.
What surprised her was the smallest bit of hope that Red had acted alone.
That brought on guilt.
She slid onto the smooth leather seat of the ultra-luxury vehicle and eyed him through the windshield as he came around the car to slide into the driver’s seat. The engine purred so smoothly that she didn’t even realize the car was already cranked and running. He checked for oncoming traffic and pulled off down the street.
“Where we headed?” she asked, reminding herself not to give a fuck that she was riding in a vehicle worth two or three of her homes.
He shrugged and glanced over at her. “I told Red to shoot me a picture of you, and that outfit made me take a detour from where I was headed a little while ago.”
“And where was that?”
He just laughed low in his throat and sped down the nearly empty street.
“We going to your place?” she asked.
“Nah, I got a little situation at my place,” Bas said.
“A permanent situation?” she asked, playing the role.
He looked over at her. “For now,” he admitted.
So Bas had a woman.
“Sound like her problem. Not mines,” she said, not looking away from him.
“Queen, Queen, Queen,” he said before focusing back on the road.
She appeared cool but on the inside both her mind and her pulse were racing. Was Bas trying to finally have her pay up for the months of flirting . . . tonight?
She eyed his profile before she turned and looked out the window as he sped through the streets of Newark. She had just remembered how angry he got at the very mention of Brandon’s name. There had to be an explanation for that and anger at her son wasn’t to be overlooked.
At all.
She felt like she was sinking in the minutiae again.
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the headrest.
Fuck me running.
She squeezed the bridge of her nose.
“You a’ight?” Bas asked, placing his hand on her bared thigh.
It was warm. Too damn warm.
He stroked circles against her soft skin.
And that felt . . . too damn good.
“Yeah. I’m good,” she said, looking up at him in surprise as he ascended the levels of a parking garage until he came to a stop on the top.
With one last soft pat Bas removed his hand and climbed from the car to lean against the wall that came to his hip. Now what?
Kicking off her heels, she climbed from the car and came around it to stand beside him. They had to be in or near New York because the Newark skyline was laid out in front of them. The lights of the buildings across the Hudson River glowed against the ebony backdrop.
Being a city girl, Naeema had always loved photos of a city skyline. It was even better in person.
“That shit looks so dope, yo,” she said.
“Yup,” he agreed. “Dope as hell.”
She glanced at his profile.
“That’s Newark. A city where you can find low-income apartments or million-dollar homes . . . it all depends on what part of town you want to bust your ass to be in.”
That was true.
“You can live or die in that city at a moment’s notice,” Bas continued, the lights of the poles on the top level of the parking deck reflected in the brown depths of his eyes.
Naeema forced herself to look away. Was that a threat or was he just reflecting? “Are you ever afraid that because you live by the sword, you will die by the sword?” she asked.
Bas stood up tall and shifted over to stand behind her. With his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. “Never be afraid to die,” he said.
She felt a chill.
He raised her chin and pressed his cool lips to hers with just the right amount of pressure. Feather light. Barely there.
She was glad when he shifted his attention back to the skyline.
She was confused when she wanted more.
Shit.
9
Naeema was surprised when they drove back out of New York and he eventually pulled in to the covered garage of the Hilton next to Newark’s Penn Station. She was even more surprised when they headed straight to the tenth floor. “You just keep a hotel room stashed for emergencies?” she asked as he pulled out a key card and unlocked the door, stepping inside to raise the lighting.
“I told you that dress caused a detour.”
“Well damn . . . just how much pussy do you have lined up, Bas?” she asked as she followed him inside and looked around the suite. The decor was dope. Lots of neutral colors and deep chocolate leathers with small pops of bright colors. If she ever got her financial game up enough to renovate her house, she wanted it decorated just like it.
“I don’t like talking about one situation with the next,” Bas said, turning to stand before her. “But I come here alone to chill.”
“So I’m next?” she asked, looking up at him.
“I like to give people what they want . . . if I can,” he said, cocky as fuck.
She gave him a once-over as she stepped past him. “Me too,” she said over her shoulder. “If I can.”
With her back to him, Naeema released a nervous breath. She was alone with a man she believed capable of murder. A suspect in the very murder of her son.
He grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her back in front of him. “Whassup, Queen?” he asked, holding her hand.
“You the boss,” she said. “You tell me whassup.”
“I’m feelin’ you. I want you,” he said low in his throat as he pulled her body closer and grabbed one of her plump buttocks in his hand to massage.
Think, Naeema. Think.
“I don’t like dipping in other people’s situations,” she said, reaching up to stroke his face.
Bas backed her up until her ass and shoulders pressed against the wall next to the front door. “Just looking at you got my dick hard,” he said, taking her hand to press against the length of his hardness.
Naeema’s eyes widened at the feel of his dick print. Nice. “Uhm . . . I don’t like sharing. Too much dick drama.”
He smiled and pressed kisses along her jawline as he reached behind her to grip her ass and jerk her lower body against his. His dick pressed against her stomach as he gently sucked her bottom lip into his and pressed his tongue smoothly inside her mouth.
N
aeema brought her hands up to the back of his head and massaged his neck, moaning in the back of her throat and returning his slow kisses. Her eyes popped open in surprise when she felt her clit jump in reaction to him gently sucking the tip of her tongue.
Damn.
He eased the hem of her skirt up and massaged her thick thighs as he freed her mouth. “Let me just put the tip in,” he said and then smiled.
Naeema was panting and she wished she could push him away and free up some space between them. Some distance. Some coolness.
Shit.
She lowered her head to his shoulder and the scent of his warm cologne was in his clothes. “I’m not nobody’s side bitch, Bas,” she said, trying to remember her stall tactic as she felt her nipples and clit aching. “I ain’t know you had a situation or I wouldn’t have even played Bonnie to your Clyde.”
He stepped back from her and held up his hands. “I understand,” he said. “You want me to take you home?”
She opened her mouth to say yes but then pressed her lips closed. She couldn’t let him nowhere near her house. “No, I can take a cab,” she said.
“It’s three a.m.,” Bas reminded her, reaching in his pocket for his vial of cocaine as he moved across the room to sit at the wooden table by the balcony.
Stay here and risk being fucked or get dropped off and really be screwed when he discovered she wasn’t who she said she was?
She watched him as he drew up his line and split half for each nostril.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, pinching his nose and sniffing. “I need a little time to take care of some shit. You stay here ’til I do,” he said, spreading his legs wide as he settled down in the leather club chair.
His dick was still hard and ready between his thighs.
She shifted her eyes up from it.
“I can’t—”
“Come here,” he said with a sniff.
Bas wasn’t to be trusted on any given day, but for sure she was not feeling like angering him while he was on powder. She walked over to him. “Sit here,” he said, swiping away any coke residue before he tapped the table.
“Bas—”
“Sit down,” he shouted, his eyes freezing over. “Damn, Queen. You said no pussy and I ain’t even pressing you. Sit the fuck down.”
Play your position, Naeema.
She eased up and back onto the table. Bas gripped her thighs and pulled her forward until her ass was on the edge of the round table. He spread her knees. “Just let me smell this motherfucker or somethin’,” he said.
She frowned and tried to close her knees. “I been in the club all night, Bas,” she protested.
“I know the difference between sweaty pussy and funky pussy,” he said, pushing her knees apart again.
She was sitting up on the table and looked down as he leaned in to press his face against her thighs. She looked heavenward and rolled her eyes in irritation. She had barely blinked before he swooped her panties to the side and stroked his tongue up the middle of her pussy. She pressed her hands against his forehead and shoulder while he locked his arms around her waist and sucked her clit deeply into his hot mouth with a moan.
Shit.
He had this wicked one-two pull followed by a tongue lick that made Naeema pause as white shots of electricity coursed over her body. She couldn’t front. She was already hot from the kiss and now this.
“No, Bas,” she said again, sounding weak as hell to her own ears.
Pull. Pull. Lick. Pull
Shit.
The old Naeema that had zero fucks to give emerged and she fell back against the table, arching her back as she gripped his shirt in her fists and circled her hips up against his mouth.
Pull. Pull. Lick. Pull.
He ate her pussy like he was trying to save the world by making her cum. “Yesss,” she moaned, her eyes closed as her hard nipples pointed to the ceiling and rubbed and stretched against the lace of her bra.
Pull. Pull. Lick. Pull.
She thought of Tank being the one to eat her and she really felt her freak level rise.
“Shit,” Naeema swore, pressing her heels into the table top as she arched her hips forward. “I’m about to cum.”
He locked his arms around her hips tighter and sucked her clit between his lips until she was shivering, crying out, and fighting to free herself from the insanity of him continuing to suck her now ultra-sensitive clit.
Bas stayed locked on it even while her hips arched in jerking motions as she tried like hell to back away from the pressure of his lips. He didn’t free her until her entire body went slack and head dangled backward off the table as she fought to breathe at a normal rate.
“Look,” he said thickly.
She fought for the strength to raise her head just in time to see him jack his thick dark dick until cum fired from it like bullets, landing on her stomach, chin, and near her eye.
If he was Tank, she would have squatted before him and cleaned his dick up with her tongue.
But he was not Tank.
I ain’t that cumstruck.
• • •
Brrrnnnggg.
Naeema jumped up in the middle of the king-size bed at the sudden high-pitched shrill of the telephone. She swiped some of the tousled wig hair from her face as she got her head together. She was still in bed alone and assumed Bas was still on the couch where he slept off his nut and his high.
Brrrnnnggg.
Naeema reached for the telephone but then pulled her hand away. This ain’t my room so that ain’t my call. Dressed only in the plush cotton robe she put on after her shower, she flung back the crisp cotton covers and left the equally stylish bedroom, only to find the living room of the suite empty. Brrrrnnnggg.
There was a room service cart next to the table in the dining area. She scratched at her wig as she moved to remove the metal lids and found a stack of pancakes with fresh berries and another plate with home fries, eggs, and bacon. She picked up the glass of orange juice and took a sip.
Brrrnnnggg.
Naeema looked over her shoulder at the phone sitting on the cherry end table between the sofa and the love seat. Popping a blueberry into her mouth, she walked over to pick it up but didn’t say one word.
“Good morning. This is your nine a.m. wake up call. Have a good day,” said an automated female voice.
Click.
Placing the phone back in the cradle, she walked back through the open double doors leading into the bedroom to pull her clutch from underneath the pillow. She dug out her cell phones.
No missed calls on either one.
Damn, Tank. Well fuck you too.
Her thumb floated above the keypad ready to dial 69 on her speed dial. She dropped the phone back into her handbag instead and moved back to the table to tear down on the food and took up the remote to turn on the flat-screen television on the wall. She turned it to LIVE with Kelly and Michael. She loved that corny-ass show and it gave her an hour not to think about anything important.
Knock-knock.
Naeema looked away from the blond actress from Revenge talking about the new season of the show. She had never seen it but she was thinking it was something she could relate to and get into. Sometimes a bitch gotta do what a bitch gotta do.
She ignored the knock and turned back to the television. Not my room and not my visitor.
“Queen, it’s me . . . Vivica.”
She rolled her eyes and wished she’d jetted as soon as she woke up. Her plan was to fuck the breakfast up and then get dressed to catch two different cabs back to her house to get ready for work . . . not to fuck around with Vivica’s cradle-robbing ass.
Hell, her child-molesting ass. What makes her any different than Mr. Warren? Not a damn thang.
“Open up, Queen.”
Knock-knock-knock-knock.
Naeema jumped up in aggravation and walked over to the door, forcing herself to swallow back her desire to straight whup her ass as she let the woman in. She had to admit she
looked cute in print leggings and a bright yellow blazer that didn’t clash too badly with her pink hair. “Chill, Viv,” she said. “I was in the bathroom.”
“My bad,” Vivica said, opening her Michael Kors bag to pull out a stack of money. “Bas said to take you shopping ’cause you didn’t have clothes with you.”
Naeema didn’t take the stack. “I got clothes . . . at home . . . where I’m going in a little bit.”
Vivica pushed the money into Naeema’s hand before she strolled around the suite. “Well, Bas seem to think you moving in here for a few days,” she said, peeking her head inside the bedroom. “Shit, not bad, bitch.”
Nothing happens that I don’t want to happen.
Naeema chose not to trip off that bit of info with Vivica. She was clear that in this virtual chess game Vivica was a pawn and her loyalty was to the king, not Queen.
Besides maybe I can slow-stroke this bitch for more info.
Vivica dug in her tote again and pulled out a white plastic CVS bag. “I figured you needed underwear and a toothbrush,” she said, handing it to her. “You only a little bit bigger than me everywhere but that ass . . . so I guessed on the size.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“Sooooo . . .”
Naeema eyed her as her faux friend/real foe looked at her expectantly.
“I didn’t think he was going to slay that bougie dragon princess but here you are. Boss bitch status,” she said.
“And who is the bougie dragon princess?” Naeema asked, coming over to sit down on the opposite end of the couch from Vivica. “And why you ain’t tell me about her before . . . friend?”
“That’s Bas’s business to tell, not mine.”
“So why tell it now?” Naeema asked, wondering how much more of Bas’s business she was keeping.
“ ’Cause I know that you know a li’l somethin’ about it now.”
She needed a break from Vivica and her secret-secret bullshit. She grabbed her handbag and walked back through the double doors to the bedroom. It was then she saw the paper on the nightstand. She crossed the room to pick it up. “See you later tonight,” she read.
