Black Queen, Dark Knight II: A Bad Boy Romance (Black Queen Dark Knight Book 2)
Page 15
Like clockwork, a steaming bowl of mealie soup is set on the table. A plate with a heaping serving of bobotie, which is similar but so much better than meatloaf in a spicy curry, is set down with a side of yellow rice. I’ve spent decades on my own, eating meals in exotic foreign nations, but never after colliding with Mikayla have I felt this alone.
I take a long pull off the beer, downing it in one gulp. I slip my cellphone out of my pocket and discreetly try to complete the same process that I attempted this morning, searching for a new X-Member assignment.
I’ve scrolled over the black ballerina when my cellphone rings. The new contact I have assisting at the Nivean palace greets me in Xhosa.
“Mikayla is not feeling well. I know you told me only to call when something is concerning, but I just thought you should know.”
“Enkosi—thanks,” I reply, hanging up the phone. I start to press my woman’s cellphone number when a call pops up showing it’s her calling me.
“Jag?” She murmurs just as I answer.
“What’s wrong?”
“I . . . I miss you.” She chortles at herself. “It’s been all of twenty-four hours, and I miss you.”
“That’s allowed.” I perk up like a dog given a bone.
“Yeah. I’m supposed to be a powerful South African Queen, and I just . . . miss you.”
“Where are you?”
“In the bath tub, feeling ridiculously alone,” she whispers. I can just imagine those innocent cheeks of hers warming self-consciously.
My eyes track around my surroundings. That desolate feeling that clung to my six-foot frame has passed. I sit forward and set down my fork. “I can be there in an hour.”
“No.”
“Mikayla, I can come into town without anyone seeing me. If that’s what you need.”
She sniffles.
“I’m on my way.” I start to rise from the table, shoveling out more than enough crisp rand notes to pay for my meal.
“Please, no. Jag, I feel awful treating you like some booty call.”
Hopping onto my motorcycle, I fish for the keys in my pocket. “It’s barely seven p.m., Kayla. Has to be later to be considered a booty call.”
Even her attempt at a laugh sounds painful.
“You’re not telling me something, Kayla.” I stare off into nothingness, dissecting the sound of her voice and every word she’d just said. I rev the engine, ready to fly at the speed of light. “What is it, uthando lwami?”
“Is that the sound of your motorcycle? Really, Jagger, I’m asking you not to come. I’m feigning a common cold, or whatever, which means that you can’t be seen slipping in and out of my palace while I play sick.”
“I’m telling you that I have the capability not to be seen.” I press a button to kill the engine. I sit back, the powerful beast still warm beneath me. “Alright, Kayla, we’ve gotta find a balance. At least let me be there for you. Get you out of that headspace.”
“What do you propose we do, Jag?” She sighs.
Envisaging her dark, curvy body in a tub, I groan, making a command. “Trace your finger over your areola until your nipple is a hard point.”
“Mmmmm,” she moans into the receiver.
“Squeeze it harder than you can take.”
“That sounds painful, Jagger,” Mikayla whimpers.
“Until the pain is unbearable.” Blood rushes to my groin. I stare across the street at a yellow neon sign, listening to an erotic song of heady breathing and panting. Centering all that pent-up anxiety she has on one focal point will be good for her.
“Sh . . . shit, fucking hurts, Jag.”
“It’s all me, baby, me hurting you so fucking good. No remorse on your body, getting you wet.” I know she continues to tweak her nipple because a melody reaches through the receiver caressing me. It feels like every ounce of blood I have has flown to my dick, the head throbbing. “Squeeze your finger around your nipple until that sweet cunt of mine spasms and then give it a hard pinch.”
“Yummm, hard like you,” she purrs. “I’m not sure I can do it hard as you.”
Mikayla alternates between pleasure and pain. My cock aches as it rests heavily against my bike seat. My jaw clinches. How am I going to satiate my erection seated on a Harley in the middle of a parking lot?
“Keep alternating, I need to get somewhere secluded.” I climb off the bike, quickly striding up onto the curb and toward the door.
She stops moaning. “Hey, where are you?”
“Nkechi Café.”
“Aw, Jag. You went out to dinner at my favorite spot without me? How’s Ms. Ghanda—”
“You should be inflicting pain on yourself right about now, Mikayla.”
I step back inside of the restaurant. Ms. Ghanda is removing my half-eaten dishes. Her eyebrows knead together since I’ve always left my plate polished.
“Do you have somewhere I can—” Fuck. Mikayla’s moaning clears all the dark, dirty corners of my brain momentarily. My voice graveled, I say, “Take this call. It’s imperative that I . . .”
In astonishment, Ms. Ghanda gestures toward her office. “Of course, please follow me.”
In a few stiff, swift strides, we’ve stopped at the door. She places a hand on her hips. “Take all the time you need.”
“Please don’t knock nor enter.”
“I understand.”
Mikayla stops singing the titillating melody in my ear and chuckles. “Yeah, because if she comes in and sees my kingly dick, I’m—”
I step inside, closing the door behind me. “You’re talking about a little old lady, Kayla. Now pinch.”
The room has an outdated beige, metal desk. There’s accounting paperwork on top but no personal effects.
She gasped. “Jag, I may be in the bathtub, but I doubt I can get any wetter. May I?”
“May you what?” I smile devilishly. I’m no idiot. She wants to stick those slender, silky fingers where my cock is hard pressed to go.
“Can I fuck myself yet, please?”
“No.” I growl.
“Ohhhh. . . .”
“Because right now, I’m imagining those chocolate nips of yours. I’m gonna cum before you, Mikayla. It should please you to deny yourself for me.”
“Shit!” I know she’s pinching the fuck out of her nipples now. I can hear water sloshing around.
Cock rigid and stiff against my jeans, I unzip, and it plops out. I sneak open a drawer, searching for lotion. Fuck me, I’m too old for a hand job.
Bingo! I pluck the coconut and lime body butter from its place nestled next to pens and a stapler and open it up. Shit. The sweet innocence of it reminds me of the honey between Mikayla’s thighs. Slathering a copious amount on my hand, I close my eyes and imagine it’s her decadent ocean. I begin to fist my erection. “I’m pounding my cock harder, Kayla. Harder because I’ll cum all over your chest, all over those chocolate areolas, and you will lick my cum from your breasts.”
“Shiddd, yes. Cum all over my breasts, my face.”
Voice sounding like I gargled rocks, I toss my head back, hair flying everywhere as I work my erection, hissing, “That’s right, Kayla. Punish yourself for me.”
“Jag, my pussy is throbbing—”
“Deny yourself, Mikayla.”
“I can’t for too much longer,” she groans.
“You wanna lick my cum from your breast.”
“Oh, hell yes. I love your intoxicating cum. Hot, thick, I want to drown in it and swallow every last drop of it. I want it to glaze all over me. Oh fuck, it hurts, Jagger. It hurts.”
18
Mikayla
Can a sexual hunger kill me? My nipples are so hard they might burst! The wet ache makes my folds throb and my body melt in despair. While coaxing my tits, water has crashed over the edges of the golden clawfoot tub. My cellphone is on speakerphone, resting on a cage on the ledge with a few sprinkles on it too. There’s almost more water on the floor than inside.
I’ve been cheating. M
y right hand is clamped onto my nipples while my left strokes my kitty. It was punishment for Jagger dining at my new favorite restaurant in the Cape without me. Back pressed against the tub wall, I move my fingers like a piston. “Oh, hell yes. I love your intoxicating cum,” I screech. “Hot, thick, I want to drown in it and swallow every last drop of it. I want it to glaze all over me.” I shout with abandon. “Oh fuck, it hurts, Jagger. It hurts.”
I stop growling. All the words I feel slam around in my brain, evaporating to nothing as I assault my swollen flesh. An alarm goes off in my brain, warning me to stop. I quake, pumping my hips. I’m powerless. The warning signal reads that if he finds out, then it’s true, sexual hunger will take my last breath. I . . . can . . . not . . . stop . . . masturbating.
An orgasm spirals out of control. Panting in high-pitched screams, somewhere in the back of my mind I know I’m dead, already dead, because I denied Jagger to have his pleasure first. Exhaling, I lay my head back, delirious. Say something Kayla or he’ll know . . . Jag is going to torture your pussy the next time he sees you, so say something.
A thick silence crosses the line. Oh shit, I’ve crossed the line. No turning back.
“You. Came?” He growls, his sexy voice emphasizing each word.
I lie. “I did . . . Jagger, I didn’t touch.”
My heart pounds in my ears, awaiting his response. When he said, I should deny myself it sounded so good. I saw my dark brown melons glossed with his essence. “I fucked up,” I murmur. “Forgive me, please?”
His tone is thoughtful as he says, “You’ll be punished for your disobedience the next time I see you, Mikayla.”
My lungs, which were just desolate and screaming for oxygen, fill all the way up. I sit up straight in the tub. The hot water stops at my flat stomach. “And I’ll love that punishment, Jag.”
Though an orgasm stole my sanity a second ago, I’ve stopped hollering enough to hear the slick sound of his hand sliding up and down his cock. Kayla, don’t get any bright ideas. Wait for your man’s order!
“Touch just your clit and around those fat pussy lips, Mikayla. You enter yourself this time, I will be at your palace tonight, and I’ll be walking through the gotdamn front doors. You hear me?”
“Yes,” I whimper. My hand trails down over my taut, achy nipples, and I push the hood over my clit back while slowly massaging it with my other. Pressure builds up inside of me. All my lady parts beneath my belly button clinches. “I love you, Jag.”
He doesn’t respond to my declaration. Damn, I am in extreme trouble. I can see Jagger driving up the hill to my palace, no remorse. Engine roaring until he turns off his motorcycle and bangs on the door. Obnoxious and past the point of giving a damn about my feelings. With that in mind, I stop myself from entering my shuttering pussy. I make another attempt at a peace treaty. “My clit misses those soft kisses of yours.”
“That’s right.” His tone is low and delectable, sending a riot of chills down my spine. “Tweak your clit. Play with your lips while I work my cock. Don’t you dare enter.”
The attraction of just his voice is enough to get me off without entering. A delicious quiver rolls over my skin. I listen intently to his pumping while massaging my pearl. My head dips back, and I moan. I press my legs up, the heels of my feet onto the ledge. My pussy is wide and begging to be entered. That beautiful sound of him fisting his cock drives me to the point of madness. He speeds up.
“Mikayla, fuck, I’m cumming sweetheart. All over your breasts, your face. My cum is exploding all over that pretty crown of yours, your lips . . .” He grunts.
I cry out my pleasure, muscles tensed. “Yesssss! Please, please all over my crown!”
He grunts again, and I know that sweet, salty, thick cream of his is coursing over his huge venous member. I can feel it. It’s warm over my breasts. I lick across the curved flesh then I push my fingers into my hair. “There’s so much of it, Jagger. You’ve cum all over my body.”
“That’s right, Mikayla. You make me fucking cum so hard, so long.”
“Baby, you’re still coming aren’t you?”
“I can’t fucking stop, Kayla. This is the shit you do to me!”
My finger slithers around my valley. Inside my walls are on the verge of milking. I won’t come yet. I’ve not been told I can.
“I’m licking all of you off me.” I grab my tit, slithering my mouth around it. “Mmmm, Jag. I love the taste of you in my mouth. It’s sliding down my throat now, but there’s so much. I’ll have a belly full of your cum by the time I’m done.”
“That is good. You may now fuck yourself, Mikayla.”
Back pressed against the tub, I suck at my nipple, pushing my fingers into my gush. I ride three of them like they’re his cock. “Jagger!”
“That’s right, Kayla. Cum easy for daddy! Baby, you always cum so easy for me.”
The damn bursts, and my valley crushes around my fingers, showing them the same love it would have had if Jagger’s cock had slid inside of me. This is how it feels when I’m clutching his cock over and over with my walls, begging for his seed. My tongue slips out on my lips again, almost . . . almost tasting the addictive essence of him.
I lay back against the tub, the calm that Jagger promised surrounding me.
He chuckles through the receiver. “Still feeling down?”
“No. Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?” His deep baritone is a silk caress against my ear.
A woozy grin and warm bashfulness cause me to murmur, “That you cum all over me the next time I see you.”
“Your wish is my command.”
I slide down underneath the water for a second, embarrassment and desire enveloping me, then come back up and turn toward the phone. “Jagger, I love you so much.”
My sense of awareness is heightened. For the first time, the voice in my brain that sounds just like me goes still, not declaring it’s love for Prince Fari. Tears assault my eyes. Please don’t let it happen again.
“You’re my heart, uthando lwami,” he says just as there is a knock at my door.
“Not now.”
Knock. Knock. I start to raise my voice and repeat myself, and Kmota enters in a brown dress, gaze lowered.
“My apologies, Your Highness. Prince Fari has waited for you in the garden for almost an hour.”
My bottom lip drops. I glance at the dark cell phone screen. Jagger doesn’t make a peep, but he can hear her crystal clear.
“But I sent a formal request to cancel.”
“I did see him with a letter bearing the Nivean seal, Your Highness. That I can confirm.”
I grab the plush towel from beside the tub.
“It’s wet. I will get another.” Kmota eyes the towel. Her gaze widens with a thousand questions as to why I soaked half the floor during my bath. She moves briskly out of the room. I wait, but she doesn’t return promptly. I gather that she’s aware of the crazy session Jagger and I just had. I shake the water from my hand. It’s still wet when I pick up the phone.
“Jag, I have a previous engagement.”
“Duty calls.” He pauses. I search for any indication that this will hurt him. I know full well that if he were privy to those diseased thoughts in my mind . . . Jagger clears his throat. “See you later, my love.”
He hangs up. He always calls me uthando lwami—the Xhosa version of my love. My brain runs rampant reasoning why when Kmota enters.
She moves gingerly over the wet floor with a bevy of towels in her hand. I take one, and she uses the others to soak up the water on the floor
I dress down for the occasion—all black like I’m in mourning—in tailored jeans and a long sleeve blouse. If Prince Fari still came after I sent the letter to cushion the blow of my decline for tonight, he’s either not a fan of being stood up or someone has interfered with this. Tussling my kinks of hair, I start down the stairs and out the front door. As I move toward the garden, I feel thunderous vibrations through the ground.
“Heh.” I laugh. “Rather debonair, Abayomi.”
“Wish I knew his secret. The sound of your laughter, mmm.”
Prince Fari’s voice travels from within the maze of flowers. He strolls through the entrance, an aura of confidence. Another suit drapes his lean frame and is just as polished as his dark complexion. Fari is clean-cut gorgeous to Jagger’s sinfully gorgeous. Stop it, Mikayla. He’s handsome, rich as sin, and royal blood but nothing else.
Every move he makes seems done with meticulous care, like when he rubs a thumb over his perfect eyebrow. My breath catches. I lower my gaze to the letter in hand, and I eye it wearily as he speaks. “When I received this letter this afternoon, I wondered if I had done anything to offend you, Mikayla.”
Alright, so he has my letter. What a self-righteous asshole! Licking my lips, I search for the right words to explain how “I” changed my mind, but he continues, “Then you changed your mind.”
Wait? What does he mean? That I changed my mind about canceling on him this evening? Why would he think that? Did he receive another response from me? If that’s true, perhaps he’s not a sanctimonious prick who took it upon himself to still arrive after I brushed him off. But how exactly did I send word to him that I had changed my mind about canceling?
Think Mikayla. Someone is screwing around with the both of you. I force a smile and play along with the game someone else has started playing for me. “I’m feeling a little better.”
“Yes, I had dinner in town and was about to head toward the coast when you texted me.”
Eyes bright, I nod slowly, understanding finally. Someone had sent a text, pretending to be me. “Great, I caught you before you made the drive. So, you’ve eaten. That’s quite alright. We can discuss our friendship over coffee.”