by Amarie Avant
A baritone sigh seeps past my parted lips. My dick falls against my trousers and finally my head falls back.
Spent and full of my seed, Luxury rests her head on my lap. For a while we’re both content with just this moment. My fingers twine around her hair, just enough to let Lux know she’s done well. About 5 minutes later, and still fully clothed. I lift up my bare black diamond and take her into the bedroom.
“Hands and knees,” I tell Lux after placing her onto the fresh sheets.
Luxury does my bidding on the bed. She places her hands down at request. Her back arches and my eyes not only take in her round ass, but also gather a glimpse of her sweet, wet pussy. My heavy hand goes to the small of her back, pushing it inward slightly, creating art. Her ass toots up even more and the jewel I will soon possess becomes visible. Damn, it’s soaking wet and waiting.
Looking back, Luxury bites her lips and watches me. I'm like a predator seeking out my prey, and fight to maintain control as I undress. I slip on a condom. Then I reach down and kiss her lips again. She’s prey once more, sighing as she takes in my muscular, naked body.
Luxury becomes fearful as her eyes land on the thick length of my manhood. Lux doesn’t look ready for every bit of my tool as her wide–and very chatty mouth– once was, but I place my hands on her hips, and plunge right into her pussy. She’s tighter than expected, and more desirable than I could’ve imagined. My fingers grip her ass, as my thrust become quicker, and then reach for her neck and push her head down more. The effect has her vagina gripping my dick even tighter. I take to looking at my piece as it glides back and forth, ultra-wet from her juices. Lux’s back begins to arch even more, and she rides out her first orgasm. Damn, that was quick. Now her pussy is still in the makings of being amazingly molded and sculpted, just for me.
The way Lux releases her second orgasm makes me addicted to pleasing her. That sound, that squinted face of hers captivates and encourages me. I calculate the movements and flip her around. Lux’s legs come up to my chest. I glide back inside her sweet heaven. She’s as ambidextrous as I require. I quickly kiss each and every one of her sexy toes, then cross her legs at the ankle, and push her legs toward her body, making it fold in half. I continue at it until I’ve let out the frustration of Luxury’s disobeying me and obtained my goal. That face, again.
Orgasm number four seems to have Lux in one of those drunken states. Slick legs tremble as if my penis was her first shot of heroine. She screams, “Yes, yess… Victorrrrr.”
Finally, her legs rest on my shoulders. I pick her up and push her toward the headboard and take it slow for the long haul.
“Please,” Lux begins to appeal to some shred of humanity that she believes I still have.
Fuck that. I want her to cum for me again, and this sex is too good. So, I continue to concentrate. There will be no quick nut on her part this time.
“I need it… Vic… Vic… I neeeeeeeed that…” Luxury’s voice is sweeter than honey, softer than silk. She begs for me to go harder and faster again, and even grabs my ass cheeks in an attempt to take control.
It’s easy to ignore her pleas. Killing the pussy softly is my mission.
Then I find that exact second, the exact time to strike. Her warm brown eyes begin to mist. She cries out. At that very moment my cum explodes inside the sheath of Luxury’s sexy body.
Damn.
My body instantly weakens, and I fall into her. Again vulnerable, for the second time tonight. But I share this with her for a second, as Lux smiles and sniffles back tears.
“Don’t…” she speaks as I move.
“Never,” I tell her. I allow one of my legs to fall over the side of Lux’s hips so I don’t crush her body with my weight. She desires to be cuddled, so I wrap my arms around her.
The soft rise and fall of Luxury’s breasts awaken me. Sleeping with women never sits right with me. Usually, I’m up and considering my next mission–having completed the one I’m on. X-Member’s always come first. Even before being a Royal Duke. That is until now. But as for killing her father.
Maybe I will.
Maybe I won’t.
With Miss Whitson, I’ve broken all the rules. I wasn’t even supposed to fuck her tonight. Only make her beg for it in order to give her smart mouth something else to do.
I sleep until 4 am, move past her greedy little arms that want to forever be loved, and take to a suede chaise lounge right across from her. Instead of closing the thick drapes, I watch her sleep peacefully.
At first light, the sun creeps in and highlights the ample shape of Luxury’s body. So tiny...so curvaceous...so vulnerable. The sun’s glow highlight’s those beautiful freckled diamonds against her body. At this exact moment, I confirm that Whitson will not die on my watch. Killing Doctor Whitson would have been as easy as sniping him through an open window. I’ll be saving both Whitsons’ lives after the requestor has grown weary of waiting, now that will be my newest and most welcomed challenge.
Luxury
Tears of joy over the best fuck ever put me to sleep last night. The next morning, one of Victor’s black button up floats down to my knees as I interlink each silk button. The feel of the linen against my skin is so ultra-comfortable, premium attire, but not as soothing as Victor’s touch.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if he has another color; black embodies my father’s roses only. Other than that, the color puts me in a dreary state. Yet Victor seems to only wear black. Then I’m considering, where does he live? If he’s on extended stay at the Bulgari, starts at 2 grand per night per Aliyah, then I know this fortress on top of the building is nowhere near as cheap.
What’s his phone number? Where does he live, since surely nobody can afford to stay here too long?
“You have questions,” he says or maybe even asks. With Victor, it’s always a command, but so far this morning he has been quiet after our shower. He observes me putting on the Chloe lotion that was so silky and sweet against my body.
“Kind of,” I begin, but the look in his eyes tells me to shoot. “How long are you staying in New York, Dr. Finch?”
“Not sure.”
“Well you strike me as the type who is always certain. Especially after last night.” I blush as my body begins to feel the ripples of pleasure, even though he hasn’t given the answer that I want. I already, selfishly want to claim the dick for life. Yet if he goes, it’ll be back to the yellow-polka-dot grungy pajama set for a few weeks, tops. Who am I kidding, with sex like that I’ll be in mourning for a year! “Where do you come from?”
“I came from India.” He leans against the glossy gray bedroom wall, as if waiting to satisfy all my questions. And I don’t want a simple reply. I want depth.
“Oh. Is that where you were raised?” Now, I’m instantly interested. Victor has this flair about him, a uniqueness that captured chicks’ attentions all around. The thing that made me go on a date with such a self-centered man was the fact that he has this air that reminds me of Harlem. So diverse, as if he’s traveled the world.
“No. That’s just the last place I just came here from, Lux.” He waves a hand, simple as that.
“Born?” I begin to be as snippy as he is with the conversation. Last night, he learned every inch of my body and I have been forthcoming with myself. Why is he so guarded?
“Arli … London.”
My lips tense, as I ask, “Raised?”
“Everywhere you could imagine.”
“Name some places,” I speak through gritted teeth. Finding that a simple few letter words in a conversation are starting to grow on me. Especially if he thinks my questions only warrants a careless response.
Victor gives a soft chuckle that does nothing short of make me want to kiss his taut abs and then his dick.
“Luxury, where were you born and raised?”
“Born in the Bronx, I’m the only child as you are aware, but I grew up to Destiny’s Child and Usher. I’d go into my shyness from elementary school to high school if
it provided a model of how intellectuals communicate–but that time was rather embarrassing for me, so I won’t. Went to NYU, tried that.” I chuckle for a second and catch my second wind, to continue on. “And I may have held every major available before giving up. Victor, see how easy it is to speak?”
Even though Vic doesn’t reply, it’s clear I have his attention. I end up telling him about Arnold and the botched proposal. Just because Victor and I have been so intimate in bed, maybe he needs to learn how that connection travels outside. I end the story with, “So I was finding out that Arnold was interested in Tiffany when I found a 1-carat diamond ring in his pocket. We were having one of those lazy days, me drawing–because I had been an art major at that time, and him studying with his head in a book.”
“Wow,” Victor says when I tell him how Arnold was picking up his NYU hoodie to go home that evening and the ring fell out.
“You’re damn right. He confessed that the ring was for Tiffany, a girl who he had done a few class projects with. Can’t even believe, he wasn’t even going to tell me. To think, he ruined rainy days for me.”
“I’m sorry that you no longer see rainy days as a form of tranquility,” Victor says, rubbing my arm as I draw even closer.
God, I can’t get any closer to this man than I am now.
“No worries,” I shrug as if I hadn’t ever cried before. “Came home. Cried with my parents. Less than a month later, Dad and I moved to Harlem after… when,” my throat gets clogged as I think about Mom.
“Oh, little one,” he comforts. I’ve always hated being called, short or shawty. But for the first time, I can tell Victor is actually being tender, and it has nothing to do with the way he touches my body. So, I step to him. Victor’s big, strong arms wrap around me.
He lets me go, takes my hand and leads us to the plush living room couch.
“Tell me about her,” Victor says. I’ve done well with talking about my past without mentioning my mom. But Victor reads my mind. And he listens. The only thing is, he hasn't really told me anything about himself outside of what I found out online. And that was a compilation of credentials and even more degrees than my father. Either way, we end up talking on the living room couch. We chow on bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios, at my request. For the first time, it feels like I'm being heard. I must admit, he heard my body loud and clear last night, providing each and every one of my desires.
Today, maybe, I might just get too close to this man.
The memory of my mom is reserved for when I feel like divulging about her. But today, I tell him about the simplicity of being loved by two parents. Who would’ve ever known that two of the world’s most different people would get together? My father and all of his brains and my mother, she was so beautiful.
“I don't know anything about your father's freckles,” Victor says, “but my next mission is to lick each and every one of yours.”
I cuddle closer to him, still not believing that Victor is the only person, only human, that I’ve told all about my past. I start with the simple stuff, such as how my father would get frustrated with his newest invention.
“It would be kind of funny; you could hear obscenities, even outside our apartment in the Bronx. Rap music blaring, Italians and blacks cussing and fighting, and here goes Dad’s frustrated cussing right in the mix. If I were in the house, he would come out of the room and apologize after calming down. Then he would try to tell Mom and me. I’m telling you words that were longer than sentences, believing we would understand as he explained how this wasn’t working right or that failed.”
Victor nods and it feels like he’s visualizing the entire scenario.
“Dad won the Cardiologist Annual Guild when he was young. I guess that maybe he wanted to get back to that notoriety.” I shrug. “He never seemed satisfied with his work. But Mom would know a good day from a bad day, because I would come home from school and she would be baking something sweet. Then he put Greco Tech on the map. You probably know more about that than I do.”
He nods, knowing that I will go off on a tangent, and mention Dad’s work and not Mom.
But I sigh, and step into uncharted territories, by speaking about Mom. “So, Dad put all his time in that. Mondays like I told you before Mom would bring flowers to his job.”
“Black roses,” Victor says, again redirecting me back to the pain of the past. “Tell me more about you and your mom. How was your relationship?”
I get teary-eyed again even though I recall what Victor said the first day we met, that women use tears as a ploy. But there’s nothing I could ever want more than to see my mother again. I take it slow. “I had the best Mom. She would listen to me. She’d have that first aid kit already handy when my father took me on my first bike ride. Before something bad happened, she was already prepared. Sometimes Dad’s inventions would go left when he wanted it to go right. The brownies or cookies be ready whenever he would get frustrated over the inventions.” I tell Victor personal things, such as how we never went through the terrible teen stages where my mom and I couldn’t understand each other. Oh my goodness, I smile remember. “Saturday mornings, it was just us on a solo mission. Mommy would have a coupon challenge by cutting coupons from newspapers and magazines, then go shopping.”
I look at the smile on Victor’s face and wonder if he even understands what I am talking about. His car, his clothes, his choice of hotel stay while here makes me even wonder why I’m divulging such a ridiculous story. But just having him listen makes me feel my mother's presence, so I continue. “That’s as brainiac as my mom would become. We would tally up the different items that we bought. Whoever got the most bang for her buck didn’t have to cook dinner.”
“Who won?” he asks, kissing my forehead.
“Dang, you’re really going to ask that.” I smile at Victor. “Mostly my mom, Gina. If I hadn’t lost so much, I wouldn’t have ever known how to bake a cake and a box cake.”
He laughs with me at that.
“Lux, when was the last time you went coupon shopping?”
I shift around, leaning against him. “My mother, Gina has been gone for a little over a year, so just over a year, then.”
Next thing I know, we’re downloading coupon apps on our phones and doing our own challenge. Then we decide to go shopping. I will look him up and down. “And loser does what?” I ask.
Vic busts up laughing. “Am I to assume that you don't think I can cook?”
“Isn’t that what Alfred is for?” I joke.
“Who?”
“Batman’s homeboy,” I reply in my old BAPs–the movie–voice and then I say, “Oh, never mind, is that a British thing?”
“I didn’t have much of a childhood,” his smile wavers. Before I can ask Victor about that, he says, “I’m always up for a challenge. But this time it will be for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
My eyebrow arches.
“It’s Saturday. You're staying with me all weekend,” he makes this statement like a fact. I’m thrilled because Victor wants to be with me longer. I want to accompany him for a lifetime.
I reply with a grin, “Okay, buddy you are on!”
Victor is a sore loser at the coupon bet. I even offer to help him cook dinner. Don’t ask where my brain is. It’s easy to say that I must have gotten Gina’s brains instead of my dad’s, but she would’ve been ashamed at how the weekend went. We end up cooking together. Sex and food are our only companions. Victor proves to be worthy of 5-star chef quality with Italian and English food, while he grubs on my Mexican food and southern cuisine that Mom taught me to cook. Then he grubs on the sweet nectar in between my thighs as my bare-ass rests on the cold marble countertop in the Bulgari suite.
We stay in this state for 72 hours. Each time, he fucks me as if it would be my last. I lose more of myself to him. So good, so wanton, so hard. Victor commands my body. He drains me of everything, and then drains me some more. He feeds me. He kisses me all over and fucks me until I quiver, shake, and give in. Victor
cuddles me in the morning light and starts all over again. So, while in a haze of oxytocin, adrenaline, and pheromones, I fall in love. There is no trepidation or uncertainty about future rejection because I am just that stupid. Victor has the type of love that makes me dumb.
All the while, at the base of my brain, this mystery and tension adds a tiny dose of fear.
Victor
When I was 9 Burt began the bandages. It was after the first of many psychotic hunting trips with my father. As the Rolls Royce pulled up, with only a driver and father’s butler accompanied the father-son trips we had. But I couldn’t wait to get back to Burt. I stay with the knowledge that as soon as these trips would end, Father would go away again. Father would visit Her Majesty, The Queen–his mother– and perform the other stupid duties that Duke’s handle.
Burt opened the back door and waited for me to get out. Soon as I did, his eyes turned a metallic gray. He looked at me and then at my father. Then back again.
I had grown accustom to the pain of being punched or kicked by Father when my target wasn’t precise. But Burt’s expression told me that my face looked like shit. Without words, Burt glared Father dead in the eye.
“Should you be dismissed from your duties?” Father challenged, stepping out of the other side of the luxury vehicle with a glass of brandy in hand.
“No, Father. Burt, help me grab my luggage,” I quickly cut in as Burt was seething. Though my left eye was sealed shut from a shiner that Father gave me after missing the last kill; I have to save my butler.
“Help grab your luggage?” Father’s voice boomed. “Is this why you’re such a ninny? The help has given you assignments to do?”
Father didn’t come around much. Rumor has it that he was sleeping with a few of the Queen’s allies from England to France to Scotland and had almost gotten himself tied to a Princess in Somalia. Being Duchess is what saved my mother, even though she was not royalty before Father. Lady Mary became overseer of the duchy while Father went to play. She took over all duties and only had Father around when need be.
