by Keta Kendric
I released another low chuckle, burrowing into the nook of his shoulder. I was too relaxed to express all that was running through my mind. The best I could do was peck his cheek and whisper a warm, “Thank you,” into his ear.
I was going to be sore. He was too big for me not to be. The nagging little aches were already knocking on my pussy, even as I craved more. However, the stress of my long day had caught up with me, and I began to drift as soon as my nose nuzzled his warm neck.
All I needed was a nap, and a nap was all I took before I was nudging Arjen awake and whispering hotly in his ear, “I’m going to need more of my dick, please.”
What kind of dick spell had Arjen put on my poor defenseless pussy? We had gone at it four times, each time seeming to get better with each new position. When he bent me over the dresser and insisted I watch him fuck me in the large mirror, I came so hard, he’d had to keep me from falling on my face because my legs had given out.
Now, after a few power-naps between getting the shit fucked out of me, I sat on the toilet waiting until my pee came and went in spurts. My pussy was so beaten up that I couldn’t pee straight, yet my kitty was down there aching for more dick, causing me to keep clenching and stopping the stream of my sideways spraying pee.
Holy dick sorcery. The man had undoubtedly cast a spell on my pussy.
How the hell was I going to make it through the day with a fried mind and a sore pussy that continued to ache for more of my dick?
19
Arjen
My thoughts were up and running, and my body decided to join the race. I wasn’t a coffee drinker, but I paced and fumbled around our bedroom like I’d had four cups. I should have done it a lot sooner than now, but I was about to introduce Mecca to some of the ranking and influential members within the syndicate.
They had phoned yesterday, extending a dinner invite for today, but after my wife had climbed into bed with me last night, nothing else mattered. I informed her of the event this morning as we were preparing to start our day.
I could tell by the way she had come dragging into the house a half-hour ago, with her heels hanging across her manicured fingertips, that she’d had a hard day.
“We can reschedule. This is not mandatory.” I told her, but could hardly concentrate on what I was saying because she had stepped out of our bathroom in nothing but her bra and panties. Her body was so lush and shapely, my gaze would catch a curve and get lost tracing it and imagining what it would be like to move my tongue along the surface of her ridiculously soft skin.
“You met my crew. Now I’m ready to meet yours.” Her words bought me out of the trance her body had put me in, somewhat. “I was starting to think you were ashamed of me, hiding me away from your people,” she added.
I shook my head, but for the life of me, I couldn’t bring myself to glance up and meet her eyes. My gaze was glued to her, breezing along her exposed parts not covered by the navy dress she was slipping into.
My teeth sank into my bottom lip at the sight of her wiggling into that dress. I was grateful she was facing me; because I don’t think I could have remained in place at the sight of her shaking her ass in front of me.
Her full tits, damn near spilling over the cups of her bra caught my attention before my eyes blazed a trail down to the flat planes of her stomach, and the flare of her swaying hips. She was completely unaware of how she affected me. All of that silky, flowing brown skin set against her delicious curves, teased my senses and heightened my arousal like nothing else.
“I would have to be out of my mind to be ashamed of you, Mecca. One mess up on my part was enough. Besides, I don’t want a repeat of what you did to Julie if someone pisses you off.”
Her cute girlish giggle sounded and caused me to smile. Getting to know my wife was an adventure. At home, we were starting to build a foundation, one that I would have never admitted to wanting until she happened. Thankfully, she gave me a woman at home, soft and sweet, not the queenpin or the assassin her men believed she was, or the vicious beast I knew that she was capable of turning into.
“The only people I consider my crew, bear the last name Vallin. The people you are meeting tonight are nothing more than those I have no choice but to deal with. Most of the men in the syndicate, in our local area, are older. They are of the outdated thinking that women shouldn’t be in charge of anything substantial, especially not an operation like mine or yours.”
She lifted a brow in response to my news. “Unless we’re planning on divorcing, they are going to have to get over it.”
Mecca wasn’t a traditional woman; therefore, she wasn’t going to take any shit from anyone. And, I was of the mindset that I wasn’t going to tolerate them doing or saying anything to offend or upset her.
“After I had taken over from my father, I had walked a shaky tightrope with the group. It took years to prove myself and win their acceptance, but I haven’t gone unscathed, because some have done their best to overthrow my position and take it for themselves. I’m sure they are going to welcome you with the same sort of treatment.”
She simply stared at me without responding, getting the gist of the type of people who made up the group she was about to meet. Sheer grace and elegance sashayed in my direction, capturing me as much as when she was flashing skin.
The dark blue silk dress with the fancy gold zippers added a bold touch of sophistication to her confident persona. She had swept her hair up into an elegant bun that rested on her nape. The daringly tall gold heels gave her enough pop to shine light on her feisty side.
Mecca didn’t look like she worked for anybody. She looked like the owner of any and everything she wanted. She didn’t wear one physically, but her head was adorned with a crown just the same.
“Wow. You look beautiful. So sexy and graceful.” I placed a delicate kiss on her cheek, unable to help lingering near her, soaking up her energetic warmth. I eased back enough to capture her gaze.
“In response to your earlier comment. No one else’s opinions matter, and divorce isn’t an option. As a matter of fact, you can delete the word from your vocabulary. You’re stuck with me, forever.”
Her reply was a lingering peck on my cheek, which was all the confirmation I needed that we were in this for the long haul.
The blaring sound of the city and the sight of its energetic view were all cast away as nothing more than background music. Mecca was all I cared about seeing, and her voice the only sound I cared about hearing.
I took the hand she reached out and helped her from the car. Ron, my driver, no longer bothered coming around to open Mecca’s door. I had told him, unless I wasn’t there, I would be the one to help her out of the car.
A great sense of pride had overtaken me while I strolled along the paved path to the restaurant with Mecca at my side. Automatically, my hand was at her back, as I had accepted that I was unable to keep my hands off her.
For me, she was the most beautiful thing I had laid eyes on. That she was smart and deadly enough to handle the type of lifestyle I lived was a bonus. I leaned in her direction.
“Have I mentioned how gorgeous you are?”
“Thank you, husband.”
That smile. She made me forget that we were about to enter a room full of old relics that would pay anyone willing, to put a bullet in my head.
“Here we go,” I whispered.
“Here we go,” she repeated with an unbothered expression on her lovely face.
The host opened the door and ushered us in, presenting a slight bow and hand gesture. Elegantly set tables, perfect white linens, and eyes: surprise, awe, curiosity, and every other emotion was reflected in the group’s watchful stares as silence came alive and entombed their movements.
New sets of eyes locked on us as they framed us to their psyche, no doubt forming opinions, speculating, and making determinations without facts. The volume of their mental scrutiny grew more intense with each step we took. The group of about twenty couples ranged in ages from thirty to
seventy-eight, the eldest man having the youngest wife.
Mecca walked beside me with her head held high, her arm looped through mine. Some welcomed us with head nods and lifted wine glasses pointed in our direction. We returned the gestures with pleasant smiles and friendly nods of our own.
Low murmurs found their way to us, but I was unable to decipher anything specific. Once we reached our table, I assisted Mecca into her chair before taking mine.
“I expected this to be dinner, us sitting around someone’s kitchen table. This is a full-on dinner party.” Her words breezed between her lips.
“Something like that,” I returned.
Our table sat in the center of one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. They had rented out the place for our dinner party. Thankfully, whoever coordinated the event respected that I wasn’t going to put my back to the entrance, or anyone else for that matter.
They had rearranged the place so that our table sat at the far wall and allowed us a view of everyone in attendance, as well as the front door. A brick wall sat at our backs. A large table sat off to our right, overflowing with gift bags and boxes with more boxes stacked under the table. The envelopes were no doubt stuffed with money. Ass-kissing was a sport that would never die, but I already had plans to donate everything they had given us, to charity.
Stanford ‘Stan’ Wallace, was the first to stand, and expectantly so. He was the first to protest when I had taken over for my father. He did a good job of appearing innocent, but I knew he had made a few attempts to stir up trouble, even made a few attempts on my life.
The only reason he wasn’t dead was because I hadn’t decided to kill him yet. There were still a few things I needed from him. His attempts on my life had never succeeded or gotten past my secret weapon—Khane.
The rest of the guests quieted as Stan presented a fake smile and lifted his glass to make a toast. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Vallin.”
A rounds of claps sounded along with welcomes and hellos, and I swore I heard the fakeness in their applause. This party was nothing more than a shit-show for them to get a close-up view of Mecca.
I hadn’t invited any of these two-faced, old crows to our wedding, and I’m sure I had hurt their feelings of self-importance by leaving them out.
“I must compliment you on your choice. Your wife is beautiful.”
But?
“But…” He was predictable and wasted no time getting to the point of this dinner.
“An alliance with a drug cartel isn’t the best move to make on behalf of this syndicate. I’m surprised something like this was cleared.”
Because they didn’t consult with the likes of you.
The committee that cast deciding votes were old-power, much like this group who approved major deals and implemented laws, like a warped version of congress. The difference between the group that decided the Vallin-Evans alliance, and this one, was that they were more like federal level, and the group in this room were like state.
Although I essentially possessed more power than any of them, sort of like a governor, they had enough collective power to overthrow my decisions. They could also overthrow my position and vote me out. Attempts were made, but I had learned the game of always having more of them on my side than not.
Mecca appeared to be fighting her reaction to Stan’s comments as her body remained tensed. I reached for her hand. Once she handed it over, I held tight and stood. Stan continued to talk, but I had stopped listening after his first complete sentence.
“I’ve been the head of this region for seven years now. Not only have I made everyone in this room richer, but I’ve somehow managed to control my impulse to send some of you in here to hell for trying to kill me.”
Mecca bit into her lip, dropping her head to hide the telling smile that surfaced at my comment that had set off gasps and had hands covering some of the awed faces in the crowd. Stan pointed at Mecca.
“You smile, young lady, but you have no idea who you’re married to. Just because you’re some drug kingpin’s niece, it doesn’t give you any kind of power in this world. You’re nothing but a bridge between two deep gaps that you’ll never understand.”
He wanted more power, yet he failed to fully understand the world in which he lived. In the simplest terms, he was too old for this shit. His methods and ways were outdated.
“It won’t take but a few seconds for me to tell you that my wife is the most powerful woman in this room, but it would take me a lifetime to make you understand the reasons why.”
I glanced down at Mecca.
“My dear, sweet, lovely wife runs the Black Saints.”
More gasp, wide eyes, and mouths were falling open in surprise. I even saw a few fingers pointing. Them not having knowledge of Mecca’s position among her organization was proof that they weren’t cut out for what they were after. I made it my business to know more about them, and their business than they sometimes knew.
“It’s not the same,” another voice sounded. It was George Anello.
“You can’t expect us to respect this woman. She’s an outsider. A fucking eggplant,” he spat the ugly word with an eagerness that made his Italian accent peek out. He had spoken the prejudiced word with his chest poked out in pride, causing a storm of gasps and some people to sling heated words in his direction. He may as well have called Mecca the N-word, as far as I was concerned.
Mecca stepped away from the table, her chair grunting from her quick movement.
“Did that motherfucker just call me an eggplant? What fucking decade are we in?” she asked as she stepped away from the table. Knowing my wife the way I did, she was packing, and George was more than likely about to eat a bullet.
I locked a firm grip around her arm, stopping her progression and causing her to turn her anger in my direction. I spoke quickly, not giving her the chance to unleash that anger.
“First, I’m sorry you had to hear that shit. Second, I promise you. I’ll take care of it.”
The hurt in her gaze tore me apart. If I let her go right now, I had no idea what she would do. There was a way you handled people like George, and she would find out soon enough.
“Trust me, love. I’ll take care of it.” I urged, nodding, and presenting a calmness I didn’t truly feel. My calming words had finally eased enough of her tension for her to return to her spot behind our table. Once I was sure she wasn’t going to shoot up the place, I turned back to the crowd.
“My wife is a Vallin, and you are going to respect her and her authority.”
“Or what?” Stan asked, flexing for the crowd.
“Or I’ll show you that I’m a lot more than a niece of a drug kingpin,” Mecca answered.
“Is that a threat?” He pointed in our direction, nearly hitting one of the servers that was spread throughout the room. They had started to set soup on our tables and appeared to not know what to do in the midst of our battle.
“I’m a committee member of this syndicate. I won’t tolerate that from this…this stranger. She can’t step into our house and start running things.”
“She can, and she will have all the rights that I have,” I said, my eyes circling the room. Mecca didn’t even know what all those rights were yet, but I wanted this bunch of uppity pricks to know where I stood. The statements I made caused a stir, but most were smart enough not to voice their opinions out loud. George’s lips were itching to dig him a deeper hole as he glared at me and Mecca.
“So you’re telling us that this little gal is running the crime family that you’ve decided to bind yourself to? No one is going to listen to her, she’ll be overrun or dead within a month.”
The dismissing glare he cast at Mecca said as much as his disrespectful words.
“Shut up George! You don’t speak for all of us,” someone in the crowd shouted as others agreed.
“I know you didn’t call me a little gal. What are you, a member of the good-ole-boys club?” Mecca spit her words through the rage I could feel swirling arou
nd her body. She lifted her snow-white napkin for all to see and aimed it in George’s direction.
“You can use this as your temporary mask since you appear to have left yours at home.”
George’s sputtering movements had his protruding belly one wiggle from popping the button in his suit jacket. Some laughed at Mecca’s comment, while others sat stunned, glaring between her and George.
“How dare you insinuate that I’m a member of that Godforsaken Klan? Arjen, are you going to let her talk to me this way?”
“George, you—”
“How dare you insinuate that because I’m a woman, I can’t run an effective organization? How dare you ask my husband, to shut me up?”
“Arjen!” George yelled again. He had been married four times, and I was starting to understand why. I had an idea, but I had never seen his true colors before now. He didn’t have to say it outright, but he had a problem with Mecca’s race, and that meant he had a fucking problem with me.
“You don’t have to yell for my husband. I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself. I have a hole in my face that carries sound, same as him. If you’re done with your caveman remarks, I’d like to start eating my soup before it gets cold.”
George shot off, stomping away from his table and heading towards the bathroom, huffing and puffing. He frowned at me, while Mecca picked up her glass and sipped her wine as her wicked glare chased him until he disappeared from sight.
After she had taken her seat, I turned and sat a gentle hand atop hers on the table. “Will you excuse me for a moment, I need to make a call. Please try not to kill anyone without me. As much as I hate it, politics come into play with most of these assholes.”
“With this crowd, I’m not making you any promises,” she said, a smile in her eyes despite the tough mob she was facing.
“Is everything okay?” she asked with her forehead creased in concern.
