All Hail the Queen (19 page)

Naeema gritted her teeth, hating that her plan was going to shit before she even really got started. It was rare to run into a man who didn't let a little tits and ass distract him.
He'd be perfect for Tank's team.

“No problem,” he said, looking up at one of the black, ornate light fixtures flanking the door.

Naeema followed his line of vision.
Was there a camera?

“Excuse me.”

She shifted her eyes back to him, surprised to find he was opening the door. She played it smooth as hell as she lightly tapped the money against her chin as she walked past him and inside the club. The music she couldn't hear from the street played loudly with the bass seeming to press against her body with each THUMP. He stepped inside the all-black hall behind her and although her eyes followed the length of the hall to a smoked-out glass door at the end, he pressed a spot on the wall and a hidden door opened revealing a small elevator with a metal gate with an ornate scroll pattern.

Here the fuck we go.

The bodyguard leaned in just long enough to push the button marked with an arrow pointing upward. He stepped back without another direct look at her as the automatic door closed. Her heart was beating fast as she pushed the cash back inside her clutch and stepped into the elevator that was only big enough for two. She raked her fingers through her waist-length blond hair and fixed her face to look vapid in case there were more cameras trained on her. As the elevator rose to the next level, she pulled a compact and her gloss from the purse. In the mirror she could see the apprehension reflected in her eyes.
Don't fuck up, Naeema. Do not fuck up.

The elevator stopped and she replaced the compact and gloss before tucking her clutch under her arm. Through the gate she looked directly into a large office. It was high-end everything. Décor. Polished wood floors. Metal light fixtures. Expensive furnishings.

She eyed one man sitting behind a large wooden desk in a chair fit for a motherfucking boss. Another man sat in the chair before it and had his back to her. Naeema had never laid eyes on Murk but she knew he was the one who beckoned her forward with a quick wave of his hand.

The door opened and she stepped inside the lion's den. Her heart was beating hard and fast like she just ran a mile. “Hello,” she said, coming forward. Her heels tapped lightly against the wood as she did.

Murk looked nothing like his reputation in the three-piece pinstriped suit he wore with a shirt and tie that could only be silk. The diamonds around his neck and on his watch made the look less “accountant” and everything about being a man made for money. His skin was smooth and dark. His teeth white as milk. He looked to be in his late twenties, at the most.

“How can I help you?” he said, his voice swollen with that swagger only bred on the East Coast. He leaned back against his chair to eye her.

“I was looking for a job so I wondered how
I
could help
you
,” she said, keeping her voice light and airy.

“We only take applications on Wednesdays during business hours but my friend here thought such a fine bitch shouldn't have to wait,” Murk said.

Naeema tried not to flinch at the insult—whether he thought it was one or not. Her instincts had been to correct
his ass but instead she smiled like she was boosted up by his compliment and looked down at the man in the chair.

Her heart literally stopped as she looked at her client Diego Martinez. He rose from the chair in a bad-ass navy suit with a matching shirt open at the collar. Like Murk, his diamond jewelry had him iced the fuck out.

“Thank you,” she said, turning her face away from him a little bit.

Diego reached for her hand and lifted it to press a kiss to the back of it.

His lips were smooth.

“My pleasure, Miss . . .”

She licked her lips nervously and tasted the gloss she just lathered on her mouth. “Just call me Queen,” she said.

“Queen,” he repeated with a little smile at the corners of his lips.

Naeema knew right then that he had clearly seen through her charade.
Did he give me up to Murk and they were just playing along for fucking kicks?

“What type of work were you looking for?” Murk asked.

Naeema looked away from Diego as he released her hand and reclaimed his seat. “To serve drink—”

“With an ass like that?” Murk balked. “Sheiiiit.”

Diego laughed and cut his eye up at her as he stroked his square chin.

What the fuck is going on right now?

“I can't really dance,” she said.

“Hell, everything on you will jiggle if you just sneeze. Shit,” Murk said, his black eyes taking in her body.

It was a look that would've led Tank to murk Murk.

There was a time she was young and dumb enough to be
excited by two rich ninjas eyeing her. Now she knew the shit was degrading as hell.
Thank God I grew the fuck up.

“Banging body or not, Murk, take it from a regular there ain't shit worse than a dry-ass stripper who can't work the pole,” Diego said, his accent caressing the fuck out of his words.

The men exchanged a look across the desk.

“Turn around,” Murk said, sitting forward to press his elbows on top of the desk that was covered with black suede.

Go with it, Naeema.

She raised her arms high above her head to emphasize her hourglass frame even more as she slowly turned around until she was back facing Murk.

“She a stunner for sure,” Diego said.

Murk swiped his hand across his mouth. “What's your number?” he said, picking up a pen.

She easily ran off the numbers of her burner phone.

Diego shifted his body in his seat. He knew her real cell phone from calling to make appointments at the barbershop.

“Bar girls work for just tips. Squeeze that fat ass in black leggings and we provide the tops. Fill out an application downstairs with my bar manager Tyrone. He'll tell you your schedule,” Murk said, his tone dismissive.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” she said, giving Diego one last look before she turned to walk back to the elevator.

Naeema had just stepped in and was turning when Diego stepped in with her. He pressed the button to close the automatic door and stayed facing her with his hands in his pockets. Their eyes were locked. As the elevator began to descend he bent down a bit to press his lips close to her ear.

“I don't know what the fuck you're up to but you know you owe me now. Right . . .
Queen
?” he asked, before pressing a kiss to the top of her neck.

Naeema said nothing. She didn't know what the fuck to say.

The elevator slid to a stop and Diego waved her through as the door slid back and he opened the hidden door into the hall. They both stepped off. With one last look at each other he headed out the door of the club, leaving Naeema standing there, wondering what she had just gotten herself
into.

11

N
aeema turned over in bed and snuggled her body against the side of Tank before pressing kisses to his shoulder and rubbing her leg against the length of his. She reached down to trace the defined lines of his stomach before taking his dick into her hand to stroke to hardness. She enjoyed the feel of it in her hand as she shifted her body down to lick and suck first one nipple then the other.

Looking up at him she saw that his eyes were closed in pleasure.

She moved to kneel between his open legs and dip her head to take his dick into her mouth with an eager groan. “I love sucking it,” she whispered against the tip before lowering her head to take enough of him in to tickle her tonsils.

“Hmmmmm,” she moaned at the feel of his dick stroking against her tongue. Her free hand dipped to cup his balls and she stroked the length of him as she sucked the tip so deeply her cheeks caved.

Pleasing him excited her. Her nipples were hard. Her heart was pounding. Her pulse raced. And her clit was swollen and throbbing until it ached between her legs. She was ready. So ready.

Naeema was reluctant to let his dick go but she wanted it inside her—stroking her, pleasing her, fucking her.
She straddled his strong hips and held his long, curved dick upright as she eased her pussy down onto him with a hiss and a bite of her lip. “Tank,” she cried out when she was filled with him.

She sat up straight, let her head hang back, and she rested her upper arms against her forehead as she slowly glided back and forth on his dick as she tightened her pussy walls down around him rhythmically. The feel of the root of him against her clit sent a thrill up her core and made her entire body warm from head to toe.

“I love fucking you,” Naeema whimpered with her face alive with the pleasure she felt.

She circled her hips clockwise and then counterclockwise. “Tank,” she sighed. “You getting this pussy, ain't you?

“Ain't you?” she asked again, lowering her arms to press her hands down against his chest as she continued her slow wind with her hips.

She was used to Tank talking during their sex. His mouth game included more than just pussy eating and he had a way of saying just the right thing to push her over the edge.

“Ain't you, Tank?” she asked, looking down into his face.

He didn't move. His eyes were still closed.

She gasped as his body began to chill beneath her. From his dick to his hard chest beneath her hands there was a sudden icy coldness. “Tank,” she whispered down to him as she pressed on his chest above his heart.

There was no beat.

She bent down to put her ear against his mouth.

There were no breaths.

She shrieked with the realization that he was dead—and had been the entire time she fucked him.

Naeema backed off him and scurried to the end of the bed as she opened her mouth to let out a scream. “Nooooo,” she roared.

Naeema awakened in the middle of her bed and sat up straight with her chest heaving. She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them as she tried to wish away the memory of her nightmare. She hadn't had one so vivid and so damn scary since she was in the throes of hunting down her son's killer.

Knock-knock.

She looked over at the door with the room only dimly lit by the bathroom light streaming down the hall.
Am I still dreaming?

“Miss Naeema. You home? Please let me in.”

Knock-knock.

“Please.”

She frowned as she kicked off the covers and got out of bed. She crossed the room and opened the door. “Mya, what's wrong?” she asked, turning her head to watch the teen ease past her and into the living room. She was dressed in a tank and colorful sleep pants with not a bit of shoes on her feet.

Naeema shut the door and locked it. She reached to flip the light switch.

“No, don't turn on the lights, please,” Mya whispered.

There was a tremble in her voice.

“I'm not hiding in my own house, Mya,” she said, flipping the switch and bathing the room with light from the
ceiling fixture.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.

Mya's eyes widened into miniature saucers as Naeema turned with a frown at someone knocking on her fucking door like the police about to do a raid. “Who is this?” she mouthed to Mya as she pointed one long nail at the door.

“My stepfather,” Mya mouthed back, crossing her arms over her chest.

What the fuck?

She pointed toward the door leading into the kitchen and didn't open the front door until Mya was in it. Naeema was taken aback when she saw the nice-looking light-skinned dude on her porch in nothing but some jeans still unbuttoned at the waist. “Can I help you?” she asked, ignoring the ripped details of his body.