Sex in the Hood Saga (38 page)

Behind her, Knight knelt, too.

Just as The Queen's lips wrapped around Trina's cherry sized clit, Knight's big dick rammed up into The Queen's pussy from the back.

The Queen sucked like her life depended on it. She licked and finger fucked, as she moaned and shivered with the pleasure of Knight's pipe, pounding into her sweet canal.

On the carpet, nearby, Honey spread her sweet stuff for CoCo to lick as CoCo's finger fucked herself from behind, her beautiful dark ass poked up in the air, her titties dancing over the carpet as she sucked.

“I'm 'bout to blow,” Knight groaned. He pounded harder and harder.

The Queen licked ferociously.

CoCo and Honey came all over the floor.

“Damn!” Knight exclaimed as he nutted inside The Queen.

Trina panted, then collapsed.

They all laid quiet for a few minutes.

Then, when they were dressed, Trina revisited the TV interview question.

Knight walked to the mummy case. He pulled out a videotape and said
,
“The answer is no. Hell no. And neva in a million years, unless you'd like to see this on national TV to preview your legal analysis of the day.”

Jamal was diggin' the way CoCo was sucking his dick while he worked the board in his music studio. Life for a twenty-two-year-old brotha from the hood didn't get much better than this fantasy hook up as a hip-hop music mogul. He was sitting in his big chair, getting blown by his lady, and watching Knight and The Queen through the glass in the sound booth, where they were jammin' on their wedding song, and each other.

The soft light of white candles all around the soundbooth cast the most seductive glow over their nude bodies. They looked like a huge licorice twist around a long caramel sucker, and their love was so hot that they both glistened as if they were melting into one.

As Knight planted his lips on The Queen's shoulder and sucked her skin, making her pretty cinnamon nipples point straight at Jamal, he moaned.

“The world ain't neva seen that kinda love,” Jamal whispered. “But I'm 'bout to show 'em.” He glanced at the panel of knobs and red lights to his right. Yeah, the cameras were rolling on four angles, including the ceiling, to capture that from every angle. They'd have to edit to make it clean enough for TV, but the Bang Squad knew all kinds of ways to show a lot of bumpin' and grindin' without showing the whole body part.

Jamal swayed his body to the sexy beat he had laid to The Queen's song. It started with The Queen whispering, “Promise you'll always kiss me like this.”

The hook jammed on their hit theme song, “Love You to the Infinity,” which had been rocking the charts since its debut.

The fact that Knight and The Queen had refused all media interviews from the hottest hip-hop magazines and TV shows out there only made fans want more. All kinds of rumors were burnin' up cell phones, e-mails, and Internet Web sites about the real identities of The Queen and her Knight.

Some said it was Tupac and Aaliyah reincarnated. Or that they had faked their deaths and were recording from some remote hideaway under aliases.

But nobody except folks at Babylon knew the truth. And they also knew that if they snitched that'd be their ass. So the secret was kept. And sales and rumors would shoot through the roof as soon as Manifest Destiny went into effect.

“Millions,” Jamal whispered.

Just like Knight, Prince, and Duke had given Jamal their word three years ago that they would bankroll his music until he became the next P. Diddy or Jay-Z. And the three brothers had stuck by their word. They'd done everything, from financing his studio time, to sponsoring his national concert tour, to using their underground network and power plays to get him on the hottest radio stations across America.

So by the time Knight had gotten out of lock-up, Jamal and Bang Squad were so rich and famous that their nasty beats were rockin' in cars, flowin' off lips from the cities to the suburbs, and even playing on the soundtrack to a couple in-the-hoodstyle Hollywood movies.

Jamal's dick threatened to turn to mush. Because if he turned on Knight, he'd be through just as quickly.

But the idea of taking on an illegitimate business, now that Jamal had huge, legitimate record deals, made something sharp and wicked slice through his gut. Then again, the idea of raking in all those millions that Babylon was making across the country, suddenly made Jamal's dick stand to attention and pledge allegiance to his boy and their deal.

His dick got even harder as The Queen moaned, “Yeah, baby, promise me we can be wild and free and love to the infinity.”

And the video of them, right now, making love like a man and a woman was so hot, a magical glow lit up the studio like The Queen really was Tinkerbell sprinkling her pixie dust all over the two of them.

“Millions,” Jamal whispered, shifting his hips to shove his dick deeper into CoCo's sexy little mouth.

“CoCo, you doin' it jus' like Daddy love it,” Jamal groaned. His phone vibrated on his hip. DICKMAN flashed on the red screen. Raynard would have to wait.

Right now Jamal only had two things on his mind; music and making love. 'Cause CoCo had a way of letting lots of spit cover her lips and the inside of her mouth while she slurped up and down on Beat.

Unlike some girls who act like a dick's gonna lurch up and bite them, or get stuck in their throat, or make them sweat out their hair, CoCo always got down and dirty, and acted like she loved that shit. A sexy shiver rippled through his six-foot frame as he watched Knight and The Queen through the glass in the sound booth. The Queen's earphones held her hair back over her shoulders as she moaned into the mic that descended from the ceiling. Her hair swayed back and forth, over her bare shoulders as Knight drilled her fine ass from the back. So the sexy sounds everybody would hear at the wedding reception would be real. Because they were really fuckin' in the sound booth.

As CoCo squeezed her slippery lips over his dick, up and down, he shifted his hips in the red suede chair.

Jamal slid up the bass to capture the full range of The Queen's sexual sounds.

Ain't no betta life than this shit.
He couldn't even see CoCo under the board. She had a pillow down there in the darkness, to cushion her knees as she sucked his dick. As good as she sucked, he might consider making her his queen when he officially took over Babylon from coast to coast. This king would soon be ruling his kingdom. His Grammy award-winning musical empire was quickly expanding with hit making new artists, a clothing line, a custom Bang Squad SUV, cell phones, male and female fragrances, and even restaurants in New York and L.A.

Adding sex to the enterprise would help him make his billions even faster. And it would be easy to hide under all his legitimate and highly respected business endeavors. He was about to become the most revered and feared gangsta anywhere, ever.

Jamal nodded to the sexy beat that he had laid for their wedding song, “Promise Me.” He had promised Knight that their deal would be top secret and not revealed until well after he had disappeared into tropical oblivion.

“Damn, look at that muthafucka,” Jamal exclaimed, watching Knight jackhammer The Queen nonstop. Her erotic moans into the mic made Jamal shiver. “Yeah, suck that,” he said down to CoCo.

She sucked faster. “Come up here,” he said.

She climbed out of the darkness with eager eyes and wet lips. Her black denim mini-dress was already hoisted up over her thighs.

“Come sit on it.”

She was so tiny, she could sit back on Beat and not block his view of the sexiest couple he'd ever seen gettin' it on in his studio.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned as her pussy squeezed around Beat.

She ground, round and round, knowing just how to move so that he could still have his hands and forearms on the console.

“Work that shit.”

She licked her fingers and pressed them down to her clit. That made her pussy squeeze harder as she rubbed herself.

“Yeah, cum wit' me,” Jamal groaned. “Cum wit' me, sweet CoCo.”

They faced forward, getting their freak on, watching their best friends do the same, and making beautiful music all at the same time.

The Queen felt so wild and rebellious as her ass poked out and back toward the traffic. Riding through downtown Detroit on the back of Knight's Suzuki motorcycle, it was as if she were telling the wicked world to kiss her black booty.

The bike lurched forward. The Queen held on tight. And Knight took off, screeching through the intersection as the traffic light glowed green on Jefferson Avenue. The Queen closed her eyes as the power rumbled through her so strongly, rousing shivers.

“Yeah, rev me like that, baby,” she purred into the microphone wired inside her black helmet. She needed to write a song called “Lifegasm,” about the spasms of love and orgasms she constantly experienced. Knight was driving so fast, the momentum and speed gave her a buzz. Maybe he was zipping through downtown to find a spot where they could park the bike and she could straddle him right there on the seat.

She kept her eyes closed to let that fantasy play out in her mind. The vibrating seat was getting her ready to cum again. Plus, Celeste was still throbbing from the sensuous, candlelit lovemaking and singing in Jamal's studio. It seemed like the more they made love, the more she wanted it.

She gripped the insides of her thighs along the outsides of his legs. They were touching all the way down to her black boots, which were just behind his. All her hair was tucked into her helmet because Knight had said they stood out enough and didn't need any more attention. The last time they had taken the bike out, and she'd let her long black hair fly in the wind behind them, somebody in a van had followed them and asked if he could take their picture for the newspaper.

“Je regrette que je ne parle pas anglais,”
The Queen had cooed, later laughing that she'd told the photo journalist in French, “I'm sorry, I don't speak English.”

Knight didn't laugh though, because he said it could have completely blown their cover.

That's why today, when Knight had at first refused to take the bike out, The Queen had pleaded with him saying the fresh air would make him feel great. And it did, because he'd seemed much more relaxed now.

The Queen opened her eyes. They were speeding west on Jefferson. She smiled behind the tinted glass of her helmet. She began singing their wedding song. “Promise me you'll always—” All of a sudden a deep rumble all around them made her stop.

“Don't turn around,” Knight said. “It's a gang.”

Beside them, a lime green bike pulled up on their left, along with an orange one. Two black ones stopped to their right.

“Moreno's muthafuckas.”

The Queen froze.
I'm pregnant.

She knew Knight would handle it like a Hollywood stunt man. The light was still red. They were in the middle of five lanes, surrounded by bikes. City Hall was on their right. TV trucks and police cars usually lined the curb, but today there was only a meter maid, a cab, and a bunch of hoopties.

“Hold on, baby girl.” Knight proved that his bike really could go from zero to eighty in the blink of an eye. He screeched at the speed of light, making a bold right turn onto Woodward from the middle lane. The revving engine beneath them was all the noise they heard.

The Queen's heart pounded as she gripped Knight with her arms around his waist.
We are safe
. She knew Knight was thinking that he should not have let her talk him into taking the bike to the studio. She could hear him thinking,
The days of reckless abandon for the sake of fun are over. Until we get to paradise forever. And we will.

But what did “paradise forever” mean? Marriage? Or something else? This telepathic love connection was kind of a bitch. Because she got these hunches that raised questions that maybe she didn't want to know the answers to.

“Biker One to Cairo,” Knight said as he sped toward a park at the city's center. Campus Martius outdoor café was bustling with business people and families as Knight sped over the patterned red brick of the circular boulevard.

The deep roar of bikes behind them made her heart hammer.

“Ramses, over,” Gerard answered from the security post back at The Playhouse.

“HO delivery. Copak.”

The Queen knew that meant “Hummer One pick-up at Comerica Park,” the downtown baseball stadium where the Detroit Tigers played.

“Ramses, over.”

The Queen also knew that Babylon's security system had a lojack installed in every vehicle, including the catering trucks. So that right now, Paul or Gerard, could be watching exactly where their motorcycle was, along with the fleet of Hummers and cars. That way, he could direct Hummer One to the exact spot where they'd meet.

“Hold on, baby girl.” Knight whipped the bike around the circular park. He zipped between a Mercedes and a UPS truck. Then he shot into an alley between two office buildings. He cut a sharp right into another alley, then a left into another.

A few bikes followed; several others rumbled on the streets at the ends of the alleys.

The Queen could hear him thinking,
Here we go. Grip me good.

His mind was ticking down options at the speed of light as he turned down another alley between tall office buildings. Pedestrians jammed the sidewalk at one end. It was an art fair. Vendor booths and food stations packed the streets. That was virtually a dead end. With brick walls at their sides and bikers behind them, it appeared they were stuck.

Suddenly The Queen realized that her fingers, gripping tightly around Knight's waist, were trembling.

For all the exhilarating highs, they were marked by sudden flashes of terror.

Were all the super high moments of exhilaration worth these life threatening lows? Was this the type of lifestyle in which she and Knight wanted to raise a child? But if they were to pick up and leave Babylon, where would they go? What would they do? How could they possibly finance this glamorous life that they loved in a way that was safer, legal, and more low profile?

The questions whizzed through her head as fast as they passed the people, buildings, and vehicles around them. They veered a pasta delivery truck with its back ramp open. A private valet parking lot nestled behind the buildings offered a wide open space.

In one dizzying flash, Knight spun the bike 180 degrees. Two dozen bikers were heading toward them, straight on. He stopped. His black boots touched the brick alley in a way that said, “Bring it on, muthafuckas!”

They zoomed close. And Knight revved the engine. The bike sped straight between the gang.

The Queen imagined she and Knight on the bike were like a bullet shooting past those losers.

She pressed her cheek into Knight's back as he wove between dumpsters, delivery trucks, and people. On the street, he zipped between cars. Not a single biker appeared in the rearview mirrors or at the front or sides.

Knight ripped back up Woodward Avenue. He sped past restaurants, a drug store, chic nightclubs, and lofts. Then he turned right at Grand Circus Park, just south of the fabulous Fox Theatre where Motown greats once played. He whipped toward the giant stone tigers that greeted fans to Comerica Park.

He followed the shiny black stealthiness that was Hummer One, just down the street, as it turned onto a back street for their rendezvous.