All Hail the Queen (8 page)

“You want this fucking dick?” Tank asked, pressing his lips against the side of her face as he stroked her clit.

The sound of someone laying on a horn sounded off.

They both looked out the rearview mirror at a line of cars behind them.

“I want that dick. Give me that fucking dick,” she said, in between deep pants as she worked her pussy walls to grip and then release his dick.

Bap-bap-bap-bap-bap-bap-bap-bap-bap-bap.

Her body jerked forward against the seat with each hard thrust as she watched through glazed eyes as the cars began to go around them.

Bap-bap-bap-bap-bap-bap-bap-bap-bap-bap.

“FUCK YOU!” someone yelled as they passed.

“Too late,” Naeema said with a smile as she closed her eyes.

“Damn right 'cause I'm fucking the shit out of your hardheaded ass right now,” he said before licking the corner of her mouth.

Naeema gasped.

Bap-bap-bap-bap-bap-bap-bap-bap-bap-bap.

They both cried out as they came together. Fast. Fiery. Furious.

Many things between them changed from day to day but their love and their chemistry—their connection—never changed. Never.

“Damn, Na. Damn,” Tank moaned as he exhaled short bursts of air against her neck.

“I know,” she said, her breathing mirroring his.
“I know.”

Naeema sat up in bed, the sheet falling to her waist as she looked around Tank's bedroom. Something had awakened her. The room was dark except for the light from the television. Her eyes landed on the open bedroom door. Her brows dipped as she frowned.

Tank had to indeed rush home and prep for a bodyguard job after they finally got their shit together in the van. With nothing on but her robe, she agreed to stay behind at his house. And she could have sworn that Tank shut that bedroom door after he showered, got dressed, and left.

Right?

She bit the tip of her nail as she replayed the hours since Tank left.

“I took a shower,” she said softly. “Did some sit-ups. Called Sarge's crazy ass. And watched all those reality shows 'til I fell asleep.”

She never left the bedroom.

Right?

Kicking the cool sheets off her legs, Naeema climbed from the bed naked and walked into the hall. The fine hairs on her body seemed to stand on end and she rubbed her thumb across her palm wishing she had her gun in her hand.

Calm down. It was probably a noise on the TV.

The robbery last night had fucked her up. She knew she was being hypersensitive and shit but she still walked through the entire house and checked every bedroom. In the living room she moved to the window and peeked out the curtain. She leaned in closer when she thought she saw a shadow move across the porch.

“You up?”

Naeema gasped and whipped around with her hand raised.

Tank turned up the dimmer switch. He frowned a bit as he eyed her. “You aight?” he asked.

Naeema made a fist and lowered her arm. If she had a gun in her hand Tank would have been shot. “Did you just get here? Because something woke me up,” she said.

He nodded and removed the black short-sleeved V-neck T-shirt he wore. “Yeah, I came in the back way,” he said, flexing his toned arms in the black wife-beater he wore before he sat down on the brown leather sectional.

Naeema came over to sit down beside him. She was a strong woman—a take-no-shit-from-no-one woman—but in that moment as Tank pulled her head down onto his chest she was happy for his strength. His protection. “That robbery really got me fucked up, Tank,” she said.

He kissed the top of her head and rubbed her thigh just below her ass. “I still got one of my guys patrolling the neighborhood. Whoever it is won't get in your place again.”

Naeema nodded and tilted her head back to look up at him. “I want to know who he is. Okay?” she asked softly.

The one-word question held so many expectations of Tank.

“Okay,” he agreed, shouldering them well.

5

Two months later

N
aeema looked down at the blunt she was smoking and twisted her mouth upward. She hated it. The high wasn't the same for her. The cigar paper added another level to the shit that was just unnecessary for her. And just because she knew how to split, fill, and lick a blunt didn't mean she wanted to. She especially didn't fuck with it with others.
Fuck passing around something somebody else rolled with their spit. Miss me with that germy shit.

She tapped the ashes into a glass she was using in place of an ashtray. The door to the suite in the Renaissance Hotel opened and Tank paused in the entrance to take in the sight of her sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but a lace strapless bra, matching thong, and black patent leather heels as she smoked. She smiled at him as she released a stream of smoke through her nose. As he shut the door she stood up and offered it to him.

Tank shook his head. “Not when I'm on duty,” he told her.

“Where'd you go?” Naeema asked, sitting back down and crossing her legs.

“I have to check in and out with you?”
he asked, his tone tinged with sarcasm.

Naeema made a face. “I don't shadow you like that so don't flip on me with no bullshit, Tank,” she said, eyeing him.

He said nothing.

The last couple of days his mood swung between short tempered and distant. Both were a hassle to her life. “Come chief wit' me,” she offered again, holding out the blunt. “You need it.”

He glanced up at her briefly as he checked his phone.

She shrugged. “I know Sarge threw my pipe out,” she said. “Probably used it for batting practice or some shit.”

Tank dropped his iPhone onto the bed beside her and started to undress. His face was pensive as he looked off into the distance.

“Tank, yo, you heard me. I said I know Sarge threw my pipe out,” she repeated. “Tank.”

“Huh, bae?” he asked, turning his head to look at her.

“Sarge. My missing pipe.”

He balled up the T-shirt he wore and tossed it into his open leather duffel bag on the luggage rack by the door. “Leaving it in the kitchen was crazy,” he said.

Naeema nodded. She'd retraced her steps and the last time she could remember seeing her weed pipe was the night of the robbery when she took it into the kitchen just before she let Mya in. She could only imagine what all Sarge had to say when he came upstairs to a ceramic dick sitting on the table. She laughed before she took another toke and held it as she eyed Tank. “Buying an even bigger one to replace it is the real pissing contest,” she said.

Tank smiled but it didn't reach his eyes.

Man, fuck it.

Naeema walked out onto the balcony overlooking the bright lights and fast-moving energy of Times Square. The city's sounds were alive and popping. Tank was in town to supervise the security detail for platinum rap artist Fevah during the premiere of her movie
Killer Eyes.
He invited Naeema along and they were planning on spending the weekend together.

She gave zero fucks if someone could see her. She turned and leaned back against the balcony as she eyed Tank in nothing but his boxers as he removed everything from the pants he just took off. Through the haze of smoke Naeema took in his body. The way he moved. His tattoos. The swing of his big dick. His everything.

And it all said motherfucking boss. He was a man in control.

But she knew
she
could make him lose it.

“Who's working with you tonight?” Naeema asked, holding the blunt between her fingers as she took in the way his dick was thick even at rest.

“Yani's escorting Fevah and her entourage in,” he said, moving over to the safe to unlock it and remove his weapon.

“No Grip?” she asked, surprised that his right-hand man wasn't in attendance.

“Nah, he's out of town,” Tank said, as he checked the Glock with speed and skill before setting it on the bed atop his outfit for the night. “That's why I'm driving them all there and back.”

Tank's vehicles were all bulletproof, providing an additional layer of protection that he worked hard to provide for his clients. It was his job to make sure nobody got fucked up. He did it well. What security he couldn't
provide via his licensed gun, his bulletproof vehicles, and his team he was able to provide via his training in hand-to-hand combat.

“Well, thank you for getting me in to see the movie,” Naeema said. “I don't have to fuck Fevah up for doing you a favor on some ill shit. Do I?”

Tank leveled his eyes on her. “When we're together we are together,” he said.

Naeema released smoke through her lips. “Just make sure all the females you work with know that.”

“They can't make me fuck 'em, Na, and I'm not looking for no pussy.”

She gave him a look that said
You better not be
.

“You grabbed the wrong damn shirt,” Tank said, holding up a light gray button-down shirt.

“You're just driving,” she said, knowing he favored wearing either all black or navy when he was on duty.

“Yeah you right,” he said, glancing up at her.

He did a double take. “Damn you look sexy as shit, bae,” he said.

Naeema arched her brow and tilted her head in a nod of thanks before she held the blunt to her mouth and took another toke. Her head was freshly shaven. Her makeup was beat with smoked-out eyes, long mink lashes, and a bright red lipstick that made her mouth plump. Large fake diamond studs in her ears. Her full-arm tattoo sleeve. The sexy lingerie. The five-inch stiletto heels. Her vixen body. All with the bright lights of Times Square as her backdrop as she smoked a blunt.

Tank looked meaningfully down at his dick.

Her eyes followed his. It was hard and long and pressed
against his boxer briefs and pulled the waistband away from his body.
Well, damn, somebody's in a better mood.

Naeema dropped the half a blunt and then pressed it beneath her shoe before she walked back into the room. She grabbed Tank by his dick with one hand and an armless chair with the other. She pulled both out onto the balcony. “Sit,” she said as she bent slightly to tug his boxer briefs down around his thighs before he did. The rim caught on his dick as she did causing it to spring back and forth like a diving board.

“You wild, Na,” he said, reaching up to smooth his hand over his Caesar as he shook his head in wonder.

“You ain't new to this,” she said cockily, straddling his hips as she stroked the back of his head with one hand and his dick with the other.

Tank's sexy eyes were on her face. “You a bad bitch, Na,” he said, before dipping his head to suck her nipple through the lace as she rose up on her toes to pull her thong to the side and lower her pussy down onto his dick.

“You best believe it,” she told him as she pressed her feet against the wall on either side of him and leaned back to circle her hips and then glide them back and forth as she straight took care of the dick.

“Fuck,” he swore, looking down at her breasts and her hard nipples pressed against the black lace as she rode him. He looked down at his dick wet with her juices as it disappeared and reappeared with each of her strokes. “Who pussy?”

“What it say?” she asked him thickly before letting her head fall back as she reached up to tease her nipples as he supported her with his hands gripping her hips.

He looked down at his name tattooed across the plump bald mound. The sight of it made his dick even harder.

Naeema moaned at the slight change.

They weren't new to it at all and neither gave a fuck if they were putting on a hell of a show for anyone. In that moment it was all about them and nothing else mattered. Seriously.