Prologue #3
Bahati chewed on her bottom lip as the Afrobeat’s blared from the speakers.
Twisting my torso, I hit her with a curve that had her back arching and nearly lifting off the bed.
With my arm around her neck, I kept her pinned in place as I gave her mediocre dick, but with the way she was whooping and hollering, you would have thought I’d been putting down my best moves.
Closing her eyes, her nails began to glide up my arm that had been holding her down.
The tingling trail that it left behind felt good—too good.
Touches from a woman that I liked had always been a turn-on of mine.
I didn’t need a woman to dress in lingerie or prance around naked, even though it was very much appreciated.
Simple touches like scratching my scalp, grabbing my hand, or wrapping her arms around me did it every time.
My dick hardened, and Bahati’s moans intensified.
Bahati. Pretty, black-ass Bahati had been a good arrangement.
Great pussy, independent, own spot for a nigga to crash, a great cook, even though some of her native dishes were a bit much at times, I’d enjoyed her.
She was a freak in the sheets and a means for a nigga to make some money.
I’d told myself I wasn’t going to get comfortable, but each time her papa came through with that pack, I spent more and more time in her bed.
No matter how much of my dick she stomached, I had been upfront and honest. I wouldn’t be her African Prince.
For one, I was Black and Italian, and a king couldn’t be prince’d.
Pushing the lust to the back of my mind, I focused on what I’d come over here for.
It wasn’t fish and peas. It wasn’t even pussy.
It was to scratch one of the things off my list that grew longer and longer the more I thought.
One less thing, though, meant I could breathe a little easier and blink a little slower.
There wouldn’t be no sleeping going on any time soon, but I’d do a long-ass nod off after today.
A stinging feeling shot up my arm as Bahati’s nails dug into my skin.
Using my free hand, I slapped her arms away, and at the same time, her eyes popped open.
They were no longer sleek with passion; they were bulging with fear, and the pressure from her chin digging into my hand did nothing to remove my hands from around her neck.
I didn’t let up.
I kept on squeezing.
I kept on fucking.
“Bahati, baby. You know how important taking care of my family is to me. So why would you gamble with your life over some shit you knew wasn’t committal from the jump?”
Sliding my dick out, I thrust back in, and even though her airway was restricted, her pussy was the wettest it had ever been.
My dick was now at its full length, and I’d have to say, this was the best sex I’d ever had.
Speeding my pumps up, I was beating her pussy at the same tempo as the sporadic music playing.
“For the last few months… your papa has been giving us the run around… with our supply, Bahati.”
She tried gasping for air, reaching for my hands, but I didn’t need my fucking DNA under her nails, so again, I knocked them shits away.
She was so wet that her secretions slapped on my stomach each time I entered her.
Her face had gone from a shiny black to a bluish-ash pale, but she was still holding on.
“I told you what the fuck it was, Bahati. I’m a fucking king, baby.
You never had a fucking chance… You should have just stood down—sucked my dick, got this bread, and enjoy your fucking time.
But you had to go and put a bug in your papa’s ear…
playing with my bread. I’m indebted to no one, baby.
Can’t no muthafuckas say they have the power to feed or starve me.
The last niggas that did are six feet under, lined up in a row with dusty-ass gravel above them. ”
Her gasps were drowned out by the music, but I could hear them.
I could hear her going home to glory, along with the slickness of my dick still slamming into her pussy.
It sent me on a euphoric high, knowing the last person who played with me would be the last person to play with anybody.
Her father? He’d get by but never away. The loss of his freaky-ass daughter would be enough to send his ass back packing to Africa.
Taking my eyes off Bahati, I looked down at the beautiful mess our body parts made.
My dick was glistening with her juices. Bahati was a good time.
The same way she danced all over the internet for her couple of hundred followers to see, she’d done on this dick multiple occasions.
She was good until she wasn’t. I was not ready to commit myself to a woman.
How could I when I was committed to getting my family out of the dark hold our forefathers had tossed us in?
She knew I wasn’t on that with her, but every time I didn’t answer her phone calls or come over, magically, our supply was either short or nonexistent.
I couldn’t have that shit. So, as fine as she was and as good as her pussy was, she had to fucking go.
Her face was now completely blue. She’d become weaker, and when I decided the sex felt too much like I was taking advantage of her, even though she initiated, the blood rushed to my dick, and I exploded inside her slippery tunnels.
Her eyes closed, and a tear slipped from them involuntarily.
A glow flared beside me, and I turned to see while releasing her from my grip.
I went tone deaf instantly. The only thing that could be heard was the thudding of my heart while I stared at the bright screen.
The man, who had pieced the woman—who had all of my heart—back together, stood there, frozen in time, arms stretched wide.
I’d just committed several acts of sin, not even ten minutes after hearing his message.
Pulling my pants up, I snatched my keys and scanned the room for any evidence of me being there. Taking one last look at the screen, for the first time in the years that he'd been with my mother, I had to disagree with the pastor.
I wanted more, and I would have more. There was no contentment.
I wanted more. I would have more. No room for anything else.
More money. More cars. More clothes. More books.
More jewelry. I would have it all because a king is entitled to his possessions, and I would get it.
But in my kingdom, we had several rulers who all wore a crown.
Ezio Cuppacio. Metavello Cuppacio. Renello Cuppacio.
And when the little Cuppacios were of age, the crowns would be passed down to them.
Stopping at the door of Bahati’s bedroom, I kept my back facing her limp body.
“I don’t have more money than your papa yet, but soon I will, love.”
There was nothing on this earth that could stop me from taking what we were owed. Anybody in my way was seen as a threat, and I didn’t care if they bled every month. Men and women could die slowly fucking with me. When it came to my family, all morality went out the fucking window.
I’m Shio Cuppacio, and any man or woman who threatens the last name would be sent to visit the first batch of Cuppacio niggas. This was the new age where you either got down or got laid down—on foe ’nem.