Chapter 7
Seven
Cameron
This bitch is giving me the worst fucking head I’ve ever had in my entire life.
As I’m trying not to fall asleep, I look down at Morgan sucking my dick so enthusiastically while she makes eye contact with me. She does this weird licking thing at the tip as she jacks the skin off my dick, making me chafe.
“Do you like this, baby?” Morgan moans as she stares at me.
“Yeah.” Fuck, no! She doesn’t like sucking dick, even if she claims she loves it. She’s the type of woman who will claim she could do this or that, but when it comes down to it, there’s always a fucking excuse for why she can’t.
She’s not Taylor, not by a long shot. Taylor never claimed to be an expert. If anything, she admitted to not knowing anything. She wanted to learn and was the perfect student. Now I’m stuck with a non-sucking bitch to get back at her daddy. Fuck my life.
“Get on top,” I instruct her, and hopefully, stop the godforsaken head.
I quickly put a condom on because ain’t no way I’m getting this bitch pregnant.
She does get on top, and she had trouble sitting on my cock.
She’s fumbling with it, completely missing the hole, and I don’t have to wonder she’s a pillow princess.
After talking and flirting for a couple of weeks, I finally got Morgan where I want her—wide open and in my bed. Would I actually videotape our session for the world to see? I don’t know yet. But are all of the cameras recording everything? Yep.
I slip inside her, and Morgan’s eyes widen and gasps.
If I can make her come soon, this will be over so that I can maintain some sanity.
I guide her along, thrusting upward, and play with her clit.
She squeals and screams, and soon she’s coming on my dick, collapsing on me.
She giggles and kisses my neck as she squirms on me. “That was so amazing, Cam.”
“It was.” No, it wasn’t. “Did you like it?”
“I did,” she wiggles more on my cock, “did you?”
No, I didn’t. “It was an unforgettable experience.” That’s the damn truth.
Morgan peels herself off me and goes into her book bag. She pulls out a rose-colored vape pen with a happy face on it, because why not? “You vape?”
I constantly get grief from Que and the fellas about my straight-laced lifestyle. They don’t understand how I can sell drugs but don’t even partake in weed. Biggie said it best—never get high off your own supply. “No, but you can go ahead.”
“Sure thing,” she starts vaping and sits on the chair across from the bed, “so your father is a senator? You must know many people in Congress!”
“I know some,” I shrug, “that’s more my dad’s thing.”
The wheels are turning in Morgan’s head, not because she has authentic questions. I know a scheming bitch when I see one. “But your dad makes a lot of the laws, right?” She inquires. “I mean, he helps write them?”
“Some of them. Some of them he has nothing to do with.” I know where this conversation is going, but I want to see if Morgan will lead herself into the pasture. “Why, what’s up?”
“All those protests a few years ago?” She takes a hit of the pen. “Can your dad pass a law to ensure those niggers don’t do it again?”
My ears perk, and I blink at her. My hardened cock softened like melted cheese. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I mean, Black men are only good for fucking. It’s not like I would marry any of them! God, no!” Morgan shakes her head. “You wouldn’t believe how many niggers my Dad has pulled over for no reason!” She laughs. “Like, no reason at all! He even brags about it when we talk sometimes.”
“Really,” I reply. Thoughts of the numerous times Que and many of my other friends have had the same fate. Sometimes, they’re let off with a warning. Sometimes, they’re in handcuffs because they looked suspicious. “That’s...interesting.”
She turns on her side and holds up her head with a palm. “I mean, your father? Doesn’t he feel the same way?”
Honestly, I don’t doubt my father feels the same way, and he has all but shown that. “About...?”
“Like how Black people are only good for entertainment!” She rolls her eyes and laughs. “I’m sure our dads would be great friends!”
They probably would’ve been great friends if her daddy didn’t fuck with me, but that’s all gone now. That’s not important. Morgan is going a mile a minute, and I need her to keep talking. “Maybe.”
“They have a lot in common, don’t they?” She chuckles but then realizes how she sounds. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m not racist, you know? I’m all about Black Lives Matter as long as they’re not looting and burning down buildings as they like, you know?”
“Hmm.” I don’t say anything to ruin the moment.
“But never mind all that,” She climbs back into bed with me, “are you ready for round two?”
I’m ready for round two, but not with her. “I might have to take a rain check on that. I need to handle some important business right now, but later?” I kiss her lips and then her forehead. She moans her appreciation.
“Promise, Cam?” She pouts.
“No, but you’ll see me later.” I can promise that.
The next day, I staged a robbery and break-in at my home, and video footage was mysteriously stolen, including Morgan’s words on tape in 4K.
Que went to Morehouse and graduated with a degree in Computer Science, and used to work for some of the top companies in the world before he quit corporate life.
He can break into almost any computer program and wipe it clean without a trace. He’s a natural hacker.
He also has friends in high places at every social media company, radio, and television station. Morgan’s words were broadcast everywhere before most people had a cup of coffee.
Morgan immediately quit the university and shut down all her social media, and her father is under investigation at the police department, with a resignation coming soon.
That’s only strike one.
~~~~~
THE HOUSE IS DARK AND quiet now. Just me, the low hum of the fridge, and the glow of Que’s laptop in the corner. He’s on my couch, eating cereal like he didn’t just commit digital warfare twelve hours ago. “You know,” he says between bites, “I’ve ruined careers before. But this? This was art.”
I sink into the armchair opposite him, whiskey in hand. “She thought she could use me for access.”
“She thought you were stupid,” Que corrects. “Like you didn’t know her type.”
I take a sip. “They always tell on themselves eventually.”
Que chuckles. “Yeah, but most don’t do it on camera in 4K, lit like a Netflix doc.”
The footage was surgical. Morgan’s high-pitched laughter, the venom in her words, the smug confidence of someone raised to believe the world would never punish her for being exactly who she is.
Now she’s a meme. A cautionary tale. A morning news segment. And her father? His “routine traffic stops” are getting subpoenaed.
Que leans back. “You want me to kill the next one quietly, or you want fireworks again?”
I shake my head. “No. Strike two’s going to be personal. Quiet. Just between me and them.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Them?”
I don’t answer right away. I’m already thinking about the next name on the list. Not Morgan. Not her dad. Someone else who forgot who I was. Someone who let power turn to arrogance. Someone who thought I wouldn't bite back.
I swirl the whiskey in my glass, slowly. “Jamie and Ethan,” I say, eyes on the glass. “What happened at their wedding was only the start.”