Kayla #3
“You takin’ this dick like a good girl, Kayla but I didn’t say you could cum. So now we gone start over.” He yanked me forward, holding me up as he spread my ass cheeks and drove back into my soaked pussy. Standing on the balcony he bounced me on his dick like I weighed nothing.
“You my bitch. Mine. I don’t give a fuck how mad we are, you don’t ever let another nigga feel like he can have what’s mine. Understand?”
“Yessss chulo. Shit, I understand.” I moaned back as he pounded away.
“Fuccckkk.” I shouted into the night. He bit into the side of my neck, thrusting up hard until another orgasm ripped through me. The pressure was so overwhelming, I could do nothing but ride the wave.
“Be my good girl and nut on this dick.”
My scream echoed off the buildings, loud enough for anyone within close proximity to hear.
He’d made his point. I would never forget this moment or the power he held to end everything if he wanted to.
He carried me back inside, laid me on the bed, and stripped out of the rest of his clothes.
I was dazed, my clit still throbbing, already wanting more.
“Bend over. You got a lot to atone for.”
I scooted back and allowed him to follow.
The second he reached me I kissed him sloppily, then flipped him onto his back, and climbed on into a frog like position.
I didn’t give him a chance to speak as I sank down on every inch of him, pausing to feel him stretch me full.
Slowly I began to bounce, staring into his eyes while I played with my clit.
“Apologize for disrespecting me by allowing those hoes to dance on my dick.” I snapped my pussy down on him.
“Fuck,” he gritted, smacking my ass.
“I can’t hear you, Papi chulo. Louder for the bitches in the back.” My hips wound harder, pussy gripping him tight as I rode him deep, waiting for his answer as my juices ran down his shaft.
“You got it, ma. I was wrong.”
“I know I do.” I threw my hands above my head, pouncing on that dick like a pogo stick.
“Yeah, fuck me back just like that. I love the way you ride this dick, Sourpatch.”
“That’s because it’s mine. But you play with me again and it’ll be me using your gun to air shit out next time.”
“Say that shit then, mama.” He flipped me on all fours and went to work on my cervix.
By the time we finally collapsed, neither of us had anything left.
The tension that followed us from Memphis hadn’t disappeared, but for a little while it quieted down long enough for us to remember why we kept finding our way back to each other.
We climbed beneath the sheets without any further arguments, our bodies exhausted while our minds still carried the weight of everything waiting for us outside those four walls.
Tomorrow was another day, and I could only hope it would be better than the tomfoolery we’d dealt with today.
Between Marius, the business we had out here waiting, the war back home, and whatever else was brewing inside Isaiah’s head, I had a feeling this trip was about to become a whole lot bigger than either one of us anticipated.
***
The next morning, we grabbed breakfast before Yayo insisted on taking me to the best personal shopper in Vegas.
If we were going to meet with people who moved the kind of money he claimed they did, apparently I needed to look the part.
Hours later, after trying on more designer clothes than I’d ever worn in my life, we finally climbed back into the truck with garment bags hanging in the backseat and enough shopping bags to stock a boutique.
“Where exactly are we going?” I asked for what had to be the fifth time.
“You’ll see when we get there.”
Typical.
The farther we drove away from the Strip, the more the scenery changed.
The loud tourist attractions slowly gave way to secluded streets lined with gates, private security, and estates hidden behind walls taller than most buildings back home.
Whatever this meeting was, it definitely wasn’t happening in a casino conference room.
When the truck rolled to a stop in front of an enormous glass and stone high-rise overlooking the city, I found myself speechless.
The architecture alone screamed generational money.
Not celebrity or athlete money, but the kind of wealth that didn’t need validation because it had existed long before anybody alive today was born.
“Yayo...” I looked over at him. “Where we at?”
“We’re here to see the Vaelorians.” He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt before climbing out.
“Queen specifically. Just sit back and chill while I talk business.” I nodded, still trying to piece together exactly who these people were and why Isaiah suddenly looked more focused than I’d seen him since we left Memphis.
The moment we approached the entrance, two men dressed in tailored black suits stepped forward.
Neither one smiled. One greeted Yayo with a respectful nod before motioning for him to stop.
“Standard procedure.”
Without complaint, Yayo lifted his arms. They searched him from head to toe, carefully removing the firearms secured beneath his jacket and at his waist before placing them into a secured lockbox behind the podium.
The second guard turned his attention toward me, politely asking for my purse before checking its contents just as thoroughly.
Once they were satisfied, one of the men returned my bag with a courteous nod.
“This way.”
We followed him through the lobby where polished Italian marble stretched in every direction beneath crystal chandeliers that looked expensive enough to buy houses.
Original artwork lined the walls, fresh orchids decorated nearly every surface, and not a single thing inside the building looked mass-produced.
A private elevator waited at the end of the hall. One of the armed guards stepped inside with us, scanned a security card, and pressed the button marked Penthouse. The elevator climbed silently, so smooth I barely realized we were moving until the numbers above the door continued rising.
Neither one of us spoke during the ride. When the doors finally slid open, I understood why Yayo told me to just sit back and observe. I’d seen luxury before but this...this was an entirely different world. Old money...no, mafia money.
Floor-to-ceiling glass wrapped around the entire penthouse, giving an uninterrupted view of the Las Vegas skyline from every angle.
Beyond the living area stretched an expansive rooftop oasis complete with an infinity pool that seemed to disappear into the horizon, private cabanas draped in white linen, a full outdoor kitchen where a private chef prepared lunch for unseen guests, manicured gardens that somehow flourished hundreds of feet above the city, and a helipad positioned at the far end of the terrace overlooking the Strip.
Every piece of furniture looked custom made, every fixture looked imported, and every detail had been chosen by someone who’d never once asked the price of anything.
If money had a smell, this was it.
Escorted through the penthouse and on to the rooftop terrace, my eyes landed on four figures waiting near the edge of the infinity pool. Without anyone saying a word, I knew these had to be the Vaelorians.
“Yayo, what the fuck is up, brother?”
The voice carried across the rooftop before I even had a chance to take everything in.
One of the men stood from his chair and walked toward us with an easy confidence that matched the luxury surrounding him.
He was tall as hell with long, dark hair resting against his shoulders and enough tattoos peeking out from beneath his fitted shirt to let you know he wasn’t somebody to play with.
In all my years of living, I had never seen a man so damn fine.
He had that thugged-out pretty boy look women lost their minds over without even trying.
Then my eyes drifted to the two men standing beside him.
One wore two long braids hanging neatly down his chest while the other had his fine hair pulled into a messy man bun.
They were every bit as tall as the first one, just as tattooed, just as effortlessly handsome, and just alike enough that there wasn’t any denying they were triplets.
Bitch...God took his sweet time with these niggas. I had to physically pull my attention away before somebody caught me staring.
“Rook, wassup my nigga.” Yayo grinned, dapping him up and pulling him into a one-armed hug.
“My dawg decided to leave Memphis.” Rook laughed. “I was beginning to think they done put your ass on house arrest.”
“Nah,” Bishop chimed in, shaking Yayo’s hand next.
“Nigga probably had another parking lot to redecorate before he could catch a flight.”
King laughed, joining the exchange. “Long as he ain’t bring Memphis bullshit to Vegas, we good.”
“Y’ all niggas got jokes today, huh?” Yayo smirked, greeting King with the same brotherly embrace. “Don’t worry. I’ll remember all this shit next time one of y’all need a favor.”
“That’s if Queen don’t fire your ass first,” Bishop shot back with a grin.
Before Yayo could respond, a woman cleared her throat, drawing every bit of attention in her direction.
The woman I assumed was Queen sat poised beneath one of the shaded cabanas, looking every bit deserving of the title she’d been given.
She didn’t need a crown to command the space around her. The way she carried herself said enough. Everything from her tailored cream suit to the diamond earrings catching the sunlight screamed understated wealth. She wasn’t flashy, nor did she have to be. Power had a way of introducing itself.
“Yayo,” she said, rising from her seat.
“It’s been too long. How are you, love?”
Yayo walked over, kissed her cheek, and stepped back respectfully.“Good, Queen. Hanging in there.” Her eyes shifted past him until they landed on me.