Kiss the Ring (5 page)

“You need to do something about this raggedy-ass door. Hell . . . and this raggedy motherfucka too,” he said, his tall, broad body looking as fine and fit as it was in the black tee he wore with jeans. Broad shoulders and narrow hips. Muscles. A body built to please.

“Shut up, Tank,” she said, letting the towel drop to the floor.

He removed his helmet and she smiled at his fine Laz Alonzo–looking ass and his square face, slanted eyes, and soft lips.

“Yo, Naeema, you be trippin',” he said.

She lay back on the bed and spread her thick thighs wide. Even as he stood there like he was frozen in one spot, his sexy eyes dipped down to her pussy as she spread her lips and worked her inner muscles.

“This what you call me to come thru for?” he asked.

“Legally . . . that's my dick . . . and this your pussy,” Naeema said, her eyes locked on his. “Come thru.”

“You left me. You said we was done. You said you was sick of arguing—”

She flipped over onto her knees on the bed and twerked her ass muscles. “Last chance, hubby,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him.

Tank was every bit of six foot five and strong as a dozen oxen but she knew her pussy was his weakness. Always had been. Always would be.

Moments later she bit her bottom lip at the hot feel of his fingers massaging her buttocks before he slapped first one ass cheek and then the other.

WHAP. WHAP.

“Say please,” he ordered her as he pressed his thumb against her clit.

She moaned in pleasure, already imagining him sliding all of his eleven thick inches deep inside her. She knew without looking that his pants were down around his ankles and his dick was hard, heavy, and in his hand. Just waiting.

Naeema was just as anxious. The truth was his dick was her weakness too.

“Please,” she cried out as he slapped her buttocks with his dick.

Always was. Always would be.

3

N
aeema glanced up at the clock on the pristine white walls of the kitchen before she finished cutting the ham sandwich in half and then pouring a glass of milk to sit beside it. She wiped her hands on the dish towel that hung neatly from the apron around her waist and protected the polka dot dress she wore with black kitten heels and pearls. Leaving the kitchen, she walked across the well-furnished living room to stand at the foot of the stairs.

“Brandon,” she called in a perfect singsong as she patted her bob.

“Yes, Mother.”

Smiling, she looked up at her teenage son standing at the top of the stairs in his pink polo shirt, khaki shorts, and leather Sperrys. Her heart swelled with love. “Lunch is ready, honey. Come on down,” she said.

“I'm reading, Mom,” he said with perfect diction.

“Bring your book down with you,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am.”

Naeema turned and spared a few moments to smooth wrinkles from the sofa and fluff up the throw pillows before heading back into the kitchen. She was setting a bag of chips next to the saucer holding the sandwich when Brandon strolled into the kitchen with his book in hand. He took
his seat and she bent a bit to press a kiss to his temple. “You know you're the best thing God could have ever blessed me with?” she asked.

Brandon nodded and glanced up at her with a smile before taking a big bite of his sandwich.

She turned to open the cabinet over the sink that she kept filled with snacks.

“Too bad this bullshit is phony as fuck, Ma.”

Naeema's body went stiff as hell as she looked over her shoulder at her son in surprise. She gasped to find him standing behind her silently. She screamed out and pressed her back to the sink at the sight of the blood seeping from a crack in his skull. His thin neck was ripped open by a jagged slash. Tire tracks covered his clothing. His eyes were bloodshot. His bones were broken and protruding through his skin. His body jerked roughly and he coughed up blood that spurted from his mouth and neck, spraying against her face and shirt.

“No!” she cried, squeezing her eyes shut as she turned to run toward the door leading into the small backyard.

The stench of his blood got stronger in the air and she knew he was behind her. Closer.

“No, Brandon. No!” she screamed at the top of her lungs as she fought to open the door.

“You never loved me,” he said, his voice gurgling from the blood filling his throat. “You never wanted me.”

Her tears and fears caused her shoulders to shake as she felt her legs give out from beneath her as she slid down to the floor. “I'm sorry,” she whimpered.

“It's all your fault.”

“I fucked up. Forgive me. Please,” she begged, her voice barely above a harsh whisper.

“
You ain't shit . . .
Na-ee-ma,” he said with snide emphasis.

She covered her face with her hands as his blood began to drip down onto the top of her head and he leveled his mangled body over her . . .

“Hey, Na, wake up. What's wrong?”

Naeema shook her head and struggled between the world of her nightmare and a sleep-fueled reality as she was awakened.

“Na . . . why you cryin'?”

She opened her eyes and sat up with a gasp. Her face was wet with her tears and her heart still pounded hard as fuck in her chest. She wiped her face and pulled her knees to her chest, pressing her exposed breasts against her thighs as she wrapped her arms around her legs. The darkness of the house only did a little bit to cut the summer heat and she could feel the dampness of both her and Tank's skin when he sat up in bed beside her.

“What's goin' on with you, yo?” he asked.

Licking her lips she turned her head atop her knees and reached for the remote to turn the television on. The light from it gleamed against their bodies while the sound of the local news filled the air. “I'm good,” she lied, knowing she couldn't tell her husband that a dream that started out with her faking the funk like she was Michelle Obama or some shit spiraled into a nightmare about her son—a child she never told him or anyone else in her life about.

“You ain't shit,
Na-ee-ma.”

He was right.

Tank took the remote and put the television on mute before he wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders and
pulled her body on his as he lay back down. She pressed her face into his neck and took a deep inhale of the scent of his cologne. She could so easily get lost in him and the madness that was their love. So fucking easy. It wouldn't be the first time.

When Naeema got dressed to hit the clubs that night back in 2006, the last thing she had been looking for was love. Drinks? Weed and Ecstasy pills? Good music? Cute dudes? Dancing? Some fun with her girls? Hell
yes
to all of that. Still, the first sight of the sexy man at the door of Club Infinity with SECURITY written across his shirt had her gone . . . especially when she saw that the fly motherfucker was feeling her too.

He flirted. She flirted back.

She didn't even go inside the club at all that night. She chilled with him, giving zero fucks about the other dudes eyeing how good she looked in the off-shoulder latex dress she wore like a second skin against her curves. Even when her friends had left the club early to make a diner run, Naeema had stayed behind with the sexy bouncer and part-time celebrity security guard until the club shut down.

Naeema went home with him too. No sex, just good conversation . . . but all that talking went out the window on the second night. And they both went in. Nothing left undone. Their conversations were cool—sometimes deep and thoughtful, other times playful and fun—but it was the sex that fucked them both up.

She moved into his three-bedroom house a month later and two years after that they flew to the Bahamas and got married. It lasted close to six years before she
packed her shit and left. The fire in their marriage was just as heated in the bedroom as it was when they argued about dumb shit.

It had been about a year since she left, and besides occasional fuck fests, they were living separate lives. They only thing ever drama-free between them was sex.

Rolling away from his body she quickly moved to straddle his hips.

Tank brought his hands up to cup her hips, his eyes taking in her full breasts, flat stomach, and bald pussy. He shifted his hand to stroke his thumb against his name tattooed against the smooth skin of her mound.

Naeema shook her head in shame. “You had my head all fucked up back then when I got this,” she said, sucking in what little gut she had to look down at it.

“This good
dick
had you fucked up,” he bragged, his voice deep.

“True,” she agreed, bringing her legs up to press her ankles against the sides of his head.

Tank quickly grabbed her calves when her ankles tightened. “You wouldn't know how to do it even if you wanted to,” he taunted her, giving her a slow wink as he opened his hands to free her and then spread his arms wide as if daring her to try.

He was right. Even if she had the skill to straight snap his neck with her ankles, she could never do anything to hurt Tank. First, because he had a black belt in martial arts and what few maneuvers she knew he'd taught her, and second, because she loved him. She reached down to stroke the tip of his dick that was pressed between her thighs. She instantly felt his heat and then his hardness. Tank moaned
and closed his eyes in pleasure, rolling his hips to stroke his dick upward.

Quickly she raised one leg and brought it down sharply toward his nose. Just millimeters before the blow landed he captured her heel in one of his large hands. “It's levels to this young girl . . .” he rapped, imitating Meek Mill.

He turned his head on the pillow and sucked her smooth heel as he kept his eyes locked on her.

Naeema arched her back and cried out a little. Achilles' heel was his weakness and it was hers too. It was a weird-ass hot spot and Tank was the only man to ever find it and exploit it. “Shit,” she swore as her nipples tightened and goose bumps raced across her caramel skin like crazy.

As soon as his grip weakened, she freed her foot and quickly rolled her body off his to the floor and tumbled away before jumping up to her feet with a solid THUD.

Tank had the nerve to laugh at her as he clapped his hands.

Bam-bam-bam.

Naeema motioned with her finger for him to be quiet as Sarge rang his ghetto bell from below to let them know they were fucking with his peace. Tank made a face as he rose from the bed and raised his leg like he was about to stomp on the floor.

“Don't you fuck with it, Tank,” she said, coming across the room to push against him and knock him back against the bed.

Being playful, he lightly plucked one of her taut nipples before he flipped her like a pancake onto her stomach and then slipped his arms and legs around her. She felt his smooth chest hairs against her back and the hair around his
dick tickling her ass as he pressed her into the bed beneath his weight. “He lucky his crazy ass even up in here,” Tank said, his cool breath fanning against the side of her face.

Tank didn't mean that shit.

One of the reasons she let Sarge stay was because she'd asked Tank to use his connects at the Newark Police Department to run a background check on the vet to make sure he was straight.

“Now tell me why you're havin' nightmares about that murdered kid,” he demanded, his voice now low and husky and sexy as shit.

Naeema stiffened before she could catch herself. “What?” she asked, turning her head to avoid him licking circles against her cheek.

“You asked me to pull strings to get his file and now you're having nightmares and screamin' out his name in your sleep and shit,” Tank said, his body dwarfing hers by close to a foot in height and thirty pounds in weight.

As much as they argued because they both were hotheaded and jealous as hell, her son was the one thing Naeema never revealed about herself to Tank. They never lied to each other. She closed her eyes and licked her lips. “I guess just looking at all those photos from the crime scene been fucking with me. You know I ain't used to that shit,” she said, skimming the truth.

“Who is he?” he asked, shifting their bodies so they now lay on their sides with his body still like a claw around hers.

She was trapped and immobile but the pressure of his body against hers was sexy and comfortable all at once. She let herself have that moment when she didn't have shit to do but let Tank hold her.
Tell him
.

He brought one hand over to lightly stroke her nipple. She moaned.

Tell him.

He sucked her neck just below her ear. She shivered.

Tell him.