a handful of her hair and began to fuck her face. “Goddamn,” he breathed.
Kane thought since he had just fucked her daughter he’d be long winded, but Ms. Jefferson’s deep throat skills had him ready to bust two minutes into it.
“Yeah bitch, eat that dick,” he spat. Pushing harder from the hips, pulling her head on. Ms. Jefferson had other ideas. She pulled back, his dick sliding down her chin. “Uh uh, nigga! Not before I get mine!”
Kane smiled, pulling her up by the hair, and bending her over the sink. She didn’t resist but her pussy was a little ways behind...“Sssss baby, take it easy… It’s been a while,” she groaned, putting her hand on his stomach to stop him from going too deep. That explained how greedy she was for Kane’s dick, but that only made him more determined.
“Nah, don’t get shook now yo. You gonna take this dick,” Kane said, with a tone as hard as what he was about to put inside her. He spread her ass cheeks and pushed balls deep with a single thrust. This pussy wasn’t complaining no more.
Ms. Jefferson gasped, her hand going out across the counter, knocking her glass on its side, spilling juice. “Make me take it then! Make me take all that dick!” she begged, as hungry in the pussy as she had been in the mouth.
Ms. Jefferson wasn’t lying when she said it had been a long time. Her pussy was the wettest and tightest he ever felt – the kind of pussy weak niggas die and kill for.
The soft glow of the refrigerator light made them shine with a bluish tinge in Tiffany’s eyes. It took her a second to understand what she was seeing. She gripped the kitchen doorframe, as her world tilted. When her mind completed the jigsaw, the image played in her mind like a hologram from hell.
The glass her mother had knocked over, rolled from the counter and smashed. It triggered Tiffany’s voice.
“You trifling ass bitch! My mother, my own mother?!” she screamed.
Ms. Jefferson froze, her pussy clamping even harder on Kane’s dick. It felt so sweet. So tight. You don’t pass up a pussy like that, whatever the situation.
So Kane kept punishing Ms. Jefferson’s pussy, even as Tiffany began to beat at his back with her balled fists.
He figured he’d rather get caught for keeping it going than get caught for stopping.
Tariq Boyd was a street cop working out of the 114th Precinct on Astoria Blvd. Queens. The people who knew he was a cop might have thought him brave or him a traitor. There was no middle ground. He’d been a cop eight years — a good cop according to his Captain, and his beat included the Queens Boro Projects. He was originally from Staten Island and made the move to the Boro Projects with his parents when he was four. When he was grown, a cop, and able, Tariq moved his family to Hollis three years ago, and it felt like home now. But the stain of the Boro would be forever on him. His first four years on Staten Island could have happened to someone else. There was no doubt in his mind that being a cop was what he wanted to be when he grew up. Other friends had gone other ways. They weren’t friends no more.
Tariq had just gotten off of work - only an hour late tonight. Some kind of record. It had been a fuck of a shift. But he’d cleared his paperwork and made it out the door before any major calls came in. From there he headed home through the dark wintery streets.
It was New York cold, but he didn’t mind that. New York had a temperature for every mood, and Tariq’s mood was chilled in a good way. The missus was already surprised to hear him home before the kids made it into bed. This would be points on his score card. Misha had been bitching like crazy over how little time he spent at home. Perhaps tonight getting home before dawn would catch him a break.
Tariq’s path was illuminated by the Christmas decorations that seemed to light Hollis up like a mini Beale St. Tariq loved Christmas because as a child, his mother was too poor to buy him any gifts, and now that he was the father of 3-year-old twin boys, he did what he had to do to make sure that their Christmas would always be memorable.
Tariq turned into his driveway, turned off the car, sat back and smiled. He was proud of how far he had come. At 32, he owned his own home and provided well for his wife and kids.
Life was good. Even if he spent his days in the dirt of the Boro, when he got home, just walking through the door made him clean.
“Man, get the fuck outta here!” Messiah laughed, flipping on the windshield wipers. Snow was beginning to fall in light flurries, erasing the darkness through the windshield with smooshed wet flakes.
Kane laughed, kissing his palm and held it up. “That’s my word, thun. I was mashin’ that old bitch and Tiff came in spazzin! I thought they was ‘bout to fight. My word, I was heated too cause I was just about to nut!”
Messiah thumped the steering wheel with the heel of his hand, laughing hard. Kane had his mind on the mission and seeing now the windshield was clear, he said, “Make a right. Make a right!”
“You on some bullshit, thun,” Messiah chuckled, turning the wheel “This the block?”
Kane looked around carefully. The windshield was smearing quickly, obscuring his vision, but he knew Hollis because his grandmother lived there. “Yeah, yeah, right there. That’s that muhfucka’s house.”
“You sure?”
“No doubt.”
Messiah nodded, all traces of playfulness were gone. Shit was about to pop. He pulled down the block and parked the stolen Buick. They both packed MAC-11’s in their goose down parkas. They got out into the chill air, their breath making clouds.
The buildings on the block all had Christmas lights at windows covering their warm rooms. Shadows moved behind glass. TVs flickered and somewhere lame ass Christmas carols leaked from an open window.
They walked like Christmas never happened, pulling the masks down over their faces, heading for their objective.
The snow felt like cold kisses on Kane’s skin.
“Daddy’s home!” Jason shouted. He ran to Tariq as he came through the door. He bent down and scooped him into his arms. “What’s up, my little soldier? You been good?”
“Yes!” he sang, like the innocent angel he wasn’t.
“No,” Misha said behind them as she came out of the kitchen. “Tell your daddy how many times I had to tell you to pick up your toys.”
Tariq looked from Misha to his son. “Is that true?”
Jason dropped his little head, as if his toes could tell a better story.
“You must not want the toys I asked Santa to bring you tonight,” Tariq said, putting his index finger under his chin and lifting his face up.
“No daddy, please I’ll be good! I’ll clean up! I promise!”
Tariq held back his laugh. “I don’t know, I’m gonna have to call Santa and see what he has to say. You go to your room.”
He put Jason down and he trooped off, head hung, like he had just been sentenced. As soon as he disappeared up the stairs, Tariq and Misha released their laughter, embracing at the same time.
“How long do you think before he comes back pleading?” Tariq chuckled.
“There’s no telling,” Misha replied.
There