Dirty Work: Part 2

Maybe this was personal, he thought. It had to be. He had to look at things from a different angle, and Eshon was his starting point.

25

The black Tahoe stopped in front of an extravagant-looking brownstone on 88th Street, the Upper West Side of Manhattan. The home harmonized perfectly with the affluent area, which had a reputation of being the city’s cultural and intellectual hub. Columbia University was located at the north end of the neighborhood. The residents there were upper-class and prestigious. What was happening in Harlem seemed like it was many miles away—a completely different world from theirs.

It was a beautiful sunny summer day with temperatures soaring to a blistering ninety-five degrees. Air conditioners ran rampantly throughout the neighborhood as people tried to beat the heat.

The city block was tranquil as Amir sat behind the steering wheel smoking a cigarette and waiting. Today, he would be an escort for a pretty girl. While Maserati Meek was healing in Westchester, Amir was his eyes and ears on the streets, and his errand boy too.

Ten minutes went by; she was taking forever to exit the home. Amir finished the cigarette and flicked it out the window. Shortly, the door to the brownstone opened and a lovely looking black woman named Cindy was making her exit.

Amir looked at her with admiration. She was a beautiful woman with long, silky black hair and hazel eyes. Dressed in a printed dress with her long, gleaming legs erect in a pair of studded gladiator wedges, she glided down the concrete stairs with class and style clutching her Gucci handbag.

She climbed into the backseat of the Tahoe. Amir greeted her, but she ignored him. He smirked. She was strikingly beautiful, but a bitch. Her only interest was Maserati Meek. She was yearning to see him again. Amir put the truck into drive and slowly drove away. Cindy sat back comfortably in the backseat and looked out the window.

Forty-five minutes later, they arrived in Westchester, where Maserati Meek was convalescing in the doctor’s home. The doctor had left town, and Meek had the place all to himself. He trusted the location. It was unknown to many, and off the grid. He had no ties to the real estate and he felt it would be impossible for anyone to track him there. In the bedroom, he had just finished his prayer, saying, “As Salamu Alaykum wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatuhu.” He turned his head to the left and repeated the same phrase.

Amir walked in with Cindy. She was overflowing with eagerness. She’d met Meek in an upscale lounge where he spoiled her with high-priced champagne and first-class conversation. Their chemistry was strong. Maserati Meek’s infatuation for black women was potent and no secret, and Cindy was something to keep him occupied during his healing. She had all the ingredients that he liked: black, sexy, curvy and somewhat urban. Cindy smelled the money and power in him, and she didn’t hesitate to give him the time of day, and soon, a piece of her.

With Jessica missing in action—and an assumed snitch—he needed a new and more loyal bitch in his life. And his body didn’t just need physical healing; it needed some sexual healing too.

Maserati Meek emerged from the bedroom shirtless with his bandages exposed. He had in his hand a bottle of Grey Goose. He took a quick swig from it. The alcohol helped him cope with the pain, but sex would help him feel alive again.

“She’s here, like you asked,” Amir said.

“Thank you, Amir,” Meek said.

Amir nodded. He was excused from the room. He pivoted and left.

Cindy smiled at her newfound friend. “I love the place . . . classy.”

“It belongs to a friend of mine,” said Meek.

“Well, your friend has some very nice taste.”

“I would think I have good taste too,” he said.

“You picked me, right?” she replied.

Meek approached closer.

Cindy couldn’t help but notice the dressing wrapped around his arm and shoulder. “What happened?” she asked.

“A misunderstanding, eh. Nothing to worry about,” he said. “Today, I have fun with you. You are my worry, eh.”

Cindy continued to smile. “Well, let us both worry then.”

It was unambiguous to her that she was there for sex—to keep him company. They locked eyes. Her beauty was enticing. She removed her dress and shoes, causing Meek to become fascinated by her beautiful flesh. Her nipples were dark and big like nickels. Her body was flawless with no tattoos.

“You are a very beautiful woman,” he said. “Come closer. I can’t experience paradise from where you stand.”

She stepped closer to him, and Meek pulled her into his arms. The joy started. Their kissing was intense, with Meek tasting the softness of her lips, his tongue exploring further into her mouth. Their tongues danced together. He then kissed her body, her neck, her shoulders, and her stomach. He tasted every bit of her. He could smell her lust.

Her breathing became animated as he cupped her breast, pinched her nipple, and fingered her pussy. He continued to caress her body, feeling his manhood erecting harder than steel itself.

Cindy lowered herself in front of him, taking the dick into her hands, and started to stroke him nice and slow. She was no stranger to oral sex, including deep throat, and she was impressed by his package. He watched as she wrapped her lips around his dick, taking it all in gently—watching her lips slide back and forth over his dick, and seeing her suck on the tip like a lollipop. The action emitted a moan from Meek. He cooed. He enjoyed it. She was no Jessica, but she damn sure came close.

Soon, their action toured into the bedroom, where Meek was eager to perform one of his pastime pleasures on her. Cindy’s juices were raining liberally. Her clit was exposed and Meek lapped her juices. The sexual deed made her moan and quiver witlessly as she was swiftly enveloped by pleasure. Cindy grabbed her legs and held them back, giving her man excessive access to her most private places. Meek licked her soft clit, sucked her pussy, and fingered her simultaneously.