• unedited.
• content might be redacted.
• content might differ from the final version.
• involves a sexual encounter

The potassium and nitrogen of the volcanic soil tickled the hairs of my nose. My eyes darted from one end of the road to the other. One hand was deep inside my shoulder bag. The other clung to the overnight bag I’d traveled the distance with.

The black SUV Chemistry had assigned to me upon arrival was no surprise. Egypt’s apology text was evidence she’d said a little too much during pillow talk or Chemistry’s antennas were too high for her to summon.

It sat across the street, sticking out like a sore thumb in the colorful town. A roll of my eyes in the driver’s direction was followed by a roll of my neck. It wouldn’t be long before I evaded his protection, leaving him to deal with the man who’d hired him.

Sweat beads formed on my chest, trickling down my breasts once combining with neighboring pockets of moisture. I strutted toward the restaurant that I’d visited one time or another with a plus one. It was etched in my memory, so were the margaritas they specialized in.

Ceiling fan blades whipped around in a full circle at the highest speed, greeting me with warm air upon entry. Open windows let the sounds of the street inside. Heavy instrumentals played lowly in the distance. They were sure results of a Spanish band and a soundbooth.

I deepened my presence in the restaurant, moving toward the bar that wrapped around the back, leading to the patio area that was free of patrons this evening. My overnight bag landed on the bartop stool with a thud. The metal feet had made contact with the wood of the chair. I pressed my ass against the one beside it.

My elbows rested on the counter. My palms met near my chin. With an exasperated sigh, I made eye contact with the bartender.

The dining table is no place for a woman’s elbows. My mother chastised in the back of my head. Slowly, I slid my elbows backward, straightened my spine, and pulled the corners of my lips upward.

“Evening Señora,” the bartender greeted me, “I’m Juan. Unfortunately, we’re closed for the even–”

Juan.

Juan.

Juan.

Juan.

It never failed. Juan was the first and last name I heard in Colombia. The driver’s name was Juan. Now, the bartender. I was certain I’d meet at least two more before I was on the flight back to Clarke.

Ashley.

Kimberly.

Jasmine.

Ebony.

Nicole.

Keisha.

Tamara.

Olivia

Juan was as common in Colombia as those names were in America.

“Juan, tomaré una margarita de mango con doble shot, fresa y borde azucarado.”

His eyebrows crinkled on his round face. The sun’s influence on his skin was incredible. With the equator running through the country, there was very little Colombians could do to lessen their supply of Vitamin D. Moving further north on the land for cooler temperatures was optional but it wasn’t exactly a solution.

“Gracias.”

He was still processing my unbroken Spanish as I nodded. It was only one of fourteen languages I spoke fluently. Spanish was my first love. French followed.

For an entire year, Teddy refused to speak our native language when in conversation with any of us. Everyone was assigned a different language from a different region. It wasn’t until he was confident in our ability to communicate with locals that he let us rest. By then, my obsession had already formed.

Spanish was the greatest lesson of my six-year-old life. However, conversations held between him and six others stuck with me. Unknowingly, I’d acquired almost half of my skills before my seventh birthday. Being multilingual was beneficial in more ways than I could count.

“Señora, estamos cerrados hoy. Lo siento. Por fav–”

“Juan, al parecer la mujer necesita desesperadamente una margarita. No se la prives.”

My spine straightened. My shoulders squared. My nipples hardened. The fine hairs on my body stood at attention. The walls of my vagina contracted. The deep, commanding baritone silenced everything around us. Eliminated everyone around us.

The man near the door dressed in a colorful top… vanished.

The man near the window with sunglasses covering his eyes… vanished.

The man near the door of the kitchen with both hands in front of him… vanished.

The man who’d identified himself as Juan completely… vanished.

There was him. And, then there was me.

“Sí, claro.”

“Gracias,” I drawled as I gathered my bearings.

I tipped my body in the direction of the local man who was dressed in a white linen button down that swayed in the wind caused by the fans surrounding us and a pair of khaki shorts. Though he looked like the rest of the men I’d passed on the way inside, there was nothing average about him.

Casa Casa was not closed for the day. I’d arrived between their operating hours. His presence was the reason for their impromptu closure every Monday evening before sundown. And, the knowledge of his established routine was the reason for my presence.

“American,” he responded. “What brings you all this way?”

He sipped from the beer in his hand, still facing Juan, who was preparing my drink behind the bar. His facial hair was groomed to perfection, low to his face and lined with precision. He had thick, fluffy hair that was silky with curls near the end. His cut didn’t allow them to fully form. The sides and back were faded, giving him a very clean, manicured appearance.

Manicured nails hugged the mouth of his bottle. He took another sip, almost finishing it completely. He tapped the side of it, garnering Juan’s attention.

You.

“I still haven’t figured it out, yet.” I sighed. “I’m waiting for the revelation.”

“Did you think you’d find it here? In a secluded restaurant with a closed sign in the window?”

“I thought I’d find a drink and possibly something to get into.”

When my drink arrived, so did his orbs. They combed over my frame as silence played loudly between us. By the time his beer was sat in front of him, his interest had already parted.

“Beautiful, beautiful women in America. I’ve said it a hundred times before and I’m quickly reminded by looking at your face.”

His accent was heavy. So were his lids. This wasn’t his second beer. He’d been at Casa Casa some time now.

“Which reminds me of someone– I can’t quite put a finger on it. Do I know you?”

He didn’t toy with his thoughts. They slid right from his tongue. I remained quiet, watching as the three men scattered around the bar all took steps forward. My eyes roamed their bodies, locating their firearms while simultaneously devising a plan that would end each of their lives in a matter of two seconds if necessary.

“Do you?” I finally asked.

His straight, kissable lips parted, showing his pretty white teeth. He was in good health. It was quite obvious he had access to the best physicians in the country. There wasn’t a flaw in sight. 

“Tell your men to stand down. If I don’t make it back to America, my brother will be a very unhappy man. And, there won’t be a hole they can crawl in that he won’t find them.”

As the words left my mouth, I removed my Dior frames. He tilted his head in the opposite direction, demanding the retreat of his henchmen.

A nod followed. His memory was sharp. He didn’t forget a face, a name, a voice, or an encounter. His life depended on it. So did his fortune.

“How is Chino?”

One meeting. One encounter. And, I’d never forgotten the sex that oozed from his lips when he spoke. I’d never forgotten the feeling he induced between my legs, involuntarily. And, I’d never forgotten the promise I made to not break the rules by giving him the attention he sought.

The fact that anyone I’d ever considered exploring my sexuality with were those associated with Chino had kept my pussy in my panties. There was also the fact that I believed men were worrisome as a collective. One was too many. Adding anymore to my roster felt like overkill. The opportunity was there, but I’d made the choice not to take it to save myself the headache of balancing work, life, solitude, family, and a stable of men.

“Chino is well, Matías. I suspect.”

“Ahhh. Selfish guy,” he groaned, sucking the skin of his teeth. “You’re far too beautiful for him to have all to himself.”

The clicking of his tongue as he shook his head made me wonder how it felt against a set of lips that didn’t belong to him. I sipped from my drink, suppressing the urge to finish it in one gulp. I was parched.

Or maybe it was the man sitting next to me. He intensified my thirst.

“I’m a big girl who is in full control and can consent to anything– anyone she wants. Chino has no grounds here, Matías.”

I sat my drink on the bar, eyes still planted on the hunk of sexiness two chairs down from me.

“And, you’re right. I’m too much woman for one man. I’m willing to share.”

In a split second, his finger was in the air spinning in a full circle. Every man in the building, except Juan, began shuffling their feet. My bag was on the arm of one and my chair was pulled out by another. Matías was no longer in his chair. He was standing in front of me with his right hand out, waiting.

For me.

I slid down from the stool, careful not to ruin the fabric of my dress. Slowly, I interlaced my fingers with his and followed him toward the kitchen. The large door swung from the pressure of the hands of the man leading the way.

Staff members of the restaurant rested near the stove. Their chatter drew to a close upon realizing they were no longer alone. The smiles were swiped from their faces and replaced with straight lips and curious eyes.

The sun kissed my skin as we pushed through the back door. A black SUV, much like the one Chemistry had waiting outside for me, burned rubber in the dust in an effort to meet us before our feet touched the soil.

When my back pressed into the leather, Matías’ grip loosened. His hand lowered, resting on my thigh where he squeezed as our bodies shifted from one side to the other, consequential of the vehicles exaggerated movement.

Our irises met midway. Curiosity clung to his pupils. Lust dilated them. His desperation was intoxicating–for us both.

“You’re very, very far from home.”

“I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“Comprendida.”

No more words were exchanged. We remained quiet through the brief journey to the tarmac and then through the twenty minute ride on the small aircraft that was suitable for eight passengers. His hand never left my frame. His clinginess was exhilarating.

Not only was he trying to convince himself that I was real and in his possession, but he was making sure my hands were visible at all times. My connection to Chino was a very small detail of my life. Being a Childers was my entire identity. Matías was being cautious.

There was no need. We made our way up to the door of his heavily guarded home in Tibu. The coca-rich region had the crime rates rising with each passing day. There was war all around us but the serenity of Matías’ compound, the soundlessness spoke volumes.

He was knee deep in the battle ground but was untouched. His land was in pristine condition. There wasn’t a blemish on his body. His grass was luscious and green. His hands were clean. His money was growing. His riches covered him completely. While the locals were fleeing to Venezuela to avoid victimization, he was comfortably tucked away behind his gates.

I leaned closer, placing my mouth near his ear. His movement halted. The woodsy notes of his cologne hardened my nipples to the point of pain. My breath hiked in my throat as the words that had been tugging at my heartstrings came to life.

“If I wanted you dead, Matías, you would be. I’m not here for business. I’m here for pleasure. You’re safe,” I explained.

A chuckle fell from his lips as he turned toward me. His pensive gaze tore through my threads and touched my pussy. Wrapped around my throat. Gripped my breast, pushing them up on my chest. Split my ass cheeks and fucked me good. Unprovoked. Unsolicited.

“The Chemist–” he whispered, “Tell him I said hello, would you?”

A nod lifted my head before I lowered again.

“So fucking beautiful. So fierce, yet so sweet.”

I stepped closer, closing the gap between us. It was important that he heard me clearly.

“So is my pussy. And, within the next five minutes, I want to smell it on your beard. Your lips. Your nose.”

“A sugared rim,” he insisted.

“Very fucking sugary,” I promised.

“Entra.”

His command led me into his home. Our footsteps echoed, quickly getting lost in the massiveness of the mansion. Matías was in a league of his own. Though expansive, his home was modest and so was his lifestyle. They didn’t reflect the number in his accounts. I admired that about him. He’d come from nothing. Money hadn’t changed him much. He was the same man. Just richer. Deadlier. Sexier. Quieter.

There wasn’t an item out of place in the well-constructed home. It was a museum of sorts. Colombian artwork lined the walls. Hand-carved statues rested on the floors.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

My heels collided with the floor as I made note of every detail, including the exits and men near them. We made it across the entryway after what felt like an eternity, finally reaching the stairs. The glass elevator mere feet away contained a housekeeper and one of the guards. By the time they reached the ground level, we were halfway up the steps.

Click.

Clack.

Our palms collided as his grip tightened on my hand. He was slow in stride, making sure I could keep up. His speed wouldn’t be an issue. I’d been strutting in stilettos since the tender age of four. My collection included more of them than it did sneakers and flats. I loved the way heels rounded my ass, toned my legs, and controlled my posture.

Boom.

My dress tumbled to the floor as soon as Matías’ bedroom door met its threshold. His lips were on my shoulder. His hands slid down my backside, ending right underneath the small cuff under both cheeks.

“Mmm–”

“Hueles divina, cariño.”

My hands formed minds of their own. They snaked up Matías’ slim frame slowly. My right was the first to reach its destination. Matías’ bulge threatened to split the fabric of his shorts. The thickness was comforting. The length was appalling.

My attraction to him became increasingly clear. He was part of the percentage of Colombians who were of Black descent. His medium skin tone, perfectly sizeable nose, and full lips were giveaways but the weapon between his legs was confirmation.

There was nothing more arousing than a Black man’s nutsack massaging my center as he plummeted in my ocean. The thought of it forced my eyes shut. Matías was as gentle as he was firm. His masculinity summoned my most feminine attributes. But, still, I remained in control.

“Undress,” I instructed, forcing myself from his grasp.

My back met the sheets of the bed. I spread my legs, inviting him into my garden. I watched him disrobe and fall to his knees before me. Right where I wanted him. Right where I needed him. 

 7:00p. 

Thursday.

Every Thursday.

As my adrenaline peaked, Matías grabbed his cell. Without hesitation, he slid his hand across the screen to connect the call. Simultaneously, his face disappeared. I was met with his dark hair and protruding ears on each side of his head.

“Hola, Chino.”

Hearing his name roll off Matías’ tongue felt like much of a stroke to my clit. I rotated my hips, pushing his head further south. His lips kissed my second set before he took my swollen nub into his mouth. I shuddered, still sensitive from the orgasm I’d experienced minutes prior.

I was quickly reminded of my assigned task. The condom on the nightstand was supposed to be around Matías’ dick, but we hadn’t made it past his feasting stage. Both my pussy and the pure cocaine he stuffed his nose with had him on cloud nine.

“Matías. What’s good?”

Chino’s voice boomed through the speaker, but Matías couldn’t respond. He was face deep in my center, sucking the cream from my insides.

“Hello?”

I gripped his slippery mane, allowing him to breathe long enough to respond.

“Yes, Chino.”

“You good man? You need me to call you back.”

I shook my head, forcing him to hold the line.

“Everything is good, Chino. Everything is good.”

“With the shipment?”

Matías groaned, “Oh Chino. I have had my hands tied. The shipment has been rescheduled. I–”

“Matías. Since when has a shipment been delayed? In the history of our relationship? Man, you sure you good? Do I need to come see you? Everything alright?”

“No. No. There’s no need. You will have the dope. Two days. Give me two more days–”

“To do what?”

For the first time since learning about their relationship, Matías was more lenient. Less agitated. Calmer. His demeanor was baffling to Chino. I could hear it in his voice.

“Who Chino,” he corrected. “To do who?”

“I’m not following you right now.”

“You send me a gift and expect me not to enjoy it. Ahhh. It’s way too good. Much better than the shit I stuff up my nose. I never thought I’d find a drug more powerful than my coke. It’s pure, Chino. Grade A. Best in business. But, this is better. She is better.”

“Who?”

From his tone, I knew the wheels had began turning in Chino’s head.

“Who the fuck you talking about, Matías?”

His head disappeared between my legs, again, forcing my eyes closed just as he turned the phone around.

“Uhhhhh.”

Matías was gifted. He was a man of great skill. He rotated his tongue against my clit while sucking it like a pacifier created to soothe his discomfort.

“ROULETTE!” Chino called out.

With lust dripping from my orbs, I opened my eyes to find him staring into the camera. His handsome features contorted. His eyes had grown three times their size. Everything that once made him desirable made him ugly. My stomach turned, but the man planted between my legs flipped it back over.

“Matías must cal– uhhhh– you back, Chino.”

My spine curved. My fingertips curled. My breathing changed. So did my train of thought. I was mounting again.

“Roulette!” he yelled.

“Ummm– yesssss.”

I lifted a finger, pressing the arrows on the screen to turn the camera. Now, we were both watching as Matías cleaned his plate.

“Yo, what the fuck you on, Roulette?”

I tightened my grip on Matías’ hair and began grinding my hips into his shoulders.

“Yesss– just like tha– uhhh.”

The heat of the moment intensified my orgasm’s urgency. When the first wave slammed against my center, I jolted. My legs began quivering.

“Don’t stop. Just like thaaaaat,” I instructed. “Matíasssss.”

His fingers pushed into me from below.

“Qué jodidamente bueno, mami.”

The camera fell from his left hand onto my stomach. Chino’s unraveling magnified my sensitivity. I began to tingle all over. My ass bounced on the bed as the second wave ended me.

Stars.

Moon.

Planets.

Sun.

The entire stratosphere appeared behind my lids.

I came. And, I came hard.

“Urhhhhhhhh. Fuck. Yes. Uhhhh.”

The line died and so did my pussy. But just like any other feline, it had nine lives. As the condom caressed Matías’ circumference, it was gifted a second life. I opened for him, accepting his thickness with gratitude.

Years in St. Catana had deprived me of constant pleasure administered by masculinity, a sizable tool, and carefully calculated strokes. The three days I’d spent wrapped in Matías’ sheets had made up for every day spent on the island. However, I had business to tend to and an empire to rebuild.

Colombia was the perfect bandage for the pain, but this was chess. Not checkers. The Queen was in pursuit of more than temporary pleasure with a notorious drug lord. She was prepared to clear the entire board. There were more pawns to conquer before she settled with her reign.