To Be a King: Chapter 3
TO BE A KING
Copyright © 2017 by Gunner Alan Lindbloom
Cover design 2017 by Ryan MacKay
Madonna stepped into the room and stared down at the man sleeping in her bed. He was lying on his stomach, face down, completely naked. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, real life or otherwise. A solid mass of corded muscle, with the dark Mediterranean looks that most women find irresistible. His skin was smooth and without blemish. He even seemed to have a tan. How’d he get a tan in prison? she wondered, having no idea the prison he was released from was in southern Georgia.
They had spent most of the previous night making love. Or at least that’s what it had felt like to her. She’d been surprised by his gentleness. At times he had acted as if he might break her. The majority of men she dated tended to be rough with her. They usually liked to manhandle her. She figured it was some kind of fantasy for men to toss around a little woman in bed. Made them feel bigger. More manly. But not this one. No, this beautiful Adonis was surprisingly gentle. And even though he’d been celibate for many years, he had taken his time to please her, attentively paying attention to how her body reacted to his every touch. It was as if he’d made love to her, rather than simply had sex with her. Lovemaking. It was a foreign notion. She hadn’t felt it in a very long time. He had kissed her passionately and held her tightly after each round. And there were several. Of course, the first one hadn’t lasted long. No more than more a few seconds, which was to be expected from a man who had been locked up for eight years. But after he released that initial explosion of pressure, he slowed down and maintained a pace that made her climax over and over.
Now, as she watched the rhythmic motion of his breathing, her knees felt weak, and she found herself becoming aroused, her thoughts drifting back to the previous night. No man had ever made her feel that way. She knew it wasn’t love, of course, but it was definitely something new. She wondered if a man like him was even capable of love. If he was, she knew she could never be the one to win his heart. A man like him would never fall in love with a lowly stripper. But he was there now, sleeping in her bed, so she decided to enjoy him while she still could.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” she whispered in his ear, climbing onto his back, straddling him, gently brushing her erect nipples against the knotted muscles of his upper back.
He popped awake with a smile on his face. “Good morning, doll,” he breathed sleepily, rolling over so he could get a better look at her.
She straddled him and slipped her silk negligee over her head. “Good morning, you,” she cooed, leaning down to softly kiss his chest.
He stared down at her, taking in her body. Her breasts were full, and her nipples looked hard enough to cut diamonds. “My, my, is someone feeling frisky this morning?”
“I’m not the only one,” she teased, wrapping a hand around his rock-hard penis.
“You seem to have that effect on me,” he said, sliding his hands up her stomach until he wrapped them around her breasts.
As she watched him begin to lick and tease her nipples with his tongue, she stiffened, and her heart began racing with excitement. Never had she felt so aroused by a man. His hands were so large and strong. His movements were gentle, yet somehow forceful. Within seconds she felt her body nearly shaking with anticipation. She’d already had enough foreplay. She wanted him inside of her. No, she needed him inside her. Barely able to contain herself, she raked her fingers through his hair and clawed at his back, pressing his head into her breasts, watching him lick and tease her anxious body.
He was very much enjoying playing with her wanton body, prolonging the inevitable, but when she began begging “I want you inside me,” he could hold out no longer. With her still on top of him, he forcefully slid himself inside her, causing her to release a high-pitched moan. He began thrusting himself upward into her. Slow at first, but then faster and faster as he sat up and clasped her firmly by the neck with one hand and her buttocks with the other. Matching his rhythm, she began thrusting hard against him, crying out, clawing at his neck and back.
Driving her pelvis into him, taking his full length inside her, she felt an impending orgasm building. She tried holding it back, but it was impossible. She was powerless to him. “Omnio, I can’t hold it,” she whimpered into his ear.
Without warning, he rolled her over and pinned her arms over her head. She opened her legs wide to accommodate him, and he began driving himself into her with slow, deep thrusts, causing her to cry out and moan. After several seconds, he could no longer hold back. With one final thrust, he let out a guttural grunt and exploded inside her, both of them climaxing at the same instant.
For a moment he just lay there atop of her, trying to catch his breath. After nearly a minute he propped himself up on both elbows and peered down at her, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the jiggling of her breasts as she gasped for air. She was so short and compact that her head barely reached his chest. She wasn’t even half his size. Her muscular little legs were sticking out from under him, but the rest of her was almost completely concealed by his mass. He was sure he could wrap both hands around her entire waist if he tried. Looking down at her, he hoped that he hadn’t hurt her. Then he saw her face. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply, but she was smiling.
“Service with a smile?” he said.
Her dilated eyes opened to mere slits, and she began caressing his glistening chest. “Mmmmmm…” she half moaned, running her fingers from his chest to the curves of his buttocks. He was still planted inside her, but she could feel him softening. She wished he could stay hard and do it again.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, backing out of her, looking down at her, captivated by her compact and curvaceous body.
She expelled a satisfied sigh and rolled out from under him. “I might be little but I’m tough,” she boasted proudly, slipping on her negligee. “Although, I’ll admit I am a little sore.” She glanced at his now flaccid member. “You’re definitely well proportioned;”
He sat up in bed and examined her body through the sheer satin of her negligee. “As are you, little lady,” he said, pulling her to him, giving her a quick peck on the lips.
She smiled blissfully. “Are you hungry?”
“Good, because I already made breakfast. It’s why I came in here to wake you up. I figured it was the least I could do after all the energy you spent on me last night. But then I saw you laying there naked and… Well, guess I got a little excited.”
“I’m not complaining,” he said, pulling her to him, sliding his hands down her back until the came to rest on her behind. “I can think of no better way for a man to wake up.” He stood, stretched, and nodded toward the adjacent bathroom. “But right now I need a shower. Give me ten and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
After a long hot shower, he stepped into the kitchen and found her laboring away, preparing him a breakfast feast. “Smells delicious,” he said, sidling up behind her in a towel, wrapping his arms around her, kissing the back of her neck.
“Sit,” she ordered, playfully brushing him away. “I have to warm everything back up since you took all day in the shower.”
He plopped down at the kitchen table and took in the room. Again he was surprised by how nice her apartment was. It looked like something out of Better Homes and Gardens. Everything was designer, beautifully decorated, and sparkling clean. In fact, it appeared she was a compulsive neat freak. It was obvious she took pride in her little apartment. For a stripper, she really seemed to have herself together.
She tended to him like a nurturing mother. With a fervent pep in her step, she glided around the kitchen in her see-through negligee, serving him homemade pancakes, bacon, fried eggs, toast, and orange juice. And as he silently devoured the food, he decided that it tasted that much better because it had been cooked by the nurturing hands of a woman. Since the moment he met her she had exceeded his expectations in every way.
“How was it?” she asked, walking over to the sink to start on the dishes.
“Amazing,” he declared, soaking up some egg yolk with his fourth piece of toast. “I haven’t had a meal like that in years. My mom used to make me breakfasts like this when I was a kid. I almost forgot what it was like to have a woman cook for me. I guess food always tastes better when it’s cooked with love.”
She was washing the dishes with her back to him, but she hadn’t failed to notice his choice of words. He said “love.” She had only been in love once, or at least that’s what
she thought it was. Maybe it had been puppy love. Or infatuation. Whatever it was, it hadn’t lasted long. It had been her high school sweetheart, and he’d broken her heart when he cheated on her with one of her best friends. Until last night she thought she would never meet another man who stirred such carnal feelings in her. But King Falcone was unlike any man she’d ever met. And as she now scrubbed the dishes, she decided she could definitely fall in love with him, though she was certain the feeling was not mutual. It would take a very special woman to win the heart of a man like King Falcone. But it didn’t stop her from dreaming and wanting to know more about him.
“Speaking of your mother…” she began, her back still to him as she scrubbed a frying pan. “Where is she?”
His eyes glazed over with sadness. “She died while was in prison,” he answered, sounding solemn and pained. “Ovarian cancer.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, turning from the sink to face him. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t worry,” he said, holding up a hand. “It was probably for the best. She’d been sick most of her life. She was suffering, physically and mentally. She never got over the death of my father. She’s in a better place now.”
“Your dad is dead, too?” she asked, her eyes tearing up with genuine sadness.
“Yes,” he shrugged. “He died the year I was born. I have no real memory of him. I’ve seen pictures, but that’s it. My mom never got over him, though. I think it broke her heart. And her spirit. She spent…” He choked up and looked away.
She wiped her hands dry and walked over to sit on his lap. “Oh, I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. “So do you have any other family?”
“I have some cousins, aunts, and uncles.”
“Do you talk to them?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“So you’re all alone in this world?”
“Pretty much,” he shrugged.
She leaned in and kissed him on the lips. “Well, you have me now. I’ll be your momma and take good care of you.”
“I bet you will,” he said, gently brushing his knuckles over her nipples.
She had never been the sexually aggressive type, but for some reason this morning she felt more sexually charged than ever in her life. It was almost as if she had no control of herself. Before she even realized it, she slipped a hand under his towel and found he was already completely erect. So, eager to please, she yanked the towel off, straddled him, and slid his swollen shaft inside her.
“I need you!” she blurted, looking him in the eye. “And don’t be gentle. I want you to own me!”
That’s all he needed to hear. Thoughts of his dead mother were instantly replaced with burning lust. He rolled her over and took her right there on the kitchen table, driving himself into her slow, deep, and hard. Within a minute she began moaning to the rhythm of his movements as her orgasm began to crescendo. Clamping her hands around his buttock, she spread her legs wide, cried out his name and climaxed. Unable to stop himself, with one final thrust he drove himself deep and again exploded inside her.
“Ahhhh….” he whispered, still atop her, his member still inside her. “That was nice…” He gently kissed her shoulder and brushed several locks of hair from her face. “But as much as I’d love to keep this up all day, I have some things I need to get done.”
“Like what?” she asked, running a finger down the side of his face, dedicating every inch of it to memory.
He backed out of her and stretched. “Well, for starters, I need to buy some new clothes. All I have is that suit.”
“Do you have money?” she asked, slipping back into her negligee.
“Some,” he answered, his mind carefully calculating who he needed to go see first.
“Well, if you need more I have some. I’ve been saving for over a year now.”
“I appreciate that, doll, but I would never take your money.
“Well, if you need it you’re welcome to it.”
“But you barely even know me.”
“That’s true,” she shrugged. “But you said I work for you now. You’ll make it up to me. And after last night, I feel like I owe you something.”
“Huh,” he chuckled. “I was thinking I owe you something, especially after that breakfast. Dessert wasn’t bad either.”
She punched him playfully. “You were hard! I didn’t want to waste it.”
“No, it’s not good to be wasteful,” he quipped. “Let me guess, you recycle too?”
“Jerkoff,” she said, playfully slapping his arm.
“You’re right, though,” he said, now looking serious. “You do work for me now. And I’ll make it up to you. But right now I need you to go get showered and dressed. Wear something nice but casual. We’re gonna go see a few old friends of mine.”
Thirty minutes later, King was waiting in the living room, clad in his Brioni suit, when she emerged from her bedroom wearing a blue, loose-fitting Marc Jacobs dress that perfectly accentuated her skin tone and curvy figure. It was a casual spring dress, but it made her look elegant and beautiful, although he was a bit surprised that she owned a dress that surely cost well over $500.
“Wow,” he whistled, impressed. “Nice dress. You look beautiful.”
She sashayed into a pirouette. “You like?” she asked, striking a seductive pose.
“Very much. You’re rockin’ that dress, girl.”
“What, this old thing?” she joked, striking another pose. “I picked it up at Neiman Marcus in New York last winter. I’ve been waiting for a nice day to wear it. And since it’s supposed to get up to seventy degrees, I figured today was as good as any.”
“Well, if you’re trying to impress me, mission accomplished. I’ve never met a stripper who shopped at Neiman Marcus in New York. You look sexy as hell in that dress. I’m looking forward to taking it off you.”
She giggled and eyed him seductively. “No time like the present, big boy. I think I can spare a few minutes.”
He was very tempted to toss her on the bed, rip that dress off, and have his way with her again. But he needed to stay focused. “Later,” he said before he changed his mind. “Right now I have work to do.”
“All work and no play,” she pouted. “Fine, let’s go see these friends of yours.”
Ten minutes later they stepped out into a sunny, cloudless afternoon. The air was warm and smelled of springtime—flowers, lawnmowers, and freshly cut grass. King looked around and inhaled deeply. “Ahhhhh, freedom…” he mused, feeling like a new man. He hadn’t realized just how badly he needed last night until now. “It’s good to be alive,” he added, smiling down at his beautiful companion.
He had Madonna drive him to Eastland Mall, a large shopping complex on Detroit’s eastside. Once inside, he headed straight for Van Dykes, a high-end designer clothing store that he had frequented regularly before going to prison.
Back then the store had been managed by an animated old black man named Jimmy Smith, a slick eastside hustler who always reminded King of the singer James Brown. King had often spent hundreds, sometimes thousands of dollars with Jimmy, on everything from new suits and Italian leather shoes, to dress shirts and designer boxer shorts. He loved buying these things for his friends and relatives. He’d always been generous like that. His grandfather had taught him that it was a show of respect to give gifts to those who did you favors. And whenever he shopped at Van Dykes for such gifts, Jimmy Smith always made himself available to offer his expertise and preferred customer discount.
King now smiled inwardly as he remembered one such shopping excursion. He had been haggling with a salesperson over the price of several Pelle Pelle leather jackets when Jimmy Smith, or in his mind “James Brown,” asked to meet him in the mall’s food court for lunch. Curious as to why, King agreed. As they ate, Jimmy asked him if he was interested in buying some custom-tailored Armani suits, priced at less than half of retail. It seemed Jimmy had figured out a way to make suits disappear from inventory by using an associate who worked in the company’s corporate warehouse. King told Jimmy he would take all the suits he could get. It worked out to be a great arrangement. Jimmy even asked for the proper measurements so each suit could be custom-tailored to fit its intended wearer. From that day on King set a dress code for himself and his crew. They were to wear suits whenever they were conducting business with other members of the Borgata. And it was Jimmy Smith who outfitted them all. Literally.
In the ensuing years, King had developed a genuine friendship with Jimmy “James Brown” Smith. They had a very symbiotic business partnership that was mutually beneficial. King ended up buying literally hundreds of Versace, Armani, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, and Perry Ellis suits from him, each of them hand-tailored. He also bought designer dress clothes, Italian shoes, alligator skin belts, leather jackets, and many other items that he flipped on the black market for large profits. He would buy $2,500 suits for $750, and then sell them to business associates for $1,500. All he had to do was call Jimmy and place an order. A few days later he would pick up the order at Jimmy’s house. It was one of King’s many hustles as a teenager, one that always earned him a few thousand extra each month. He had all his cousins, uncles, and entire crew decked out in the finest designer apparel. Thanks to Jimmy, he and his men were dressed to impress at all times. Not because they wanted to show off or act like something they weren’t, but because King knew that people always showed a little more respect to a man wearing a nice suit. Even a young man.
As King now approached the entrance of Van Dykes Designer Apparel, he could only hope that his old friend still worked there. Stepping into the busy store with Madonna hovering closely by his side, he took a quick look around. The store itself had changed. It was much larger than he remembered, and it now carried designer women’s clothing, whereas in the past it had only carried men’s. The place was packed. Saturday afternoon shoppers were out in droves, milling about the store, browsing the designer names. But Jimmy was nowhere in sight.
Wondering if he was wasting his time, he headed over to a saleswoman wearing a professional Christian Dior blazer and skirt. “Excuse me, Miss,” he said, getting her attention. “I had a friend who used be manager here about eight years ego. I was wondering if he might still work here.”
The saleswoman, an attractive black woman in her early thirties, offered him a flirtatious smile. “What was your friend’s name?” she asked, examining his suit with a trained eye.
Recognition registered on her face immediately, and she again smiled up at him flirtatiously. “Mr. Smith is no longer a manager here. He’s the owner.”
“You’re kidding?” he asked, unable to contain an excited grin.
“Not at all,” she answered, motioning toward the back stock room. “He’s in his office right now. Just got in a few minutes ago. Would you like me to get him for you?”
“Yes. That would be great.”
“And you are?”
Grinning seductively, she slowly looked him over, examining him from head to toe, appreciating his broad shoulders and brooding good looks. “That’s a very unique name,” she said, smiling at him invitingly, overtly thrusting her chest out, pleased that he immediately took notice.
Madonna had enough of the woman’s flirting, so she tucked an arm under his arm and gave her a cold look. “He’s a very unique man. Now if you don’t mind, could you please go get your boss we’re very busy.”
The saleswomen narrowed her eyes on her and seemed to bite back the words she really wanted to say. “Yes, of course,” she said with a forced smile. “I’ll send him right out.”
When the saleswoman was gone, King smiled down at Madonna. “Do I detect a touch of jealousy?” he asked, looking amused.
She glared up at him. “That bitch was flirting with you!”
“Soooo… you are jealous?”
“No, but she was being disrespectful. She saw me. For all she knew I could be your girlfriend.”
King chuckled inwardly. She was obviously jealous, but he wasn’t going to call her on it. It was sort of cute, although he hoped that she wasn’t becoming emotionally attached. Not after one night. He didn’t need a clingy woman in his life. At least not right now.
“Respect is important,” he said dogmatically. “You’re right, it was disrespectful of her to just ignore you. But I have a feeling that she was actually jealous of you. Look around. Every guy in here is staring at you. You in that dress. Minchia madonn! There isn’t a guy in here who hasn’t undressed you with his eyes. Women are catty sometimes. That chick probably didn’t you like stealing all her thunder. She feels threatened by other attractive women. But if you’re going to work me you’ll have to learn how to ignore people like her. Some people are just assholes. And sometimes the assholes are the most important people. It doesn’t matter if you like them. What matters is that they think you like them. That way you can manipulate them and bend them to your will. It’s how you gain an advantage over them without them ever—”
“King!” a voice boomed from behind them, stopping him mid-sentence. “My main man, King Falcone! Where the hell you been? I ain’t seen you in years.”
King turned and saw Jimmy “James Brown” Smith strutting toward him with his arms held out. The man looked exactly the same. Same ridiculous hair. Same loud suit. Same baritone voice. Same friendly smile. Only a few locks of gray indicated that he was subject to Father Time like everyone else.
“Jimmy!” King said, embracing him in a hug. “How are you, old friend?”
“Pretty damn good,” Jimmy answered, taking a step back to look him over. “My God, you’ve grown into quite a man. What happened to you? It’s been years.”
King shot a quick look at Madonna. “Well, Jimmy, I was away for a while. But I’m back now.”
Jimmy was not stupid. He remembered King very well, including the types of people he hung around. An abrupt disappearance and then sudden reappearance with an extra fifty pounds of muscle could only mean one thing. Prison. Even back when he was a mere teenager, a young King Falcone had come into the store with his pockets stuffed with cash, looking to spend it on the latest designer apparel. Jimmy always liked him because even as a young man King had talked to him as an equal.
“And who’s this little angel?” Jimmy asked, smiling at Madonna, who blushed and returned a bashful smile.
“Donna,” King answered, glancing down at her. “A friend of mine.”
Jimmy remembered how King had often come into the store with another such beautiful girl. Same height. Same dark hair. Same curvy figure. But this girl was definitely not her. No, the girl he remembered had a strong Italian accent and was remarkably beautiful.
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Donna,” he said, offering her a hand, nodding toward King. “Your friend here used to be one of my best customers.”
She shook his hand timidly. “Yes, that’s what I hear,” she said, looking up at King. “He told me all about you.”
Jimmy returned his attention to King. “What a blast from the past. You look great. Nice suit, too. Could use a little loosening around the neck and shoulders, but very nice.”
“Thank you, Jimmy,” King said, glancing around the busy store. “You also look great. Haven’t aged a day. But I hear you own the place now. Looks like you’re doing pretty good. Business is booming.”
“I’m doing alright for an old street hustler,” Jimmy said, offering him a wink. “But enough about me. Something tells me you didn’t stop in just to say hello to an old friend. Let me guess, you’re looking for something?”
“You’re very perceptive,” King nodded. “Some things never change.”
“Yes, well, I’ve always made it a habit of getting to know my best customers. Tell me, what exactly are you looking for?”
“Depends,” King said, glancing around the store. “You still offer the same discount?”
“Oh, I think we can work something out,” Jimmy replied, flashing him a conspiratorial grin. “Why don’t we step into my office? I’ll need your measurements. You got a neck like a damn bull these days.”
“I hope you don’t have a problem with me opening a line of credit,” King said, pulling out the remainder of his cash. “I’m a little strapped at the moment, but I should be in the black by the end of the week.”
Jimmy had no problem with offering him a line of credit, but since taking over ownership of the store, he’d given up offering “back door” discounts. But he did still maintain a relationship with his warehouse connection, which he occasionally used for special customers. And since King had at one time been a very special customer, he decided to do him this favor. After all, they were old friends. And a friend like King Falcone was a good friend to have. He was a man who knew how to return a favor.
After a half hour of haggling, King stood, shook Jimmy’s hand, and handed him $1,200 in cash, a deposit for his $5,000 order: three Armani suits, seven Prada dress shirts, four Perry Ellis slacks, two pair of Salvatore Ferragamo loafers, two Gucci belts, four ties, and an assortment of socks and silk boxer shorts. Some of it—socks, boxer shorts, and a few casual outfits—he took from the store. The rest he would pick up at Jimmy’s house in a few days.
After thanking Jimmy one last time, King led Madonna to the mall’s food court for lunch. He opted for a Greek gyro. She went for Chinese.
“So, your friend Jimmy was awfully trusting,” she said, picking at her food. “I mean, I’m curious as to how you plan to pay him for all those clothes?”
“We go way back,” he answered, taking a huge bite of his gyro. “He knows I’m good for it.”
“For a guy so young, you sure have a lot of old friends. And all of them seem eager to kiss your ass.”
“Must be my charming personality,” he quipped, taking another bite of his lamb sandwich.
She eyed him suspiciously. “Something tells me it’s more than your charm. I think people are just scared of you.”
“Scared of me?” he chuckled. “What makes you say that?”
“I just do. I don’t know what it is but there’s something scary about you.”
He shrugged and took a sip of soda. “The only people who should be scared of me are people who cross me. I’m a nice guy to everyone else.”
She shrugged and let it go, but as they made small talk over lunch, she found herself studying his every mannerism, analyzing his every word. No matter what he said, or how much he downplayed himself, he still frightened her. She knew there was a dangerous man lurking just below the surface of his charm and good looks. Yet she felt safe with him. She wondered if she had made a serious mistake by letting herself become so captivated by him. But at this point, it was out of her control. She was powerless to those eyes and his magnetic charm. She felt drawn to him by some unseen force. He was a complete mystery to her, an enigma, and certainly not the type of man she needed, or wanted, in her life. But she was under his spell completely, and now there was nothing she could do but ride the wave and see where it took her.
After lunch King had her drive him to see an old associate named Joseph “Diamonds” DeMaglio, a high-end jeweler he’d done business with before going to prison. As soon as he stepped into the elegant jewelry store, Joey, a stocky Italian in his forties, looked at him like he saw a ghost.
“I’ll be damned!” Joey exclaimed, stepping from behind the counter to embrace him and kiss his cheek. “So the rumors were true. They really let you out of that fuckin’ place.”
The man seemed genuinely excited to see him, but as Madonna watched them interact she sensed Joey was nervous and uncomfortable by King’s sudden appearance. At some point they began speaking in Italian and King asked her to wait in the showroom while they stepped into a back office to have a private conversation. Twenty minutes later he emerged from the office wearing a brand-new platinum Omega watch, a diamond pinky ring, and Cartier sunglasses. And he hadn’t given the jeweler a dime for any of it. In fact, before they left, Joey Diamonds even insisted on giving King a stack of cash as a welcome home gift. All of it made her wonder who King Falcone really was, and how she had allowed herself to get involved with such a man.
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