Page 2 of The Millionaire Mortician
“Aight, bet.”
We dapped each other up. As he exited the building, I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and shot my lady, Daija, a text.
Me: It’s going to be a late night. Love you.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket, then went back into the embalming room to finish what I started.
It was goingon two o’clock in the morning when I pulled up at home. When I got inside, the place felt still, calm, and quiet. I knew Daija was already sound asleep, as usual. I always pushed her not to wait up for me because I never had a specific time of when I would return home, especially on late nights.
Walking into the kitchen, I opened the oven and saw my plate of food sitting there. If it was one thing, Daija made sure I always had a meal waiting when I got back in.
Daija and I had been together for a year. We met during a photoshoot for this magazine. She was a celebrity barber, andI was the eye candy for all male morticians. That day, she had to touch me up for the shoot. We had small conversations, then numbers were swapped, and the rest was history. Fast forward a year, and she was living with me and was being treated like a queen.
Closing the oven, I made my way up the stairs of my brownstone house to my bedroom. As a routine, I went straight into the bathroom, peeled off my work clothes, which were scrubs for the day, then got into the shower.
Turning the knob to hot, I walked under the water and just stood there. The heat melted away all the death I had to deal with for the day. It relaxed my muscles and calmed my nerves. All I thought about was hitting my bed afterward.
As I was washing my skin, Daija walked into the bathroom. She went and sat on the toilet to pee. Instead of pulling her silk pajama dress down after wiping, she pulled it over her head and made her way to the shower. Stepping in, she grabbed the sponge from my hands and washed my back for me as I placed both my hands on the wall.
No words were exchanged, but the presence of her and what she was doing meant a lot. My careers, legitimate and illegal, were both demanding. They drained me mentally and physically most times, so to have a woman understand that and be at home to comfort me was all a nigga needed. To keep Daija safe and at peace, she knew nothing about my life in the streets. If anything, she thought Maverick was the street nigga.
Turning around, I hovered over her as I cupped her cheeks with both my hands. Our lips met halfway, with our tongues entangling almost immediately. A soft moan escaped from her as my hands roamed her body.
Daija was pretty as fuck with a short pixie cut. She was brown skinned with an average body — her ass wasn’t wild phat, and her breasts were B cups. My baby had no curves, only a straightbody, and I loved her the way she was. The first thing anyone noticed was her beautiful face. She reminded me of Megan Good. The way I always twisted her up like a pretzel made her look like the baddest bitch alive, though.
Placing my hands between her legs, I lifted her into the air and pressed her against the wall. I gave my favorite part of her body a nice, long lick, from her opening to her clit. Plunging my tongue inside of her, I worked my tongue all around, twisting and curling it. I heard her whimpers over the water spraying out of the showerhead. Her arms were spread open wide, as if she were pinned against the wall and couldn’t move.
Slowly sliding my tongue out of her, I licked my way to her button. Pressing down on it, I sucked and rubbed it with my tongue in a circular motion, making her thrust her hips against my face. While I was there for a good minute, I started to taste her juices flowing out, letting me know she had reached her peak.
I looked up at her while still devouring her pussy. When our eyes locked, her body jolted.
“Let me get some,” I told her and opened my mouth.
She leaned over and let her spit drop into my mouth. Before swallowing, I savored her taste. Not wasting another second, I brought her down and slid her right onto my hard ass dick in one swift motion.
“Mi—” she started but couldn’t finish.
Her wet, snugged, and warm tunnel gripped me like she didn’t want me to ever pull out. Feeling a shiver rush throughout my body as I got deeper, I sped up my pace.
Daija was a good girl when it came to taking dick. No matter the pain I delivered, she never ran or complained. She was also down for whatever the fuck I wanted to do in the bedroom, one of the main reasons I fell for her ass.
I rested one of her legs down on the shower floor while I placed the other leg over my shoulder, all while still inside of her. She was basically doing a standup split on my dick. As I dug in and out of her, I saw tears streaming down her face as she looked me dead in my eyes. One of my hands made its way to her throat as I choked her with a firm enough grip, while my other hand had a perfect hold on her cheeks, helping me guide my way in and out of her.
“Baby,” she cried.
I pulled her close to me so I could kiss her luscious lips. “Is it too much?” I asked her as our lips nearly collided.
“It’s perfect,” she cooed as she started fucking me back.
“That’s my girl.” I kissed her forehead.
I picked her up again, wrapping her legs around my waist while I penetrated in and out of her. Her walls contracted, and her juices came running down my dick. Before I knew it, I was exploding deep inside her.
Sitting down on the ledge in the bathroom, my body jerked as I felt weak. It was just what I needed to release stress. Bussing a nut always did the job.
The following morning,I was awakened by the smell of breakfast, not my alarm clock. I rolled over and lifted my phone sideways to check the time. It read7:33 a.m. Leave it up to my phone, and I would’ve still been asleep for another hour and change.
Grabbing my bible off my nightstand, I opened it to the next scripture and read it. I then swung my legs off the bed anddropped to my knees, my arms resting on the bed in a praying position. As always, I talked to the Lord before starting my day.
