The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(38)

“Wait a minute,” Chyna protested, turning to Blake. “My money’s in the trunk of your car.”

Alexus spoke before Blake could. “The cars will be loaded onto a 747 first thing in the morning and flown straight to Chicago,” she said. “And you don’t have to worry about anything being stolen out of them. Whatever’s in them now will be in them when they’re unloaded in Chicago.”

“Chicago?” Chyna looked worried. “I can’t go to Chicago. I have to work tomorrow.”

“I’ll talk to your boss about it,” Alexus said. She was peeling off her jumpsuit, revealing the white-lace Victoria’s Secret bra and thong set she wore beneath it. “Now, will y’all please get naked?”

Snickering, Cereniti and Chyna shed their dresses and underwear. Then the trio of dime pieces hastily undressed Blake, kissing all over his bulging black muscles and gulping down mouthfuls of Ace of Spades.

Blake drank heavily, too, enjoying the moment, for he realized how fortunate he truly was. He was a black man living in a country where whites were twenty-two times wealthier than blacks, and thanks to Alexus he was one of the wealthiest African-Americans in the nation. He had to smile about that.

He stretched out on the long, milk-white leather seat, watching Alexus take off her bra and thong. She descended her glistening-wet * onto his mouth, and he started sucking and licking her clitoris. Looking down between her parted thighs, he saw Chyna slide her mouth halfway down his dick, while Cereniti’s tongue slathered his scrotum.

The privacy glass rolled down again. “Your friend Tasia’s standing in front of our vehicle,” Enrique said. “Want me to have one of our men move her?”

“No, it’s okay. We’ll just stay here.” Alexus was gazing down at Blake, biting the corner of her bottom lip and pinching her nipples.

The black window closed quickly, and Alexus climaxed a moment later. She was a “squirter;” her tasty juices arced out of her and spilled into Blake’s mouth. He continued to suck her quivering * until she stumbled over to the other side of the limo.

His attention immediately moved to Cereniti as she tore open a Magnum condom packet. She rolled the condom onto his wet black pole, French-kissing Chyna in a very passionate manner. Chyna squatted over his rigid pipe with her back to him, and Cereniti guided it into Chyna’s slippery juice box.

True to her word, Chyna rode him just as wildly as she’d danced for him at the strip club. Her * was warm and snug, her juices viscid and sweet-smelling. She bounced up and down so rapidly that he had to lift her off of him four times within the first few minutes just to keep from ejaculating prematurely.

Cereniti rode him next, and her * was way tighter than Chyna’s. At first he was surprised at how skilled she was at riding his dick, mainly because he’d never seen her with a man. But then he remembered that she had been a professional stripper a couple of years ago, which explained why she was so talented at working her hips.

Tasia’s hating ass started banging on their window, but no one paid her any attention; Chyna was sucking Alexus’s *, and Cereniti was reverse-cowgirling Blake with reckless abandon.

When he felt the ample load of semen bubbling up in his scrotum, Blake sat up and yanked off the condom. Alexus mounted him hurriedly and slipped his dick into her dripping-wet *. He sucked her nipples and dug his fingers into her massive derriere as his cum filled her womb.





Chapter 23

Costilla Resort Hotel Cancun, Mexico

Jennifer Costilla rolled off of her twenty-three-year-old lover and slumped onto the bed beside him, running her fingers through her unkempt hair.

His name was Miguel Godinez, formerly an assassin for the Zeta cartel, now a loyal member of the Costilla cartel.

He turned onto his side, curled his arm beneath his head, and stared at Jenny’s beautiful face until their breathing returned to somewhat of a normal pace. Then, fingering a lock of hair from Jenny’s forehead, he said, in Spanish, “I’m sorry I got here so late. I, uh… ran into a bit of trouble leaving my sister’s villa. Gamuza’s men ambushed me. They Swiss-cheesed the Ferrari, killed a few innocent bystanders. I held them off with an AK-47 while Sissy and the nephews climbed in her van; then I got us the hell out of there.”

Jenny rolled her head to the left and gazed into the young man’s eyes. He was a fearless cartel soldier, but she knew that he was afraid of Gamuza; virtually every human in Mexico was afraid of the perilous Zeta cartel leader. Gamuza was vicariously responsible for over fifteen thousand murders, which included a president-elect, four mayors, and dozens of politicians, news reporters, musicians, federal agents, journalists, police officers, and private investigators. He ruled most of eastern Mexico with an iron fist, while the Sinaloa cartel controlled most of the other half of Mexico.

The Costilla cartel bosses—Papi, Flako, Jennifer and Alexus—detested Gamuza for a more personal reason: he had murdered Segovia Costilla, Jenny’s father. He’d cut Segovia to pieces with a chainsaw, right in front of Segovia’s wife and children, and though he was now in his early eighties, the Costillas still wanted the octogenarian drug lord dead.

“Well,” Jenny said, “all you have to do is find out where he lays his head. He won’t live to see sunrise.”

“Nobody knows where Gamuza lives,” Miguel pulled on his briefs keeping his golden-brown eyes locked on Jenny. “I would have killed him long ago had I known where to find him. I pledged my life to the Zetas, and they turned against me for a mistake I had nothing to do with.”