Unconventional (The Manhattanites #4) (20 page)

I was so close to being free of you, Dash, and our life in England. What’s Kiki going to say about this?
Could he keep their mission from her? He hated not being able to tell her. But he was used to it, especially when it came to his childhood.

The Hanzfeld Experiments and his past had never been discussed with her. He’d have to keep this from her, too. Dejon couldn’t tell Kiki. His fiancée would dump him faster than a New York minute. Kiki was honest; she’d never agree to steal even in the vein of moral principle. He couldn’t believe he had, either.

Stacked with Dash’s things, Banja’s folder sat in front of him. Hearing his brother’s voice from the far room, he reached over and pulled it out.

Three little stones, huh?

Embossed with the Global Diamond Corporation’s logo, the thick leather binder was stuffed with pages from Banja’s personal journal, dates highlighted.

He read over the dimensions, matching them with their corresponding photos.

One cushion cut stone, The Tivian Yellow Diamond, measured at 302 carats. On exhibit in Dubai, their first heist would be in three weeks. It was located at the Middle East Jewelry Show, an event he’d been invited to spin at many times. “Christ, in less than one month, we’ll be stealing a big-ass chunk of ice,” he said out loud, shocked.

Pink, reminding Dejon of Kiki’s skin coloring when she’d get excited, the second stone was owned by Sweedorski, a large jewelry brand in Stockholm. Graded as Internally Flawless, weighing 575 carats, the gem titled ‘Iced Sherbet’ would be honored at a party during the Euro Diamond Expo, eight weeks away. Could he get ‘in’ there to spin as their cover?

Oh, my God!
Bolting up from the sofa almost to his feet, he couldn’t believe the size of the third and final stone. By far the biggest bling he’d ever seen.

A colorless diamond, called ‘The Great Nova of Africa.’ At over 4,000 carats, it had yet to be split, and would go on display the month after the Euro Diamond expo at The Style Gala in New York City.

Pish.
He felt sick.

“What?” Dash asked, walking into the room and staring at him. Under his arms were more GDC folders.

He held up the Nova brief. “I’d hardly call these
little stones
.”

“No? What are they?” His sat the stack from under his arm next to Dejon and took the paper from him.

“How about the most valuable gems in the world?” A wave of sweat broke out over his entire body, as if he’d just come from a swim. He couldn’t breathe. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

“Exactly what Dad wrote out for us, to follow along.” Dash handed him a set of directions.

He skimmed. Detailed, almost foolproof, he realized, “There’s no way Daddy whipped this list off the top of his head as some helping of clotted cream. Dash, come on….”

“They do read like the work of someone with thievery experience, don’t they? Maybe Dad was more of a nutter than Mum realized.” Dash appeared almost smug. His brother didn’t seem worried. Nothing scared Dash.

“What if we get caught?” He was worried he’d face authorities in the Middle East, Europe and the United States, not in Banja’s backyard.

“Won’t happen.” Dash grimaced. “Appears we should’ve spent time getting to know Dad, and his hobbies, eh?”

“Perhaps….”

“Mom always said Dad was a bit off his onion.” His brother laughed.

Collecting the papers, Dash’s invincible attitude filled the room, making it hard for Dejon to think. “You still don’t get why we’re doing this, do you?”

“Not exactly.”

“I found those folders in Dad’s study.” He pointed at the stack he’d put next to Dejon. “They’re filled with information on how
our
mission will benefit the community.”

Dejon flipped the paper open. A girl, maybe six or seven, an amputee, stared back at him. “Dash!” Quickly, he closed it. Disturbed, he couldn’t take looking at them. “You know I’m more sensitive to images than you.”

“Mate, you used to be. But you’ve iced up into a cold-hearted arse. One by one, you’re going to look at those pictures and read their stories. That little girl’s name is Helen. Rebels took her entire family.”

Later that night, after eating a plate of crayfish, he read the detailed cases. The monies from the Tivian Yellow Diamond, after its return to the community and being resold as conflict-free, would build a library, school and feed an entire village for the next ten years.

As Dejon dug deeper into the files, he realized he hadn’t cried over the loss of a man he barely knew or a sister he vaguely recollected, but for what they’d done on their crusade. Banja and Kamara had stood for something—life. Every day, hundreds if not thousands of his brothers and sisters were being killed for diamonds.

Determined to get Helen, and all of the other Helens out there, a new set of arms, he slid the photo that had troubled him earlier into his wallet.

At that moment, he closed his eyes and thanked his father for bringing him home to Sierra Leone. He and Dash would do their best to get the stones back.

Forgive me, Kiki, but what you don’t know won’t hurt you.

BJs Are Better Than Whippets

Eight Weeks Ago

Stockholm, Sweden

“I’m gonna keep eating this pussy ‘til you come,” her fiancé said, more determined than ever.

Panties yanked off?
Yup!

Legs up?
And over.

Kiki Izatt should’ve been downstairs at Truman Hotel’s conference center, helping her Brill, Inc. boss with the Euro Diamond Expo. Instead, she entertained a visit from her über-hot disc jockey of a fiancé, Dejon Turay. Unexpectedly, he’d flown in to spin for a private soirée. Dejon didn’t say which one, but then he never did.

“Stop!” Close to climaxing, Kiki tugged on Dejon’s short, curly black hair, hoping to catch her breath. “Miss Brill is going to fire me…if I don’t get downstairs.”

“Good! Then I’ll have you all to myself.” Between her legs, Dejon’s chocolate brown eyes peered up at her mischievously. “Let me shag you, babe.”

Consumed by ecstasy, her head fell back on the pillows. With a loud snarl, Dejon drove face-first into her. Eyes closed, she thought about what she always did when she was with her man: their future together. Jet-setting to the most exotic locales, living the New York City life and starting a family, they’d create their own destiny.

“Babe, you have the pinkest pussy I’ve ever seen. It’s like iced sherbet,” Dejon complimented her between tongue lashings. Sincere with his words, always, but the notion of her fiancé with any pussy before her seemed unfamiliar.

Married at sixteen, Kiki’s parents had both been virgins. That was, of course, before her father had taken on four other sister wives.

Wait. Why was she thinking about her family? No. This ‘going down on her pink sherbet business’ had to stop.

“Dejon. I gotta go to work.” Kiki tapped her heel on his back, signaling for him to come up from under the hood.

An ox, he didn’t budge. Rather, he spread her folds apart. “Look at this li’l butterfly.” Dejon sunk his tongue into the well of her cunt, nearly sending Kiki to the ceiling in an orgasmic fit. “Come out and play with me, my beautiful…butterfly.”

“Please!” She kicked at him, trying to get him to back off.

Shaking his head, he made a
tsk-tsk
noise and replaced his aggressive tongue with magic fingers, sliding deep inside. “Babe, you’re soakin’ wet.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Since the second he’d arrived, she couldn’t get him to cool it.
I’m going out of my mind. I love this man.

Intent on making her orgasm, Dejon pinched her clit with one hand, scissoring his long, masculine fingers through her pubic hair with the other. “We agreed to wait ‘til marriage. But let’s do
it.”

“Dejon!”

“Bloody hell! Come on. I flew all this way from Ibiza.”

“No. We can’t….”

“We’ve got this nice room. Babe, I need to be inside you, now.” Dejon pulled himself up, meshing his hard pecs against Kiki’s soft breasts, and kissed her. At six feet tall, his frame compared to her petite stature put a good foot between them. He could have done whatever he wanted to with her body. But Dejon Turay always remained a gentleman. “I love you, Kiki.”

Half African on his late father’s side from Sierra Leone, and half English on his mother’s side from London, Dejon was the most exotic man Kiki had ever seen. Coming across his picture on a DJ blog after downloading remixes to her iPhone, Kiki had done what any other twenty-something, desert native who’d moved to the big city and had never smoked a cigarette, tried drugs, drank alcohol, or tasted coffee did…

She’d cyber-stalked him.

“Your virtual boyfriend looks like a younger, European version of that ‘90s rapper who obsessively licks his lips,” Taddy had said when Kiki paraded Dejon’s picture around their Times Square office.

“LL Cool J.?”

“That’s the one. Sweet milk chocolate on a S’mores graham cracker, your dude is flippin’
hawt
! I bet he tastes dick-a-licious, too.” Taddy had a way with words—dirty ones, especially.

She’d chatted online with Dejon for months, sharing pictures of each other ‘til Taddy had sent Kiki to the Cannes Film Festival to meet him. Lust at first sight, two years later and there they were.

“I love you, too.” She gasped, feeling the inconceivably large head of his dick inching close. Moving her hips to the left, she reminded, “We’ve waited this long.”

“Babe, I’m begging.” His cock followed her. Dejon’s big arms, twice the width of her legs, framed them.

“What’s another month, ‘til our ceremony in Provo?” Holding on to his shoulders, Kiki lifted from the mattress slightly then swung her hips in the other direction.

“Utah.” Dejon full lips frowned. “That’s where you want our first time—”

“Yes, of course.” Kiki had waited so long to get married. At twenty-three, a woman her age, back home, would’ve had seven babies along with five to six other sister wives by this point. The first in her family to go to college and move to the East Coast, Kiki didn’t miss Utah, or what outsiders referred to as her polygamous, fundamentalist Mormon culture. New York was where she belonged but there was a part of her that would always consider Provo home.

“Fine.” Sitting up, Dejon teased her. Playfully, he bit down on her underwear, wiped his lips on the fabric then handed them to her, almost as if he knew better than to have even tried.

“Thank you.” Kiki smiled, admiring Dejon’s good temper. Never upset, he let her stay true to who she was.

“Remind me to buy you some new knickers for our wedding night.”

She giggled. His British accent made her laugh sometimes. “Lingerie?”

“Yes, something fetch and sexy, in pink.” He looked down at her lady parts and sighed.

“How nice!” She’d never worn sexy anything before. Noticing his hard-on, she swallowed twice then asked, “Do you want me to, ummm….”

“Please.” His eyes narrowed into slits, giving Kiki that sexy face, the one that fueled her imagination with thoughts of Dejon’s cock buried deep inside her. How would he feel? Would his long eyelashes flutter that way when he came inside her, too? Or would Dejon stare intently down at her, without blinking at all? She looked forward to finding out.

“Hmmm.” Her entire life, she’d always been a people-pleaser. Oral sex couldn’t be an exception.

At Brigham Young University, Kiki had studied many theories on how a woman should abstain from contact with a man before marriage to remain a virgin. Some Europeans believed that if two people climaxed in the same room together without even touching one another, they had sex. In Asia, many argued that any body contact between two lovers, regardless if it reached orgasm, was considered sex.

“Only a…BJ,” Kiki agreed.

She chose to follow the North American belief system. Or at least what she’d been taught when her mother had homeschooled her before college. “Penetration of the vagina by a penis leading to orgasm is sex and should only happen after marriage.”

“Yes. But tell me again why you
must
be a virgin on our wedding day?” Dejon asked, caressing her arm. “I’m not marrying you just to get into your pants. That’s a bonus.”

“My sisters and I vowed we’d wait is all. It’s our virtue pact.”

On her thirteenth birthday, she’d made a promise to her four older sisters—Sariah, Zina, Eliza and Marie Osmond (notably named after her mother’s favorite singer)—that they’d give their virginity to their husbands. With this in mind, she could manage a blow job and still keep her sisterly promise.

“Ready?” He shimmied over.

“Only this once, Dejon, and I’m serious. Don’t go expecting BJs every day. Not ‘til after we’re married.” Then she hoped sex would be a free-for-all.

Taddy had warned her a few months back while coming up with color names for their Baden Cosmetics client that the second Kiki started giving Dejon head, she’d never quit. “Oral sex is similar to wearing makeup. When you see how good you look with it, you’ll never go without, especially mascara. Same can be said for oral sex and how it feels, darling. Now, do you think we should name this lip-gloss…
swallow
?”