Coming from a life of drugs, money, and women, Michael "Meechie" Jackson had the world in the palm of his hands. He had power and his business, which he built from the ground up, morphed him into one of the most well-known drug lords in the city.
I...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
His bare alabaster feet coated with brown spots of various shapes and sizes rested on the edge of the soft mattress with tussled sheets and a duvet. His legs were crossed at the ankles. He sat in a rusted, dark brown antique chair he pulled from the corner of the wall and close to the king size bed. The only piece of clothing he wore was his emerald slacks from yesterday. A thin silver necklace was clasped around his neck, and his dishelved curls were set free from the Chinese bun it was in, passing his shoulders by an inch and a half.
His left arm laid across the arm of the chair as the right arm was bent at the elbow. His hand was in the shape of an L with his chin resting between his forefinger and thumb. His umber irises were focused on his sleeping wife whose body was turned sideways and facing in his direction. One hand was tucked underneath the pillow for support of her head, hair sprawled out everywhere on the cream cushion.
He observed the way her thoracic cavity would slowly rise and fall like he was a physician counting her respirations during a physical examination. She looked angelic fast asleep. Nine plus hours was enough to have a person jetlagged on top of getting dicked down with no breaks. The only time Irish was rendered free from having him making love to her like his life depended on it with electrifying orgasms one after the other, came after their sixth round. They were exhausted.
Her pussy was sore to the core, aching from the forcible thrusts of his hips and swollen from his mouth sucking her body soulless. He had gone above and beyond on the mile high club, and their wedding was top tier. From the ceremony to the reception, nothing amounted to Emerald City. Just a flashback of yesterday's event flashed before his eyes as a ghost of a smile forced his lips to part. He thought about friends and family being there to witness the greatest moment of their lives.
Their vows, he stood by his since day one and meant every single word he verbalized with endless passion. When signing their names on their marriage certificate, it was proven they would be together for eternity. Through the ups and downs they endured for two years, they wouldn't have it any other way. For Michael, he had no regrets because all that transpired was for a reason. He had his soulmate; the woman who changed him completely in and out.
He knew that his father would be proud of the man he became. It made him wonder how life could've been if he were still here to meet Irish and his future grandchildren. He never voiced it, but the presence of his father was felt throughout the entire ceremony, and that alone was the only sign he needed to confirm his thoughts. Terrance was proud.
Tears started trickling down his cheeks, and he used the hand that his chin rested in to wipe them away. As he done so, his eyes never left his wife who stirred a little in her sleep for a comfortable position, settling on her back. More tears slid from his tear ducts, soaking his face entirely. He couldn't say it enough. Hell, he would say it on top of the highest mountain in the world that he was madly in love with Irish. What he felt deeply for her made his heart full and content that no other woman could take that away from her. She held his heart in the palm of her hand.
