Put A Ring On It Page 2

  The baby screamed. Dyeesha pressed the baby against her bosom. “Bitch, I know you don’t think I’ma let you fuck up my family’s first Christmas together.”

  Eric pulled himself to his feet. “Get the baby out of here. I got this, Dyeesha,” he mumbled, picking up the dwarfed tree, trying to get it to stand up straight.

  “You better get this trick outta my house before I call the cops.”

  “Stop calling me a trick. I’m his fiancée.” Nivea held up her ringed finger as proof.

  Dyeesha looked at the diamond ring and snorted. “Pole dancers make lots of money. You bought that bling and put it on your own finger.”

  Nivea drew in a breath. The truth hurt. She had put the expensive ring on her credit card, telling herself it was okay as long as Eric made the payments, which he hadn’t done at that point. And with this horrible turn of events, it wasn’t likely he’d be making any payments in the future.

  Eric stepped in front of Nivea. “What’s wrong with you, girl? Why you tryna make me hurt you?” He drew his lips together in a threatening manner. Nivea couldn’t believe her eyes or her ears. What the hell? Eric had been such a pushover. The way he always let her have her way had endeared him to her. Now he was threatening to hurt her.

  “When were you going to tell me about your secret family? On our wedding day?”

  “He ain’t marrying you!” Dyeesha hissed.

  “Oh, yes he is,” Nivea insisted. She knew that she should have turned around and walked away the moment she saw that baby’s face, but she had put so much time and effort into Eric…into her wedding, she couldn’t walk away.

  In an act of desperation, Nivea reached for Eric’s hand. “We can discuss this at home.”

  Refusing the gesture, Eric placed his hands behind his back.

  “I guess you didn’t get the memo, trick. The only wedding that’s going down is mine and Eric’s.” Dyeesha rolled her eyes at Nivea. “Tell her, Eric,” Dyeesha coaxed.

  Eric lowered his head. He stuffed his hands inside the pockets of his jeans, and began jiggling change. He spoke in a low tone. “I should have told you about Dyeesha. I can’t go through with it. The wedding is cancelled, Niv.”

  Dyeesha puffed up with pride. “You hear that, trick! Your imaginary wedding is cancelled.”

  The wedding is cancelled! Nivea opened her mouth and began shrieking as if someone had thrown a pot of boiling oil in her face.

  The baby screamed along with her.

  “Yo, get a grip. You scaring the shit outta my son,” Eric said.

  “But you don’t have any children,” Nivea replied dumbly.

  “That’s my son,” Eric confirmed. “I wanted to tell you but I ain’t know how.”

  Any normal bride-to-be who was getting hit with one bombshell after another would have been lying prone on the floor, while awaiting an emergency ambulance team to rush in and recharge her heart, but Nivea didn’t have time for heart failure. She appealed to Eric’s sense of reasoning. “My gown, Eric. What about my wedding gown? I’m scheduled for my next fitting in a few weeks.”

  Eric blinked at her, held his hands up in the air.

  Dyeesha’s mouth was twisted, like she’d eaten something rotten. “Don’t nobody care about your raggedy-ass gown. You better get your damn deposit back. Eric’s not leaving me for you or any other trick-bitch.”

  Dyeesha’s slanderous words had lost their sting. Nivea was deep in thought. Like a broken record, the wedding is cancelled, repeated inside her mind.

  It was unbelievable that Eric had been leading a double life. Nivea tried to imagine sitting her parents down, and telling them this horror story, but it was too humiliating to ponder. She had to figure out a way to fix this awful mess.

  “You gotta go, Niv,” Eric told her. “You’re upsetting my family.”

  “Fuck your family!” Finally giving into the rage that was bubbling inside, Nivea grabbed both silver-framed photographs and sent then zinging toward Eric’s head.

  Eric hit the floor. His eyelids fluttered as blood oozed from an open wound on the side of his head.

  “Help!” Dyeesha screamed. Dyeesha raced out of the apartment and out into the hallway. Neighbors began to open their doors. “Help. There’s a crazy bitch in my crib. She’s tryna kill my whole family,” Dyeesha’s shrieked.

  With the single thought of escaping punishment, Nivea left Eric moaning and bleeding on the floor, and ran out of the apartment.

  “There she is. Somebody catch that trick.” Dyeesha’s voice climbed higher. “Don’t let her get away!”

  Whizzing past several puzzled neighbors, Nivea bounded down the stairs and out the set of doors.

  Nivea rushed along the slushy pavement. Slip-sliding across the icy street, she jumped in her car. A few stitches should take care of Eric’s head, she told herself. She gnawed at her bottom lip as she pulled the Mazda forward. The tires thudded against a mound of hardened snow. Fuck! She had to get out of the tight parking spot before the police arrived.

  Suppose he’s dead! Nivea grimaced. The idea of doing jail time for murder was far more distressing than being dumped six months before her wedding.

  Ramming the car behind her, she forcefully gave herself room. As she zoomed away from the scene of the crime, hot tears splashed against her face. Eric deserved to be dead, but for the sake of Nivea’s freedom, she needed him to live.

  CHAPTER 3

  If they could see me now, Harlow thought with a self-satisfied smile. According to statistics, a person with Harlow’s background was not expected to get very far in life.

  Harlow sprayed her neck and then each wrist with a fragrance that was touted as the world’s most expensive perfume. Blissfully, she closed her eyes and inhaled the floral scent. A one-ounce, handmade crystal bottle adorned with a sparkling brilliant-cut white diamond on the collar, the perfume’s container was an exquisite piece of art.

  Like all of her rich possessions, the sinfully expensive fragrance was a gift from Drake Morgan. Drake rented and sold exotic cars. He owned three locations on the east coast, and had recently begun increasing his fortune with online sales. Exporting luxury vehicles overseas, primarily to African countries, had become a very lucrative endeavor.

  Ever since Drake had entered Harlow’s life, nothing had been the same. The past eighteen months had been like a montage of romantic movie scenes from an amazing love story.

  Drake treated Harlow like a goddess, showering her with lavish gifts, and introducing her to a lifestyle that was so luxurious, she often had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t in the midst of an incredible dream.

  With her hair in place and her makeup complete, she slipped into a curve-hugging blue dress, conveniently forgetting to put on panties. Smiling slyly, she knew Drake wouldn’t be able to resist such easy access to the goods.

  Carrying an overnight bag, Harlow left her villa-style accommodations, and walked to the lobby of the exclusive resort.

  “Good evening, Ms. Grant. Your car is waiting.” Efficiently, the concierge motioned for the bellhop to relieve Harlow of the travel bag. Despite his attempt at professionalism, the young man’s eyes roamed Harlow’s hourglass figure.

  Harlow wasn’t offended. She was accustomed to male attention. Though her looks had caught Drake’s eye, he told her that it was her inner beauty that had captured his heart.

  She slid inside the sleek black limo and relaxed against the sumptuous leather. As the car moved smoothly into the moonlit night, Harlow stared out the window, marveling at the magnificence of St. Croix: the lush greenery, the warmth.

  She made a mental note to call her girls, Vangie and Nivea, and tease them. While they were freezing their butts off in Philly, dealing with blizzards and frigid weather, Harlow was basking in a tropical paradise.

  Harlow accompanied Drake on his numerous business trips to several exotic locations, but St. Croix had become her favorite spot.

  The limo glided to a stop near the pier. The driver opened the d
oor. Outside the limo, Drake’s right-hand man, Alphonso, was there to greet her.

  She gazed in awe at the three-story, mega-yacht that was named The Water Nymph.

  Alphonso took her bag. “Drake is still in the meeting—tying up loose ends of the transaction. He wanted me to escort you onto the ship and make sure you’re comfortable.” Alphonso was all business; he didn’t crack a smile.

  “Thanks, Alphonso.” Harlow fell into step with him as they headed toward the boarding ramp.

  Harlow inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of the ocean breeze that carried the intoxicating scent of tropical flowers. She was far away from the squalid neighborhood where she’d grown up.

  Music was pumping. The party was already in full swing. Talib Chitundu, a young and very wealthy African, was the host of The Water Nymph bash.

  According to Drake, Chitundu had a penchant for luxury cars and a passion for pretty women, and he had no problem throwing tons of money around.

  Scanning the guests, Harlow noticed that the party girls, as well as the female staff, were all flawlessly beautiful. There appeared to be at least four skimpy-dressed women to every man. No doubt, the men aboard The Water Nymph would have their every sexual fantasy fulfilled.

  Harlow was relieved that Drake didn’t have a wandering eye. Drake was serious about his money, which was the only reason he was in any way affiliated with a fun-loving, ladies man like Talib Chitundu.

  Carrying a tray with a variety of vividly colored drinks, a bikini-clad, blonde-haired beauty made her way to Harlow and Alphonso. Harlow took a drink from the tray.

  “I’m going to wait for Drake in our cabin,” she told Alphonso.

  In the solitude of her cabin, she sat on the private balcony, sipping a mango mojito and enjoying the tranquil view of the dark blue, Caribbean Sea.

  She had a feeling that tonight was the night that Drake was going to propose. And tonight she was going to fuck him like there was no tomorrow.

  When she heard the door open, she set the drink down and excitedly sprang to her feet.

  Drake entered the cabin. Tall, with a distinguished and prominently angled face, Drake had a broad and muscular build. His mocha-bronzed skin looked kissed by the sun, a nice contrast with the light-colored suit he was wearing. Mouthwateringly sexy, Drake was a gorgeous man. For Harlow, he was heaven sent.

  She rushed into his arms. The mere nine hours they’d been apart seemed like weeks. Bending, Drake gave her a bear hug. “I missed you.”

  “Missed you more,” Harlow whispered, embracing him tightly. Her fingers glided across the fabric of his jacket, itching to touch his bare skin.

  “You know I’m off my square if you’re not in a five-mile radius,” Drake said, his words tickling her neck. His large hands wandered downward, coasting over the sheer blue fabric. Palming her ass, he pulled her closer. Harlow could feel his erection straining inside his pants.

  Desire rippled between her thighs. Damn, she was hot for him. So hot, she had to restrain herself from ripping Drake’s clothes off. “Do you know how much I love you?” she whispered.

  “Tell me.”

  “I love, worship, and adore you. You got me craving you like you’re a drug.”

  “That makes two of us. We’re both sprung.”

  Ready for her fix, Harlow lifted her head and offered parted lips.

  Drake’s kiss was quick.

  Confused, Harlow raised an eyebrow.

  “We have to join the party, mix it up with our gracious host and his guests,” Drake explained. “I just sealed a major deal with my man, and I don’t want Talib to feel like he’s being snubbed.”

  Harlow winced at the thought of mingling, making small talk, and having to share this special night with other people. “With all those half-naked women out there, I don’t think Mr. Chitundu will miss us. I want a private party…just me and you,” she said, her lips pouty.

  “We have to at least make an appearance. Just for a little while.” Harlow made a face. Determined to get her way, she pulled up her dress, enticing Drake by showing off her private body parts.

  He breathed in roughly, groping her bare ass. “Aw, now, you’re not playing fair, coming at me with no panties on.” His voice was coarse with yearning.

  His hard-on throbbed against her stomach. Harlow touched the thick bulge. It felt hot beneath her hand.

  “We’ll mingle later. I need you,” she told him breathily.

  “I’m all yours.”

  Tormented by the heat that rose inside her, she tightened her hand around his rigid shaft.

  Harlow reluctantly released Drake’s erection, while she pulled her dress over her head. At five-foot-nine, Harlow was statuesque, giving the impression of being model thin. But out of her clothes, she was long, shapely, and surprisingly thick, especially in the hip and thigh areas. Her plump rump was another hidden bonus.

  Drake’s eyes lit up. He moistened his lips as he took in the magnificence of her physique. “Your body…so beautiful, baby.”

  Being admired by the man she loved was thrilling. But she was too hot and bothered to enjoy the caress of her lover’s eyes. She wanted hands, lips, tongue. And dick. She was so horny, she could barely stand still. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told Drake that she needed him. She needed to feel every thick inch of him, pounding inside her.

  With trembling fingers, she unknotted Drake’s tie. Her hungry mouth kissed and licked his neck. Her breasts were full and heavy with desire. Her nipples were puckered, jutting out like thimbles.

  Once the knot of his tie was undone, she yanked it from around his neck and flung it aside. Hurriedly, she began working on the buttons of his shirt.

  With one arm in and the other out of its sleeve, Drake’s jacket hung at his side. Ridding himself of the jacket, he shook it off his arm, letting it drop. Knowingly, his lips took in the beaded nipples of Harlow’s painfully swollen breasts. “Is that better?”

  She responded by pressing his head closer to her bosom, persuading him to take in a mouthful of hardened nipple and tender breast. Needing to be touched all over, she guided his hand down to another sensitive spot.

  Searching for moisture, Drake’s fingers threaded through the honey-soaked thatch of hair that covered her mound. He parted the silken lips of her sex.

  She shivered at his touch. “Take off your pants,” she urged him.

  “Not yet.” His voice was firm and controlled. Slowly and with tenderness, he inserted his middle digit into her heated moisture. His finger wriggled and probed, sending shock waves through her system. “Do you like that?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she whimpered. As if speaking for itself, her pussy muscles began to spasm, clenching around the bulged knuckle that skimmed against her delicate insides.

  Harlow gasped. Getting finger-fucked was an agonizing pleasure. Heightening the sensation, Drake massaged her distended clit with the pad of his thumb. Blissfully, Harlow cried out, her hips rocking as Drake worked magic with his long, thick finger.

  She didn’t want to cum…not like this. Ready for the real thing, she clamped her thighs together, entrapping his hand, stilling the movement of his prodding finger.

  “Drake, please.” Harlow’s voice was a soft plea.

  He slowly extracted his finger. Bringing it to his nostrils, he drew in her scent. “Your pussy smells better than that expensive perfume.”

  She smiled at the compliment.

  But when his tongue began to swipe at his finger, licking away her juices, she felt her knees go weak. Harlow yanked on his belt, promptly unbuckling it. She shoved his pants down, and slid her hand inside the opening of his briefs, wrapping her hand around his jutting erection.

  Both naked now, Harlow and Drake came together on the bed. Lying on her back, she opened her legs.

  Drake mounted her. Caging her to the bed, he pressed his naked flesh against hers. The head of his dick kissed her pussy lips. Flames erupted all over her body. Nudging past the slippery folds, he eased the smoo
th crown inside her, and then withdrew it, causing Harlow to twist and moan and beg for dick.

  “You want some more, baby?” Drake asked; holding his heavy dick, he stared at her face.

  “You know I do.”

  With his erection secured in his hand, Drake once again parted her slick opening with the tip that was lubricated with her juices and his own pre-cum. “How much do you want?”

  “Stop torturing me, Drake.”

  “Tell me how much dick do you want?” His voice was low and sexy.

  She bit the soft flesh inside her bottom lip. “All of it, Drake. I want it all.”

  Drake stared down at her. “Not yet. You gotta be patient.”

  Ready to protest—prepared to stand up for her rights and take the dick that was rightfully hers, Harlow tried to rise up on her elbows.

  “Lay back down,” he said softly.

  All she could do was whimper and squirm as he steered the large crown of his dick back to the hot moisture between her legs. Her pussy made helpless little wet sounds as though crying for a hard thrust.

  But Drake took his time, easing in an inch at a time and then pulling out, making her pussy pucker with need.

  “Don’t tease me, Drake,” she said, sucking in bursts of air. “I’m begging you.”

  “Begging for what?”

  “I’m begging for all your inches. Please. If you give me what I want…” Before she could finish the sentence, Drake reentered her, groaning as he pushed into her clutching depths. Dick embedded to the hilt, he halted his movement. Harlow became still also, savoring the sensation of their hot bodies fused together.

  Resorting to begging had paid off; she had his dick right where she wanted it. Pleased with herself, she smiled.

  Drake kissed the smug smile off her lips, his tongue thrusting deeply, making Harlow’s sex clench.

  “Fuck me, right, baby. You know how I like it.”

  Winding his mid-section, Drake sexed Harlow in a slow, circular fashion.

  She arched her hips and widened her thighs, urging him to go deeper and faster.

  Obligingly, he plunged inside her. Her tight pussy sheathed his raging hard on.