Put A Ring On It Page 3

  With each thrust, blinding sensations blazed through Harlow’s body. “Nobody fucks me like you do!” She threw her legs around his waist, giving it back the same way she was getting it, hard and fast. Sweating, clawing, and crying, she rotated her hips wildly, panting and grunting. Then she felt little jolts of electricity coursing through her—the feeling was a precursor to a powerful orgasm.

  Harlow tensed. Unable to help herself, she bit down on Drake’s shoulder while her pussy walls tightened around the length of his dick.

  “You ready for me, baby?” Drake’s voice was gruff.

  “Uh-huh,” she uttered, nodding briskly.

  Drake shifted the direction of his stroke, suddenly jutting upwards, expertly striking against the soft pad of her G-spot.

  Incoherent murmurings spilled from her lips. Her body shook and jerked violently.

  “I love you, baby,” he groaned; his lips close to her ear.

  Using her strong legs to pull him in closer, Harlow invited Drake to join her in orgasmic pleasure.

  As though bracing himself for a tremendous eruption, he clenched the covers on the bed. Harlow fixed her gaze on Drake’s face, watching his handsome features contort into a grimace as he shot out hot jets of white passion.

  CHAPTER 4

  It was six-forty in the evening when Vangie and her five-year-old son, Yuri, left the childcare center. The sky was already dark and brooding. So depressing. It was practically immoral to bring her son outside in the cold darkness of night.

  “Where’s the car, Mommy?”

  Feeling burdened by single motherhood, Vangie released a disheartened sigh. “I couldn’t find a spot—had to park around the corner.”

  Vangie and Yuri trudged through slush and navigated around mounds of snow. With the high price of childcare, it was downright criminal that the center didn’t provide on-site parking.

  Money worries turned down the corners of Vangie’s mouth. Her salary as an administrative assistant at the local cable company wasn’t cutting it. Her tight budget barely allowed for the few hours after school that Yuri spent at the childcare center.

  As though trying to run from her problems, she walked faster. Instinctively, she reached for her son’s hand; it was an automatic and motherly gesture.

  “I’m not a baby,” Yuri reminded her, stuffing his gloved hands inside the pockets of his coat. Always a prankster, Yuri slid behind a giant mound of snow. “You can’t see me,” he teased.

  “Come on, Yuri. I’m not in the mood.”

  Yuri jumped out from behind the snow mound. “Here I am! You couldn’t find me, Mommy!” Proud of himself, he grinned.

  Even with two missing front teeth, Yuri was such a cutie. Vangie couldn’t hold back a smile. “Keep it up, Yuri, and I’m going to tell Santa Claus to take everything off your list.”

  “No such thing as Santa Claus!” Yuri exclaimed.

  She couldn’t argue about that. This year, her friend, Harlow, had assumed the role of Santa, generously paying for Yuri’s presents.

  Though the Christmas break would raise her daycare bill from part-time to full-time, looking on the bright side, Vangie was thankful that she’d be relieved from the headache of helping Yuri with his homework.

  Yuri’s homework assignments were one of the reasons that Vangie spent so much money on fast food. Vangie and Yuri didn’t get home until ten minutes to seven, sometimes later, depending on traffic. There wasn’t any time to cook a decent meal and help with homework.

  Bath time followed homework. Vangie shook her head, thinking about the disorder of the bathroom after Yuri’s bath. Toys in the tub. Clothes and water on the floor. Soaking wet washcloth and towel flung haphazardly. Toothpaste stuck on the faucets and smeared on the mirror.

  Being a single parent was hard. Vangie couldn’t begin to imagine how a single mom with more than one child was able to manage.

  Her life could be so much easier if she had some help from Yuri’s father. Yuri was devilish and was getting more out of hand every day. He needed the kind of guidance that only a man could provide. And Vangie deserved regular, financial support from Yuri’s father.

  But expecting Shawn to co-parent was asking for the moon. Shawn had figured out how to beat the system a long time ago. A barber by trade, Shawn made his money under the table. Vangie didn’t receive court-ordered child support. Shawn gave her dribs and drabs of cash as he saw fit. He hardly ever put in any quality time with their son, and the neglect of their son both infuriated and hurt Vangie to the core, turning her into a foul-mouthed, name-calling, crazy woman on the rare occasions that Shawn bothered to stop by to give Yuri a haircut.

  Yuri only knew his parents as adversaries. He had no conscious memories of them being a loving couple.

  Once the car was in sight, Vangie hit the keypad, unlocking the doors.

  Yuri scrambled into the back.

  Vangie situated herself in the driver’s seat. “Seatbelt!” she said sharply.

  “Can we go to McDonald’s?”

  “No, Wendy’s is closer.”

  “We got food from Wendy’s yesterday,” he said, sulking.

  “What about Subway?” Vangie asked in a cajoling tone.

  “No! You promised we could go to McDonald’s!”

  “The roads are bad. I’m not driving all the way to McDonald’s. It’s Wendy’s or Subway. Take your pick.”

  “Neither!” Yuri blurted and then started crying at a high volume.

  “You can turn off those crocodile tears. Tantrums don’t work with me.”

  She made a left turn into Wendy’s drive-through lane and pulled behind a long line of cars.

  “I want my daddy!” Yuri hollered when he realized that his mother was not giving in.

  “You want your daddy? Okay, I could use a break.” Vangie pulled out her phone, scrolled to Shawn’s name. He probably doesn’t even have the same number. That bastard changes phones like the damn weather.

  “The subscriber you’ve called…” began an automated voice. Vangie hung up and tossed her phone inside her purse. “As usual, your father’s phone is cut off.”

  “I want my daddy!” Yuri yelled at the top of his lungs.

  Vangie felt a headache coming on. “Stop all that noise, Yuri.”

  Yuri cried louder.

  My life sucks. I wish I was in St. Croix with Harlow, soaking up sunshine and sipping on a tropical drink.

  CHAPTER 5

  Nivea made it home without an encounter with the law, but she was a nervous wreck, expecting the cops to show up at any moment to arrest her.

  If she called her parents to tell them about the situation, she’d have to divulge the sordid story of Eric’s betrayal. What should I do…call a lawyer? Suppose he advises me to turn myself in? Oh, fuck that!

  A rustling sound on the other side of the front door sent Nivea into a panic. Then a familiar metallic clatter told her it was Eric! The creep was alive and had the audacity to use his key, as if he still had that privilege.

  Wearing a hooded jacket, Eric strode into the living room. He yanked the hood down, and arched an eyebrow toward a bloodstained, poorly wrapped bandage that surrounded his head.

  Nivea stared daggers at Eric.

  “Why you fuck up my head?” Eric asked.

  “That’s all you have to say to me?” Nivea stuck her hand out. “Give me my damn keys, get your shit, and take your ass back to that welfare to work, bitch!”

  “Come on, Niv. You trippin’. It’s not even like that.”

  “Oh, really? So, you don’t have a son and a side chick taking up residence at your old place?”

  “Yeah, I got a son. But that’s all it is. On some real shit, ain’t nothing going on between me and Dyeesha.”

  “You stood there and let that tramp call me every name in the book. You took up for her and co-signed on your upcoming marriage.”

  “That was just talk. It’s all about you and me. Ain’t nothing changed.”

  “You were yanking me a
round and tussling with me, Eric!”

  “You ran up in the crib all crazy. I had to restrain you.”

  “I discovered that my fiancé is leading a disgusting double life; how the hell was I supposed to react?”

  Guiltily, Eric shifted his gaze down to the floor.

  “You have a baby that I never knew existed. And according to your girlfriend, you two are getting married in a few days.”

  “Nah, it ain’t like that!”

  “Well, how is it? I deserve to know why you deceived me for so long.” Arms folded, Nivea waited.

  Eric didn’t respond.

  “Answer me! How could you be so deceitful?”

  “I guess I got caught up.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “After I found out Dyeesha was pregnant, I let her stay in the crib. I was tryna look out, you know.”

  “When did you find out she was pregnant?”

  He rubbed his head again. “Um, that was a while back. Way before me and you got serious.”

  “Were you ever going to tell me?”

  “Eventually. When she first came at me, I didn’t really believe she was carrying my baby. It could have been anybody’s kid, know what I’m saying? I met her at a bachelor party. I wasn’t the only man that smashed that night.”

  Nivea’s mouth dropped open. “She kept calling me a trick, and she’s a damn ho! You raw-dogged a stripper while you were in a relationship with me.”

  “I was strapped up.”

  Nivea rolled her eyes at Eric.

  “The condom broke.”

  “Umph,” Nivea uttered with disgust.

  “After she had the baby, you know, after I saw him with my own eyes and everything, there wasn’t no doubt that he was my seed. I ain’t even need the DNA results.”

  “You’re a fucking moron, Eric. You’re reckless and stupid.”

  “I’m sorry, Niv. How can I make amends?”

  “You can’t! You allowed some random slut to come between us and ruin the fabulous wedding I’ve been planning.”

  “We can still go through with it.”

  “How can I plan an elaborate ceremony when Dyeesha is threatening to force you into a shotgun wedding?”

  “She knows I’m not wifing her.”

  “I want her completely out of the picture.”

  “What about my son?”

  “I can’t let my family and friends know about your love child. You’re gonna have to keep him a secret.”

  “Okay.”

  Nivea sucked her teeth. “I can’t believe you’ve got me in this awful position.”

  “I’m sorry, baby.” He tried to hug her, but Nivea moved from his reach.

  “How did you manage to live in two places?”

  “I don’t live at the apartment. I just stop through, you know, to spend time with my son.”

  She took a hard breath. “Eric, please stop lying. Those family photos of you and your welfare wifey speak volumes.”

  “They aint nothing but pictures. Some memories for my son.”

  “None of this would be happening if you’d never allowed that tramp to move in.”

  “What was I supposed to do…let my baby mom and my son live in the street?”

  Indifferent, Nivea shrugged.

  “I had to make sure my son had a roof over his head.”

  “My son, my son,” Nivea said mockingly. “You worked hard to hide the fact that you had a son; now you won’t shut up about him. To be honest, I’m sickened by this discussion. Seriously, Eric. Just give me my keys, and go!”

  “Come on, baby. I know I messed up. But you gotta let bygones be bygones.”

  “How can I forget your indiscretion if you’re going to be bringing up that baby every chance you get?”

  “I won’t bring him up anymore.”

  “You better fucking not.”

  “I promise; I won’t.”

  Eric held her in a tight embrace. “I love you, Nivea. We can get past this,” he whispered in her ear.

  Nivea knew that she should be stuffing Eric’s clothing and other belongings into trash bags, but she couldn’t. She’d be a laughingstock if her family and friends knew what Eric had done to her.

  “We have two appointments next week,” she said weakly, deciding it was in her best interests to go full speed with the wedding. “An appointment with the florist—”

  “I’m there,” Eric interrupted, smiling broadly. “You dig me, baby? I’m with you at that flower place; I’m there helping you pick out the invitations, going with you for all your fittings… anything you want me to do.” He released a rumble of relieved laughter.

  Nivea gave a sad smile. Eric was joking around as if he hadn’t just taken her to the bowels of hell.

  “What else you need me to do?” Eric asked.

  “We need to select our cake. I’m going to set up appointments with a couple of bakeries so we can sample some cake flavors.”

  “Cake tasting? Bet!” He rubbed his slightly protrusive stomach. “Now that’s something I can definitely get into.”

  Thoughts flashed in Nivea’s mind. She pictured Dyeesha trying to hustle Eric off to City Hall. The image made her nervous. “Considering everything that’s happened, I think we should speed up the wedding date. Cut the guest list, and invite only family and close friends.”

  “Whatever you say. How soon you wanna make a move?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “Word.” He meandered toward the kitchen. Nivea followed.

  Eric opened the fridge and considered the meager contents. “Ain’t nothing to eat. You want to order Chinese?”

  “I don’t care,” she muttered, unconcerned about food. She was going to have to put in a lot of extra work, downsizing her wedding. She needed to find a smaller venue, put a rush on her gown, and narrow down the number of bridesmaids.

  Eric reached out for Nivea. “Do you forgive me?”

  Nivea nodded. Hoping that she was making the right decision, she eased into his open arms.

  CHAPTER 6

  After Yuri finally went to sleep, Vangie relaxed in bed, drinking red wine as she watched a repeat episode of Bridezillas. She found the show disgusting and titillating at the same time. Her DVR was programmed to record Bridezillas, Say Yes to the Dress, Amazing Wedding Cakes, Bridal Bootcamp, and her most favorite guilty pleasure, Platinum Weddings.

  With Nivea engaged and Harlow expecting Drake to pop the question any day, Vangie felt left out and desperate to find Mr. Right. She’d taken an almost fanatical interest in all TV shows that had anything do with getting married. She viewed these programs religiously, studied them as if the shows possessed a hidden clue on how to hook a husband.

  In Vangie’s mind, her future husband had the body of a male stripper and the sexual stamina of a porn star. Best of all, he had an oral fetish, and loved making her cum with his tongue. A connoisseur in the art of pussy eating, her imaginary lover did not gulp up her juices and then speedily stuff his dick inside. No, her future husband was a fine diner, and he savored her pussy as if it were a delectable meal.

  Her flesh began to tingle, and her nipples hardened, making imprints on her nightshirt. Heeding nature’s call, her hand worked its way to her panty crotch.

  Bridezillas droned in the background as Vangie’s experienced fingers rubbed the strip of fabric between her thighs, making her sex moisten.

  Hastening her caresses, a desperate moan escaped her throat. She had to slow down and adhere to the ritual that prolonged her self-pleasuring experience. Oh, fuck that! She’d had a long, rough day and was desperate for release.

  Kicking off her panties, she spread her legs, granting Mr. Right the kind of access he required. She writhed impatiently as she imagined him taking his time, his eyes riveted on the sight of her pussy that dripped and throbbed with nearly whorish desire.

  Eat this pussy! she demanded in her mind, as her middle finger sliced through juices that were thickened with lust. She im
agined him separating her pussy lips. With great compassion, Mr. Right attempted to calm her by blowing on the flames that raged.

  Eat it, baby, she coaxed, using a gentler tone.

  His lips were achingly close. She arched her body, offering a swollen clit to imaginary lips. But he ignored her inflamed flesh, and began nibbling on her pussy lips, nipping at one and then the other. “Oh!” she uttered, as she pretended that her finger was his tongue, flicking against her pink pussy lining.

  Her finger inched upward, inciting her hips to dance to an inner rhythm. She gasped as she envisioned his tongue connecting with her sensitive clit. Her finger moved circularly around her pleasure hub, making it slick and stiff. Craving sexual relief, her body tensed. Her breathing became ragged. The shorter, index finger teamed with the longer one. Working in tandem, her fingers trapped the swollen flesh, squeezing it in just the right way, extracting an outpouring of honeyed nectar from her core, and unrestrained cries of pleasure.

  “Oh, God! Ahhh!” An orgasm hit with the force of a lightning bolt. Ecstasy tore through her body, but her fingers kept a tight grip. Over and over, surges of electricity jolted her, as if Mr. Right had become a sadist, cruelly using his tongue like a stun gun.

  The intensity of the orgasm subsided, and Vangie slowly became aware of her surroundings. She released a sigh of regret. The fantasy was over and she was back to reality. There was no fantasy man. No warm body to snuggle next to. And no husband anywhere on the horizon.

  CHAPTER 7

  “A toast to the man who will quench my country’s thirst for luxury vehicles,” said Talib Chitundu, raising his champagne flute.

  With a halfhearted smile, Harlow raised her glass. It was too early in the morning for grinning and small talk. And drinking champagne for breakfast did not agree with her stomach. Last night, she’d had fallen asleep inside Drake’s arms, and was rocked to sleep by the gentle motion of the waves. Now, in the morning light, and in the company of a party of fools, the waves of the ocean were making her nauseous.