With This Ring

by Allison Hobbs

  “Your what name?”

  “My slut name—Venus—that’s what I want you to call me.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, snaking her tongue inside his mouth, aggressively licking his tongue and his inner cheeks.

  “Damn, I kinda like Venus. Why am I just now meeting her?”

  Vangie ran her hands over Alphonso’s shoulders and arms. “Venus is aggressive; the kind of woman that takes control. I wasn’t sure how you’d respond to a female that likes to take charge.”

  “I’m cool with it.” Excitement gleamed in his eyes. “I’m yours; do whatever you want with me, ma.”

  “You need to get my name right, nigga,” Vangie said with disdain.

  “I meant, Venus,” he corrected with uncomfortable laughter.

  “Is something funny?” she asked in a no-nonsense tone.

  “Whoa. What are we doing, here?” There was a note of concern in Alphonso’s voice.

  Fully in character, Vangie squeezed her breasts and gyrated as if overcome with uncontrollable desire. “You’re about to give me some dick and show me how much you missed her!” She shoved her skirt up and caressed her pussy.

  “You on fire, ma…I mean, Venus,” he quickly corrected.

  Vangie pulled her thong down and moaned as she fingered herself. “Come get this hot pussy,” she coaxed. “Fuck getting in bed…I want you to do me right here, on the floor.” She stuck her middle finger in her pussy and slid it in and out. Transfixed, Alphonso stood with his tongue practically hanging out and with his eyes glued to the masturbation scene unfolding before him.

  He undid his belt, ready to get in on the action.

  “Hold up,” Vangie said. “Venus needs to get paid first.”

  “Huh?”

  “You gotta pay before you start pounding and beating up on this delicate pussy.”

  “All right, I’ll pay you,” he said, breathlessly as he unzipped his fly and yanked his pants down.

  “Ain’t no fuck now and pay later; Venus needs her money now,” Vangie insisted.

  “Tell Venus, I got her,” he said, suddenly all over Vangie, kissing and licking her neck while groping her breasts and grinding on her like a dog in heat. It was the first time he’d ever lifted a finger to do more than take his dick out of his drawers.

  “Stop being cheap and give me some fucking money,” Vangie said roughly, pushing Alphonso away.

  “Okay, okay.” He dug in his pocket and extracted several hundred-dollar bills. She put the money in her purse and then frowned. “Is that all you think Venus is worth?”

  “Naw, she’s worth a whole lot more; I’ll give it to her later.”

  Vangie pulled her thong up. “Venus don’t fuck on credit.”

  “What’s the problem; how much more do you want, ma?”

  “Don’t call me ma…my name is Venus, muthafucka!” In an act of extreme disrespect, she poked him in the middle of his forehead and gave him a nasty look. Vangie was feeling her alter ego. Venus, the sassy prostitute, was taking out all her pent-up frustration on Alphonso.

  “I like Venus’s feisty ass. How much you want, baby?”

  “Five thousand.”

  “Fuck that,” Alphonso scoffed. “You’re taking this game too far. How I look paying that much money for some pussy?”

  “Whatever, nigga. I guess you gon’ give yourself a hand job because Venus is out!” Vangie pulled her sparkly skirt down.

  “Are you seriously leaving?”

  “Fuck yeah, you cheap bastard. Call an escort service!” She strode toward the door.

  “Hold up. I was only kidding. I got the money in the safe,” he said, sounding desperate and horny. He walked over to the closet where the safe was located.

  Vangie smiled in triumph as she listened to the beeps coming from the safe as he pushed in the combination numbers. He returned with two stacks of crisp bills. Vangie accepted the money with a smile.

  “What about those hundreds I already gave you?”

  “You’re not getting that back. That’s my tip, cheap ass.”

  Alphonso bit down on his bottom lip and pushed on the lump of dick that suddenly sprang up. “I like all that tough talk. You got my dick rock-hard.” He took off his pants and Vangie stripped out of her clothes.

  Assuming her regular position, she got down on her hands and knees and waited for Alphonso to mount her. Oddly, she didn’t feel degraded. With $5,000 tucked in her purse, she felt empowered and could easily withstand his hard thrusts.

  “Get up. I don’t want to fuck you in that position,” Alphonso said, surprising the hell out of Vangie.

  “Really?”

  “You’re bringing out a freakier side of me and I like it.” He began stroking his erection. “While I’m jerking myself off, I want you to do something for me.”

  “Whatever your heart desires,” she said in a sweet tone, slipping out of character as she imagined getting herself a good lawyer that would strip Shawn of his visitation rights. I’ll show that bastard that he can’t get away with disgracing me by getting engaged to that tramp. He can marry her all he wants, but Yuri won’t be participating in that circus!

  “I want you to talk dirty, Venus,” Alphonso requested, drawing her away from her reverie. “Curse at me and call me names…you know what I mean? And uh…you can spit on my dick if you want to. That’ll make me nut like crazy.” Hunched over, Alphonso stroked faster and was breathing heavy, while murmuring, “Talk dirty, baby.”

  Vangie couldn’t believe her ears! Bad-ass Alphonso—Drake’s former die-hard bodyguard and protector—wanted to be humiliated and spat upon. Not knowing what to say or do, she was momentarily stunned silent. She felt as if she’d been shoved to center stage and handed a microphone without having a speech prepared. What the fuck does this pervert want me to say?

  “Come on, Venus, don’t hold back. Throw shade; get reckless with it.”

  She thought briefly, but couldn’t think of anything to say. Somewhat panicked and feeling compelled to uphold her end of the bargain, she decided to simply say whatever came off the top of her head. And since her head was swimming with furious thoughts toward both Shawn and Alphonso, it was going to be easy to curse out Alphonso.

  “Do you like the way I fuck you?” he inquired in a throaty voice as he jerked his dick.

  “Hell, no, bitch. You can’t fuck for shit,” she blurted with hostility, grateful for the opportunity to let him know what she thought about his sex game.

  “Aaaah, yeah. That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he moaned as if in ecstasy. “Do I have a big dick?”

  She released a burst of malicious laughter. “Nigga, please you don’t even have a dick; you working with nothing but a clit, you fuckin’ pussy.”

  “Oh, baby, that’s the kind of shit I want to hear.” His voice was thick with lust as he frantically yanked on his dick—a dick that resembled a fat stump.

  “You’re nothing but scum, Alphonso. You’re worse than the dirt on the bottom of my shoes. I hate you, you filthy, trick-ass bitch. Punk muthafucka gotta carry a weapon to feel like a man. Does that gun represent the dick you don’t have?”

  “Yes,” he admitted as he shuddered with ecstasy. It was shocking the way Alphonso had done a one-eighty and was no longer the intimidating, scowling man whom she had allowed to treat her like a second-class citizen. He was downright pitiful, a sick puppy with low self-esteem and self-loathing.

  “Call me a bitch, again,” he moaned.

  “Shut the hell up, dirty bitch! You don’t run shit, so don’t tell me what the fuck to say.” Infuriated when she thought about how he’d revealed a weapon to Yuri, she pushed his hand away and roughly seized his dick. She gathered up as much saliva as she could, spat on his shaft, deriving a tremendous amount of satisfaction as she regarded the revolting sight of saliva oozing over his stump of a dick.

  Alphonso gripped his dick inside his fist, and using Vangie’s saliva as a freaky lubricant, he stroked fast and frantically. Sp
erm shot out forcefully, spraying high in the air, curving into a thick, white arc.

  HARLOW

  Harlow cried tears of joy when the doctor confirmed her pregnancy. Then she thought about her other child. Though years had passed, she’d never stopped loving and yearning to mother her stillborn infant. My poor baby, my poor little innocent baby never had a chance. Consumed suddenly with overwhelming sorrow, the trickle of tears that she attempted to wipe away soon turned into a torrential downpour.

  The female doctor gazed at Harlow, perplexed. “I thought you were happy about the pregnancy. I can make a referral for abortion counseling if you’re considering terminating.”

  It was as if a switch had been flipped. Hearing the word abortion sent Harlow into a rage. In a sudden outburst, she knocked a box of tissues off a nearby metal table, sending the box flying clear across the room. “How could you say something like that to me—are you crazy? I’m not a baby killer; I would never terminate my pregnancy. Never!” she shouted, glaring at the doctor and feeling unhinged enough to attack the woman for making such a despicable suggestion.

  The doctor looked at Harlow skeptically. With her brow wrinkled, she gazed at the wall-mounted phone as if considering calling someone for assistance.

  And then, as quickly as she’d flipped, Harlow pulled herself together, taking calming breaths as she straightened her shoulders and produced an apologetic smile. Looking utterly embarrassed, she retrieved the box of tissues and returned it to its place. “Excuse me, I’m a little overwhelmed by the news. I apologize for yelling at you.”

  Not easily placated, the doctor frowned and pursed her lips in irritation. Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair as if smoothing it into place after a physical altercation. Perched on a stool, the doctor began typing on her laptop. “I’m writing a prescription for prenatal vitamins, and I’d like to see you back in a month. Stop at the reception desk on your way out to pick up your appointment card,” she said crisply, with her head lowered, apparently too offended to look at Harlow after her angry flare-up.

  Harlow gathered her bag and stood. “Thank you, doctor.” She tried to manufacture another smile, but her attempt failed.

  Harlow didn’t wait for the prescription nor did she stop at the reception desk. She walked out of the medical suite, realizing she needed an emergency visit with her therapist.

  “The way I acted in the doctor’s office was crazy. I completely freaked out when she brought up the subject of terminating the pregnancy. I’m afraid I may be more unstable than I realized. Suppose I flip out like that after I have the baby? Do you think I could unintentionally harm my child?”

  “Have you ever harmed anyone, Harlow?” Dr. Wagner asked.

  “No, not intentionally.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I allowed that lady to give me an abortion.”

  “That was your mother’s decision. You were only a child yourself. What choice did you have?”

  “I could have run away or something. I should have protected my baby.”

  “We’ve been through this. Why do you think these feelings of guilt are resurfacing?”

  “Because I’m pregnant, again.”

  “Yes, and this is a time to celebrate, wouldn’t you say?”

  “It is. But I’m a little scared.”

  “It’s not unusual for a mother-to-be to feel anxious and afraid. What do you think triggered your outburst at the obstetrician’s office today?”

  “The very suggestion of terminating another pregnancy caused me to fly off the handle. I never act that way. I don’t have tantrums and I don’t lose control. That’s why I’m here. My behavior frightened me.”

  “The idea of you or anyone else doing harm to your child brought out all your motherly instincts.”

  “Exactly.”

  “The same instincts that you weren’t allowed to express when you lost your first child.”

  “That’s right,” Harlow agreed, her eyes filling with tears.

  “You’re going to be okay, Harlow, and I know you’re going to be a fantastic parent.”

  “Do you really believe that? Do you really think I’m stable enough to be a parent?”

  “Absolutely. And you’re going to protect that child in a way that you were never protected.”

  “Yes, I am,” Harlow said with conviction as she wiped away tears.

  Tomorrow, she’d make an appointment with her regular gynecologist. And after her doctor confirmed the pregnancy and recommended an obstetrician, Harlow would share the good news with Drake.

  NIVEA

  Where the hell was her necklace? Nivea had been cranky for several days and discovering her necklace was missing didn’t improve her mood. That good licking and dicking she’d received from Malcolm had her craving for more. The sexy bastard! As much as she loved the fitness club, she’d have to find another one. Bumping into Malcolm and possibly getting a terse hello or a curt head nod would be mortifying. Why’d I fuck him? Now I have to find another gym, dammit!

  Frowning, she searched her jewelry boxes, her drawers, between the cushions of the sofa, beneath the baby’s mattress. She’d turned her Gucci, Prada, and Chanel bags inside out and still couldn’t find it.

  She should have known that Odette, with her island songs and perpetual smile, was too good to be true. Nothing had ever gone missing until Odette had appeared on the scene, and Nivea had to face the facts: Odette was a thief!

  The gold seashell pendant that hung from a delicate eighteen-karat gold chain had only cost $800, but that wasn’t the point. If Odette got away with taking inexpensive pieces, she’d soon work her way up to the pricier items. Nivea did not want to live in a household where she had to lock down the silverware.

  She hated the idea of having to look for another nanny, but Odette’s kleptomaniacal ass had to go. Mackenzie had grown attached to her, but she was only a baby. She’d fall in love with the next nanny, forgetting Odette ever existed.

  Nivea sighed. Replacing Odette would be so inconvenient. She’d be returning to work soon; how in the world would she have the time to break in a new nanny? Maybe Odette didn’t take the necklace, she thought hopefully. Before jumping to conclusions, she decided to interrogate the nanny, and if she seemed the least bit guilty, she’d give her walking papers, and insist that she vacate the premises immediately.

  But she needed Odette. Desperately. No other nanny would do. Upon that realization, she searched her mind, tried to imagine where the necklace was hiding. A light bulb clicked in her mind. My gym bag! Nivea searched through the bag but only found toiletries, sneakers, socks, stretch pants, a workout bra, and a business card.

  Momentarily forgetting about her problem with Odette, Nivea stared at the name embossed on the card.

  Malcolm Armstrong.

  The name had such a nice ring. Sounded so masculine. Strong and upstanding. But Malcolm with his freaky self was anything but upstanding. But Nivea was no saint, either. The scam she was pulling on the Sandburgs attested to that. Not to mention how she’d tried to destroy her sister’s marriage. And the bad thing about it…she felt no remorse for her misdeeds. Why should she? Her bratty sister had gotten what she deserved for trying to upstage Nivea’s wedding back when she was planning to marry Eric.

  It didn’t bother her in the least to take money from a man who couldn’t have possibly fathered her child. The way she saw it, if it hadn’t been for his bout with the measles and his sterility issues, he could very well have been Mackenzie’s father. Therefore, Nivea was perfectly okay with blackmailing him and his uppity wife into paying a lifetime of child support.

  She looked at the number that Malcolm had printed neatly on the back of the club’s business card the last time they’d bumped into each other. He’d handed her the card and said, “This is my personal number. Call me if you feel like talking. You know, about anything. We don’t have to discuss what happened between us—pretend like it never happened. We can start all over again and get to know each
other. I’d love to take you out…no strings attached. We could do something totally innocent, like go out and get an ice cream cone or something.”

  Nivea smiled, recalling the laughter in Malcolm’s voice. She was tempted to call him.

  But her smile vanished when she thought about the skinny blonde who came to collect him from the spa area. Everything about the girl’s voice and body language suggested that she and Malcolm were fucking. Malcolm was probably sleeping with all the female staff. Club members, too. A man like Malcolm Armstrong was nothing but trouble and Nivea was pretty sure she was simply another notch in his belt. Fuck him! It would be a snowy day in hell before she picked up the phone to call him.

  Their impromptu encounter wasn’t anything special, she told herself. It was strictly a one-time thing. Anyone that had drifted into the hot tub while she was pleasuring herself could have given her the powerful orgasm she needed. She’d used Malcolm like a human dildo, but he was too smug and full of himself to realize she wasn’t interested in taking things any further. Her life was perfect the way it was. She tossed the card bearing his number in the waste bin. Don’t hold your breath, waiting to hear from me, pretty boy!

  Taking her mind off Malcolm, she thought about her budding friendship with Harlow. She was looking forward to girls’ day and couldn’t wait to show off Mackenzie. Wondering if Harlow had taken her advice and visited an OB/GYN, she picked up her crystal-encased phone and sent Harlow a text: Did you go to the doctor’s?

  Harlow responded right away: Yes, I’m pregnant! Keep it to yourself; I haven’t told Drake yet. See you Saturday.

  Nivea felt honored that Harlow had shared her good news with her before telling her husband. She’d love to rub that in Vangie’s face, and perhaps hint that Harlow had asked her to be the baby’s godmother. As tempted as she was to taunt Vangie, she couldn’t risk betraying a confidence and ending up on Harlow’s shit list.

  She wondered for the hundredth time what Vangie had done to piss Harlow off so badly that Harlow decided to cut all ties with her. The suspense was killing Nivea, and she thought about calling Vangie to pry the information out of her, but changed her mind. Harlow was a socialite and a friendship with her could help Nivea maneuver her way into high society—for Mackenzie’s sake, of course. Vangie, on the other hand, was a loser, who couldn’t do a thing for Nivea. Vangie wasn’t worth the time of day.