by Emerson Rose
And for the first time, I witness Amira crying real tears. The thought of not having money is incomprehensible for her. She was born with a platinum spoon in her mouth, and her father gave her anything she wanted so she would shut up and leave him alone. She never went to college because she figured what’s the point? I’m already rich. I don’t need to learn how to make money. I have money. So if her father actually cuts her off, she’s fucked.
She looks down at the dark iPad, and I watch as tears splash onto the glass screen. She’s infuriating, but seeing her vulnerable like this weakens my resolve. I take her hand and pull her up in front of me while she sobs. I remove the iPad from her hands and place it on the bedside table and wrap my arms around her.
I know what it’s like to be broke and alone, and her father’s just the kind of man who would do that to her—not that she doesn’t deserve a little punishment. Everything she does is to spite her father: ignoring her education, frequenting dance clubs, drinking, doing drugs, marrying me . . . she even took up being a DJ after she met me, and she’s pretty damn good at it. She’s good at everything she puts her mind to. She just never puts her mind to anything worthwhile, aside from being a workout junkie.
“Don’t cry. We’ll figure something out.”
I smooth my hand down her back to her perfectly toned ass and press my hard cock against her belly. Her sobs slow, and I feel her perfectly manicured nails slide up the back of my neck and into my hair. She nuzzles her face into the curve of my neck and speaks against my skin.
“Liam, I know you’re mad, and I know this thing with us isn’t going anywhere, but—” She presses against my cock and holds me tighter. I understand her needs. I’ve got the same needs burning deep in my belly.
“Yeah, but this doesn’t mean I don’t want a divorce, Amira. You get it?”
She nods against my neck, and it’s on. The pounding of my pulse is purely a physical reaction. I have never had feelings for this woman other than pity, and I suspect that she understands that now, but in this moment, she’s shameless.
Amira kneels down in front of me and looks up through her long, fake lashes. I see a thank you in her eyes, even though I know she’ll never utter the words.
I guide my cock to her mouth and watch it disappear between her perfect, glossy pink lips. I groan and drop my head back. One hand around the root of my cock follows her mouth up and down, stroking and pumping while the other hand cradles my balls.
I’ve had a lot of blowjobs in my day, but Amira is proving to be a pro. I suppose that would concern me if I gave a shit about her, but I don’t. The only things I care about right now are her lips around my cock and her tongue dragging along my long, sensitive shaft. She sucks and licks up and down my length, taking me deeper than should be humanly possible with seemingly no gag reflex. My fingers tangle in her hair as I guide her head back and forth, trying to fuck some respect into her gifted mouth, when I hear the front door slam and the pitter patter of no fewer than three sets of feet.
Shit.
I don’t know if the bedroom door is locked, and I don’t know if the kids even know I’m here, but if they do, this is the first place they will look for me after checking the kitchen and living room.
“Get ready; this is gonna be fast and rough.”
She looks up at me wide-eyed. Sliding her hands around my hips, she digs her long nails into my ass. I like to warn a woman when things are about to get wild, but rarely have I lost control while fucking their mouths.
Every muscle in her body locks up in preparation for my wrath, and I piston my hips against her face hard and fast until I explode with a vengeance into her mouth. I can’t see her face under her hair, but I hear a muffled moan and maybe even a mild gag before she sucks me dry.
No time to bask in the glory of a job well done. I pull out of her mouth and help her off her knees while she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. No more pink gloss . . . what a shame.
“Clothes,” I say, walking to the door to make sure it’s locked. It isn’t. I twist the button just in time. The knob rattles, and little voices call from the other side of the door.
“Liam! Wake up! Daddy says we’re going out to eat! Come on, come on, come on!”
Amira hands me my clothes, and I hop into my jeans and slide my shirt over my head.
“Smooth out your hair. You have a big tangle on both sides.”
She pulls a hairbrush from her bag and quickly yanks it through right before I unlock the door.
“Hey, Max-a-million, long time no see, man! I say, high-fiving the miniature version of Steve. He smacks my hand as hard as a seven-year-old can, and I flinch.
“Whoa there! Take it easy on this old man there, buddy.”
A wicked smile crosses his face when he thinks he’s hurt me.
“And no way are you two Melody and Molly! You’re so grown up! I can’t believe it!”
The twin twelve-year-old girls blush simultaneously and greet me with a quiet ‘Hey, Freedom.’
I notice that Max’s attention is focused on Amira standing behind me.
“You guys remember Amira, don’t you?” They’ve only met her once three months ago, but Amira isn’t someone you forget with her mile-long legs, cantaloupe-sized fake boobs, and expensive clothing. And if by some miracle you actually don’t remember her banging body, her voice will stop you in your tracks. Most women can’t get away with such a whine, but Amira somehow makes it work to her advantage . . . well, most of the time. Sometimes, it’s like feedback from a microphone and I’m afraid my ears are going to bleed.
“Hey, guys,” she says while holding a compact mirror and reapplying a fresh layer of the pink gloss I just finished working off her lips.
Max’s mouth drops open, and Molly and Melody sigh with admiration.
Max recovers first.
“Daddy didn’t say you were here.”
“That’s because Daddy didn’t know,” Amira says with too much ‘tude.
I nudge her with my elbow to let her know she needs to put a muzzle on it. She clucks her tongue and retreats back into the dark room.
“Amira came to take me home. I was so tired after the tour that I crashed here.”
“Daddy wants to go to dinner. You guys can come,” he says with a huge grin.
“Okay. Give me a minute to finish getting dressed, and I’ll be out. Go on, now. Scoot.”
I turn him by the shoulders and gently push him down the hall in the direction he came from. His sisters give me one last shy smile and fall in line behind him.
I shut the door and walk past Amira to get the rest of my clothes and shoes.
“You can give the attitude a rest, Amira.”
She huffs, slinging her bag over her shoulder after slipping her iPad into it.
“You’re welcome.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and crosses her arms over her well-endowed silicon chest.
There’s the Amira I know and hate, the snide and utterly unpleasant creature that hides just below her pretty exterior.
“Those kids hardly know you. Be nice.”
“I just blew you into next week, and I don’t even get a hug or a thank you?”
I sit on the edge of the bed and tie my shoes.
“It was just sex, but if it makes you feel better, thank you. It was very nice.”
I smile to myself while I wrap the lace around and pull it through the loop. I hate wearing the same pair of shoes twice.
I shouldn’t mess with her. She’s gonna lose her shit, but I can’t resist when she was so snotty to those sweet kids.
I straighten up just in time to see her widen her stance and place her hands on her hips.
“I just choked on your ten-inch cock, and all you can say is it was nice? What the fuck, Liam?”
“Yup . . . nice.” I slap my hands on my knees and stand up.
She throws her arms in the air and paces back and forth in what I refer to as her hooker heels.
“Look. Let’s go to dinner
, and we can talk about our situation later at home.”
She stops and points at me, something she knows I despise.
“Liam Wild, I would rather get fucked in the ass with your monster dick than go out to dinner with a bunch of kids!”
Now there’s a thought. Nah . . . I’m hungry. I’d rather have dinner.
“Amira, be quiet. Those kids don’t need to hear about my dick. God, you’re so fucking insensitive!”
“I don’t give a shit about those kids.”
“Clearly. Take your ass home. I’ll be there later.”
“So you’re just dismissing me?” she says, rolling her eyes.
“Yes. You. Are. Dismissed. Goodbye, Amira. Thanks for the blow job.”
I wink, and I swear smoke shoots out of her ears when I get up and brush past her, heading for the bathroom across the hall.
When I unzip to piss, I hear her stomp across the tile floors and slam the door so hard the whole house rattles like a category five earthquake. Good riddance. I should let her father strip her of her inheritance and leave her high and dry. She deserves it. But I won’t. It wouldn’t hurt to knock her down a peg or two, but her father’s an all or nothing kind of asshole. He barely tolerates her insubordinate behavior as it is, and I have a feeling he’s going to use our impending divorce to torture her into submission. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gave her some crazy ultimatum just to watch her squirm.
Chapter 5
Lourdes
“Ok, his snack is in the outside pocket and he has clean Pull-Ups inside in case he has an accident. You sure you want to watch him? I could probably take him with me. It’s going to be mostly paperwork with just a few minutes of an interview.”
Rachel rolls her eyes and reaches for Toby, who squeals with delight. He loves coming here—cookies, puppies, a swing set in the back yard, kids and toys galore. What two-year-old wouldn’t?
“Hush. Go get your money for college. We’re going to have fun, aren’t we, Toby?” She slips her hand under his shirt to tickle his soft brown belly. He almost wiggles out of her arms trying to escape before she sets him on his feet.
“Ok, gotta go make lunch for the heathens. Good luck.” My sister kisses me on the cheek and shoves me out the door.
I’m so lucky she runs an in-home daycare. She’s always saying, “What’s one more kid? Bring him over,” but Toby’s spent more time with Rachel lately than me, and I’m his mother.
I have a dream for us, though, and that dream is going to secure Toby’s future someday, so this is just as much for him as it is for me. We grew up in a middle class home in LA. Mom is a court reporter and Dad’s a cop. Our parents wanted more for us than they had, as all good parents do. Mom was always preaching about higher education, and Dad taught us to stay out of trouble on the dangerous streets of LA. Now that I look back, I realize some of the things he said and did were to keep us from falling into the wrong crowd.
He was always saying things like just because you girls are black doesn’t mean you have to be poor and work hard, dream big. I think that last one was a Nike slogan, but he adopted it as our family mantra. I often wondered if they gave us untraditional names to keep us from being pigeonholed into specific ethnic groups because we have such a diverse family. My mother’s mom is Hispanic. I’m named after her, and Dad’s dad was Irish. That’s how we have Kennedy as a last name. They wanted us to have every opportunity available so that we could have the things they didn’t and couldn’t provide us with. They didn’t need to worry, though. The most important thing that we needed was love, and they gave us a plethora of that.
I take a few steps backward on the big wrap-around porch and look up at my sister’s house. This is what I want for Toby and me someday. I’m not relying on anybody to give it to me either. I’m going to do it on my own. I turn and trudge down the steps to my car with the weight of the world on my shoulders. I have wanted to be a lawyer since well . . . since always, but I didn’t plan on getting pregnant and having a baby my senior year of high school.
Of all the people in my class, I was the last person people would have expected to get knocked up. I was a straight A student and worked part-time in a local law office. I was on the debate team, I was a cheerleader for the football team, and I even dated the quarterback of our football team for three years without losing my virginity. The summer before my senior year, Terrell and I had waited long enough. The one time I was careless, the only time I listened to my heart instead of my head, I was blessed with both a miracle and a roadblock in the form of an eight-pound bouncing baby boy. But I’ve come a long way since then.
Today, I’m meeting with a group that offers assistance to underrepresented students. Right now, they are my only hope of staying at Berkeley. I have all my fingers and toes crossed that I’ll be one of five students awarded their scholarship.
I made it through my freshman year working, but my classes are getting harder. Next year, it will be impossible for me to work full-time, mother full-time and go to school full-time. I can’t afford to quit my job to spend more time studying, but I have to keep my GPA at 3.7 to stay in the pre-law program. What I need is a miracle.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Kennedy. You’ll be contacted soon if you’re chosen to receive the scholarship.”
I shake the little mousey woman’s hand and return to my car with an ominous feeling in my chest. That didn’t go well. It wasn’t anything I said or did in particular, but I could tell they didn’t think the mother of a two-year-old was worthy of their money.
It’s not over till it’s over, of course, but I’ve already uncrossed my fingers and my toes. Sometimes you just know when you’re defeated. It’s temporary, though. I’ll never give up on becoming a lawyer. If it takes me thirty years, I’ll take the bar. For now, I’m going to take my son home, feed him dinner, give him a bath, tuck him into bed, and cry myself to sleep . . . but just for now.
“Hey, Sis. how’d it—” Rachel heard the squeaky screen door open and turned from folding laundry on the couch to greet me. I must have DEFEATED stamped on my forehead, though, because she doesn’t even finish her sentence.
“That bad?” she asks.
“Yeah, they were a bunch of anti-kid librarians looking for a poor ass 4.0 GPA nerd, not a trendy mother of one with a 3.8 GPA and a bunch of bills.”
“But they didn’t say no, right? I mean, you still have a chance at the scholarship?”
Rachel is an optimist. She’s upbeat, cheerful, and faith-filled, and she loves the shit out of kids, but this is a lost cause, and I know it.
“Technically, yes. Realistically, no. I can’t see it happening. I’ll have to figure out a different way. I’m probably going to have to take a year off and save up, but I’m not quitting. I’m going to be a lawyer.”
“I know you are, kiddo. I’ve never had a doubt.”
I plop down on the comfy tan couch next to Rachel and look around for Toby.
“He’s out back with Blake and Ivy on the swings. I didn’t get a chance to finish this today,” she says, digging into the clean laundry basket and pulling out one of Ivy’s sweet little dresses covered in roses. She holds it out in front of her to shake out the wrinkles.
Blake is my brother-in-law and also a medical malpractice lawyer. Ivy is their youngest daughter, who just happens to be the same age as Toby. We were pregnant together, and it was weird. Blake and Rachel had Kira three years before Ivy and Toby came along. It was helpful having an experienced older sister pregnant at the same time, but I always felt like the black sheep of the family for unexpectedly getting pregnant at a young age. Rachel was the golden girl who did everything in the proper order. She went to college, married Blake, and had Kira two years later, then she got pregnant with Ivy when I was a senior in high school. She lives a charmed life in her pretty house in the golden state with her loving, attentive husband and her two beautiful daughters. I’m jealous, but not so much of Rachel as of Blake.
I couldn’t stand to stay h
ome all day every day with a crew of babies like Rachel, but I’ve dreamt of being a lawyer like Blake forever. I used to make a little courthouse in my room and take turns playing the judge, the prosecutor, and the defendant. I would shuffle briefs and argue Baby Alive’s case in front of the court all morning and then switch to being the judge, pounding the gavel all afternoon and yelling, ‘Case dismissed!’ or ‘I find you in contempt!” My parents thought I was a little off, and so did Rachel, for that matter, but they supported me just the same.
I love the independence and responsibility that come with being a lawyer. I love learning, reading and arguing, and I figured, what better way to make a living? I want to help people, and after what happened to Toby’s daddy, I want to make a difference in the world.
I was eight months pregnant when I walked across the stage and received my high school diploma. I walked right behind Terrell, because our last names both began with K. He was Kelley. I was Kennedy. That was the last time I ever saw him alive. He was hit and killed by a drunk driver that night while leaving a restaurant with his parents. We were supposed to meet later at a friend’s graduation party, and he never showed up.
The driver was never convicted of murder. It was a nationally known disgrace. He had three times the legal limit of alcohol in his system and he was high on prescription pills, but he was rich. His father hired an attorney who used ‘affluenza’ as a defense. They got a psychiatrist to claim he was profoundly dysfunctional because of his parents’ lack of discipline. Amazingly, he was only sentenced to rehab and ten years of alcohol- and drug-free probation.
I always knew I was going to be a lawyer, but if there was even an inkling of a doubt, it was erased the day I walked out of that courthouse, holding my baby and mourning the loss of his father without justice. My faith in our legal system was shaken to the core, but instead of complaining about it, I decided to dig my heels in and get to work learning how to change it.