High Class Harlot (Switching Tracks Series Book 2)

by Delia Steele

  “Want more?” I ask as I come face-to-face with her. She nods vigorously, and I slide right in. The tightness of her cunt causes us both to groan with pleasure. Her head is now at my chest due to height difference. She leans up and bites my nipple, causing my nuts to draw up a little in delight. I run my hand down between our bodies and start to circle her clit as I pound into her at a steady pace.

  I can feel the orgasm as it rips through her. Her body goes tight and bows as it clinches around my Mandoconda. Her cum is pouring out of her, seeping around my swollen cock, making it easier for me to slide in and out, so I don’t stop. She’s trying to say something, but it’s just a bunch of broken words to me. She is on another planet right now, and I’m about to join her.

  After a few more violent thrusts, I follow her into oblivion, not thinking about anything as I unload inside her. I feel the shock of her body as mine fights back against it. Her insides are trying to release while my cock is trying to fill her up. Her eyes pop open, and she smiles at me. The first genuine smile I’ve had from her in a long time. Without a thought of control, she flips us over and jumps off of me, cum slinging everywhere, no way of knowing if it’s mine or hers, and drops to her knees, diving head-first between my legs, her tongue lapping up all the milky mixture running down my slowly-softening meat popsicle.

  I want to give her more, but no matter how much sex we have or how many times we fuck like teenagers, I will never be able to give her what she has given me. She fills the hole in my heart that has been gaping for so long. It’s because of her that I have learned to feel affection again. She has given me back something I thought was gone forever. Life.

  Chapter Ten

  (Mando)

  Fuck me with a King Kong-sized tally whacker to the ear because I have no clue what day or even week it is when I wake up. Clay’s naked body is curled up next to me with his ass pressed against my hip, and the room is stunk up to high Heaven like day old tootie. YUCK!

  “Clay, don’t fart on me! I swear, if you do, I will shove something right in your asshole.” I shove him, and he rolls over, smiling.

  “Feel better?”

  I roll my eyes at him because, until I get a drink, I won’t feel better. I crawl out of the bed, feeling like I’ve been fucked to within an inch of my life, and grab a towel.

  “I’m going to take a shower. Will you fix me something to eat, please? I don’t think I’ve eaten in days.” He agrees, so I make my naked way to the bathroom, not caring who sees me stumbling around. Once inside, I turn on the shower and step in, not waiting for the temperature to regulate. Too hot or too cold, it won’t matter. I just need to feel clean. I scrub my body and run shampoo through my hair, washing away the stench of old smokes and vodka. Wish it was this easy to wash away the memories and pain of the past few days, or better yet, years. Once I’m done, I grab the towel, wrap it around myself, and run a brush through my hair.

  Twenty minutes later, I am sitting in front of the three people who love me the most. I am sporting a button up of Clay’s; a fresh pair of cotton, full-over-the-ass, granny panties; and soaked but brushed hair. I left the last time I was surrounded by this crew, but even after I was so rudely returned, they are still right here waiting for me. I grab the cup Clay sets down on the table by me and turn it up. The orange juice slides down easy enough, but I wish it had some vodka in it. I don’t ask for any, though. I’m sure Gran’s cleaned out my stash. Everyone has a plate but me—and Clay, of course—who is still standing at the stove pushing a plastic spoon around. I put my head down on the table, and no one says a word. The elephant in this room is fucking huge.

  “Here, baby. Eat up. You’ll feel better.” I pick my head up, and Clay slides a plate in front of me. Bacon, eggs, and toast—my favorite. I’d die without breakfast food…and Clay and vodka…yes, vodka. I need it bad.

  “Thanks, dude,” I mumble.

  I sit and listen to them talk back and forth about something that happened at my dad’s. I hear something that includes: busted, drugs, Rosaria, jail, diner, and I finally ask, “What the fuck are you all squawking about?” My gran drops her fork and stares at me.

  “You see that?” She points at a hole in the wall. “That, dear, is where I tried to blow a hole in Chico’s saggy little communicable asshole. But sadly, I don’t think it would have been the first thing up his ass. I heard while getting the paper this morning that he is hanging out down by the river with old Baxter. Everyone knows Baxter is a druggie and pays with sexual favors. I bet ole Chico the hoho is getting it right up his asshole-hole right now. Or maybe old Baxter is letting him suck the meat right off his piss pistol. Either way, I bet those two boys are having a grand ole time smoking their dope and sleeking up each others slopes!

  “Anyways, while all this is taking place with your beloved Charlie Wilson,” I roll my eyes and mumble about not loving that idiot as Gran continues, “your father got busted. Mando, he is in jail, and your mother is alone in that house. Until things can be figured out, that’s how it will be. Once they decide he is guilty, everything he owns will be gone. No big house, no money, no nothing. You got me? Nothing. And they will find him guilty. Then my son will be hanging out, getting his butt plugged by Atlanta’s hottest inmates. Serves him right. He asked for it.”

  My fork is floating the air, midway to my gaping mouth. “He got busted? How?” I look at Clay, who is as tuned in as I am. Obviously, this is the first time he’s heard this as well.

  “Let’s see. You ran away, your loved ones got scared and called the cops, the cops went to your house to start the investigation to find you, a few dopers saw the cops in and out and thought your dad was in trouble, they then called the station and narked to keep themselves out of trouble. Next thing I know, your father is picked up, the house is raided, and your mother is a wreck. While that was going down, Rory here went all She-Ra: Princess of Crazy-ass Power on Chico and beat his little ass with my shit shover; and Clay, the Prince of Pooty Tang Power, banged some sense into you.” She watches me from across the table. “Amandolette, you owe me a new plunger. I want a nice one, too. Maybe one that sparkles.”

  “Gran, you don’t need a plunger that sparkles. What will happen to the diner? Mama loves that diner.” I ask, worried about my mother surviving. She can’t lose my father and the diner both. She will go crazy.

  “No worries. Both diners are safe. I have one in my name, and the other belongs to Rory.” Both my fork and Rory’s clang down.

  “What?” she squeals.

  “Yep. When they were bought, we had it done right…just in case. The house will be gone, but Rosaria can move here with me if she needs to and still run her diner. I can help with language barriers, but she will figure it out soon enough.

  “Rory, your diner is yours. Run it as you have been, and you will be fine. Mando, your car was swapped to your name a while back, so it’s yours. No worries on that either. As for Balt, he better make friends is all I can say. Him nor his soon-to-be-wore-out stank hole are my problem anymore.” I watch my Gran eat without hesitation. How can she be so calm? Her son is going to prison. My father is shut down.

  “How are you OK, Gran? Is all of this for real? Am I really not a dope dealer’s daughter anymore?” I have tears pouring down my face. I know it’s still a long road ahead, but if Dad is locked up, he can’t deal. I feel like I have been set free, released from my bonds. My life can regain value. Maybe my soul can repair itself if I right all my wrongs.

  “He knew what he was doing. Not my problem. As for you, don’t talk about drugs in this house. You are my granddaughter, not some dope dealer’s daughter. You aren’t defined by what he does, and it’s about time you realized that.” She resumes eating and I can’t stop smiling. It’s Clay who kills the silence.

  “Why couldn’t you tell me or Rory? We would have helped you deal with it, you know.” I stare at him. I know he would have, but after his sister was murdered because of drugs, how could I tell him my father was the same kind of man,
or maybe even the same man?

  “I wanted to tell you, but you would have hated me. I wanted to tell Rory, but I couldn’t without explaining your past, and it wasn’t for me to tell. It’s funny how everyone else’s secrets always cause me the most pain. Trying to do the right thing always hurts me.” I start to whimper, my heart remembering its constant, familiar pain. “See, this is something I have lived with my whole life. When Rory came along, I was held to higher standards. I couldn’t stomach the thought of voicing the truth and proving how inferior I am compared to her. Then you came along, and I couldn’t tell you where I came from because you despise people like him. How could I tell anyone anything? Hell, I’ve been drinking myself stupid since I left for college. I’ve been staying wasted to be able to forget this life for so long that I just…I just…I GIVE THE FUCK UP!!!!!”

  I look up at Clay. He’s staring at me with pain apparent in his eyes, and Rory isn’t attempting to hold back her tears. I’m not sure which reaches me first, but I suddenly have both sets of arms wrapped around me, holding me so tight I couldn’t fall apart if I tried. These two are holding me together like crazy glue. I hear Gran laugh, and we break apart.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask her. She is doubled over the table, laughing so hard she can barely breathe, much less answer.

  “Oh, I was just remembering the night you came back. You see, when I came up here with my double barrel, I saw Rory giving Charlie white boy Wilson a good ole beat down and the one thing that went through my mind at that very second was, ‘You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can never take the trailer park out of the girl.’” Coming from anyone else, that would’ve been offensive, but from Gran…we all follow suit and laugh until we have happy tears falling down our faces instead of sad ones.

  All the laughing ceases, though, as soon as Clay drops to his knees right on Gran’s dirty kitchen floor. “Amandolette, I know this isn’t ideal, but marry me, please. I can’t and won’t watch you do this alone. I love you. I have and will always. I’ve asked you countless times, and I’m asking you again. Please just be my wife. Let me love you, let me help you, and let me be the one you run to. I’ll hold you up forever if you’ll just let me. Let me make you happy.”

  Out of all the times we’ve discussed marriage, he’s never gotten on his knees before. And I want to say yes. I want to tell him I love him. But, I can’t and I won’t. I have things I need to do. Some things you have to do on your own, and this is one of those things. I need to fix me. I am just grateful I can see it now.

  “No.” I stand and look at him, hoping he sees past what I am saying. “I can’t, Clay. I am wrecked, and I have to be fixed. You deserve someone who is as wonderful as you are, and I’m not that person right now. So, no, I can’t.” I walk out on the front porch and plop down. I hear some confrontation going on inside, but I don’t move. Rory comes out soon and sits beside me.

  “You know he loves you, right?” I give her a sad smile. I know he does, and I love him, too. Which is why I can’t marry him.

  “What’s love got to do with it?” I ask her, smiling because Rory is an old school music whore and I know she’ll get my attempt at a joke.

  “It’s just a second hand emotion, right?” she adds, never failing me.

  “I need to go for a walk,” I say as I head back inside. I walk past Clay, throw on some clothes, and walk back out. He is packing. I guess he needs to go home. Not only have I put his heart through the ringer, but he also has work back in Atlanta. I’m surprised he’s stayed as long as he has. Both of them. Rome has to be ready to murder someone by now. Most likely me since I’m the one who’s been keeping his wife and his right-hand man away for so long.

  I find myself wandering around the train depot that sits just through the woods from the trailer park. It’s here that the trains choose the tracks that will take them to where they are meant to go. They all stop right here and switch tracks. They pick the one they want to travel and shoot off, never detouring from the path they chose to take. My life is like that, except I tend to derail. But not again. Today, I do just as these trains do: I pick a path. I flip the switch and set my life in the direction I want to travel with no way to swap once I start moving. If I derail again, someone should just kill me because I won’t live any other way. Not anymore.

  I sit down on the train rail and look around me. Busted windows, dilapidated buildings, train cars left useless, and graffiti everywhere. This place is what my mind looks like, despite the fact that I come from the high class side of the tracks. It’s time that I set my course. Time that I switch to the track I want my life to follow. #fuckmisdirection #Imswitchingtracks

  Resolve: it’s a beautiful thing. I decide I want help, so I go get help. As simple as that. I send a mass text to Gran, Mama, and Rory. I don’t bother Clay. I’ve put him through enough.

  -Rehab.

  When I make it back to Gran’s, my mama is there, and I talk to her. It’s hard, though. She is still all about my father.

  Clay’s long gone, not even waiting on me to get back. I assume he is pissed, and I don’t blame him. I mean, how much pain and humiliation can one person take before they throw up their hands? I just hope he will understand when Rory tells him my decision.

  Trying to converse with my mother is pointless, so I go make my call. I need help, and I need it now. That liquor store is calling to me like a social media site tempts a stalker, and it’s taking all I’ve got in me to resist the urge.

  After an hour on the phone with the rehab facility recommended by our local AA system, I have news. “Eight hours away in Florida. I have to be there by 8 a.m. to sign in for this program.” I look at the women sitting in my Gran’s living room, watching me. “Did y’all tell Mama how Rory went all crazy white girl on that drugged-out, dried-up, semen cup?” I smile, trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t work, but at least I am feeling better. I have a plan to fix me. One I am OK with.

  Rory leaves for home a few hours after Clay, and I set in to clean and pack for my stay at rehab. I go to pack my red heels and realize they were ruined during one of my many drunken nights. Mama is folding my clothes and laying out something nice for me to wear to check in. I have my black jeans and my black jacket laid out in case it’s chilly, but she is determined I need to look classy. She holds up this nice top I have, but it’s too long. The cute black and white squares are too much, so I take it and cut the bottom off before sliding it over my head. Perfect. I slide everything else on and look at my shoes, saddened. I need them. It’s crazy, but they give me strength. My mama takes off her layered strands of pearls and clasps them around my neck. She touches her neck where they once hung, and a tear slides down her cheek. She doesn’t say anything, but I see her hurt. She lost her husband, and now she thinks she is losing me, too.

  “Here, harlot.” I turn to see Gran holding out the hottest pair of red stilettos my brown ass has ever seen. They are stunning, with gold pointed studs rounding the back.

  “Yours?” I ask. She flashes me a big toothy grin as she nods.

  “Yep. Bought them bad boys to line dance in until I realized I needed some boots instead. Salsa—now that’s where these are handy.”

  I slide them on and fall head over my spiked heels in love with them. “Thank you.” With a hug, she is gone.

  An hour later, I’m in my car, packed and ready to go. Mama is going along to bring my car back after I check in. I could have flown, but I need time with Mama to make sure she is going to be OK. I need her to know this is to fix me, not hurt her. She’s always been too fragile. #stiffupperlip

  Chapter Eleven

  (Rory)

  Once I realized Mando was getting help, I headed out. I’ve missed my husband and children, and now, with her on the road to being OK, I need my family so I can be OK, too.

  I walk in to my husband laughing at Clay, who is retelling the plunger story. I walk right over and plop down in his lap. I need to rejuice myself on my man. I have never been witho
ut him for so many days. Guess Chico caught the blunt end of my desperate breakdown.

  “Thax home?” I whisper. Rome shakes his head no. I miss my brother, and I worry about him. And that crazy bitch he is lusting after. I wish a good girl would rock his world and break the chains that shabby heifer has on him. I zone back in to Clay smiling as he tells Rome more. Then, he drops the smile and says, “It’s over.” I jump to my feet.

  “NO! She is getting help, Clay! She’s leaving for rehab tonight. She called and set it up herself, and her mom is taking her tonight. She wants to be better, and she wants to deserve you. I told you don’t give up, damn it! Not now. She’s trying!” I am so pissed at him for trying to quit on her, on what they have. “She went for her walk, and she came back smiling and determined. I’m telling you, she is coming back to us, and she is coming back like a fucking bullet train!” I stomp my foot, trying to force out my temper.

  “So, what’s the deal with the plunger, Princess?” I smile down at my guy and love the feeling of knowing he is my home.

  “Welp, he walked through that door, and I had just downed my forth cup of espresso. I had been up all night worrying over Mando and where she was and if she was OK and watching Clay’s sanity teeter. I was missing you and the kids. And then the way he busted in and had her cradled and crying… I guess I lost it. When he tossed her down like a nobody, my protective instincts kicked in, and I lunged at him. I don’t remember picking up the plunger or even hitting him, but I knocked his sorry tail out! Well, his rotten tooth anyway.” I giggle and snuggle into Rome’s hair.