“That’s dead, Marcus!” She shoved him. “I gave you a chance to explain, so now I don’t wanna hear shit you got to say!”
“C’mon, baby,” he pleaded.
“Your baby is in the bathroom,” she said, stepping away from him. Shaking her head at the mere sight of him. “I don’t know who you are anymore. I don’t love you, Marcus.”
“Look, I fucked up. Okay? But let’s let that shit stay between us and—”
“That’s all you care about is yourself! Did you tell your groupie about Chyna? Huh? Answer me, dammit!”
“It ain’t like that,” he said, hoping like hell that Nashlly wasn’t listening too hard.
Kendra sighed heavily. “Goodbye, Marcus.”
“Kendra wait! Please don’t tell nobody ‘bout this, okay?”
“And if I do?” she challenged. “Whatcha gone do? Try to kill me like you did Kandi? I’m done with you. Do what makes you happy, because it’s clear that my fat ass can’t!”
Kendra turned and left Swagga speechless.
Swagga’s world seemed to topple down around him. A past he thought he had escaped was now a strain with each new breath. He was staring at the door when Nashlly glided out of the bathroom butt ass naked, titties swinging lightly.
“Don’t let her stress you, daddy,” she cooed, dropping to her knees.
“Never that,” he said. “And you can bank on that.”
CHAPTER
Eighteen
Baby Momma Drama
January 25, 2012
Wednesday 6:20 am – Denver, Colorado
LaToria feared it was way too soon to be handling sex with Martellus as if it were a chore. Just like yesterday, she was breaking her man off with a taste of her loving.
“Mmmm, mmm, I’m gonna cum,” she moaned with her hips moving in a slow circular spin on top of Martellus. Tossing her head back, she lifted her hands to her bouncing titties. In her mind she was back in front of the film crew. Her actions were all for the benefit of the man that was inside her. A man she was losing touch with. Mad at herself, she moved her hips faster, grinding her clit against him. Gasping, she fell over him, her breasts slapping him in the face. Biting her lip, she lifted up on his erection, and then slid back down. Shuddering, she did it again, only higher. Finding a steady pace, she bounced up and down, digging her nails hard into the pillow under his head. Her mounds smothered Martellus in a satisfying enjoyment.
Martellus gripped her soft hips, guiding her up and down his slightly curved erection. Tossing her head back, she screamed out his name, riding the sudden peak of her climax.
Twenty minutes later she watched Martellus leaving for work. She was curled up nude under the sheets, restless. With nothing much to do, she got up and pulled her touchscreen tablet out of her tote bag. Surfing the web, she ended up on her Twitter account where she had 750,000 followers. After a short pause, she posted a tweet.
Freezing my ass off in Denver! Missing MIA soo bad.
Next, she randomly responded to twenty tweets, thanking her fans and true supporters of her films. After she was done, she logged on to her Facebook pages. Again, she responded to messages and posts from her fans. Her heart missed a beat when she came across Trevon’s image. She had assumed he would have deleted her as a friend. She was torn with mixed feelings when she saw the change in his relationship status. Single. Out of his 3,000 friends, only a handful were men. LaToria could recall how Trevon was planning to ignore two friend requests from two gay men that saw his debut film. She had explained that all money was good money. It didn’t matter who it came from. Trevon had to realize that he was in the adult film business, and all of his fans wouldn’t be women. Going to his wall, she read his last post.
Ready 2 film next film next week! Hope U all will N-Joy. Shouts out 2 Jurnee!
1/24/12 9:15 a.m.
LaToria closed her eyes, fighting to keep her tears at bay. Holding her fragile composure together, she became curious of what Jurnee was posting on her social sites. Just as she pulled up Jurnee’s Facebook page, a knock sounded on the polished solid oak bedroom door. Knowing it was the housekeeper, LaToria turned the tablet off, and then she slid it under the pillow.
“It’s open,” LaToria said after she lay back and got under the covers. Mrs. Biathrow entered the bedroom with a rosy-cheeked smile. “Good morning, Ms. Frost. Are you ready for your breakfast?”
“Yeah, I guess,” LaToria said in a flat expressionless tone.
“Breakfast in bed, or will you be coming down to the kitchen?”
“Uh, gimme a minute to put some clothes on and get myself together.”
“I can understand how you must”—Mrs. Biathrow smiled—“feel, speaking on the fun you and Martellus had this morning.”
LaToria gasped. “Excuse me! How do you know what we did this morning?”
“I—the walls are thin. I mean, I heard the two of you when I made my rounds this—”
“Get out!” LaToria shouted.
“I’m sorry, Ms—”
“Don’t make me repeat myself! Get the fuck out. Now!”
***
“This is so stupid!” Nashlly fumed the moment she slid into the backseat of a ’96 Impala. “I told y’all dumb asses that I was gonna call!”
“Well, bitch you didn’t!” the driver shouted, twisting in the seat glaring at her.
“I was busy, okay! This shit ain’t easy, Art!” She paused, crossing her arms and sinking back against the seat.
“Busy doing what? You had me and Veto sitting in the damn rain last night for almost three fucking hours!” Art shouted with a strong urge to slap the shit out of Nashlly.
“Veto, tell Art that I woulda called if I had the chance to. Since his deaf ass ain’t hear me the first time!” Nashlly said, raising her voice.
“Both y’all trippin’,” Veto said, shaking his head.
“Nashlly, you need to tighten the fuck up!” Art said, turning back around. “You almost got us killed by not telling us his car was—”
“Art, how the hell I’m supposed to know his car was bulletproof, huh? If you wasn’t speedballing so much . . . You shoulda just waited until he was out walking!”
“Better lower your tone!” Art warned, giving her a hard stare in the rearview mirror.
“Or what, motherfucker!” she yelled.
“That fly ass mouth is gonna run your ass down one of these days!” Art said, gripping the steering wheel with both hands.
“Well, today ain’t the day! And I wish a motherfucker would!” she retorted.
Veto laughed at the two, and then sung out, “Alright, alright, alright, alright! You gon’ learn today!”
Nashlly snickered with a hand over her mouth.
“Shit ain’t fucking funny!” Art shouted.
“Look, I gots to go ‘cause Swagga is expecting me back within the hour,” Nashlly told them. Looking at her watch, she saw it was five minutes past 4 pm. Art turned in the seat. A smile was void on his face. “Next time I call you better answer! ‘On’t give a fuck what you might be doing with that nigga. Keep playing games, and I’ma leave your ass slumped right alongside Swagga. Now get the fuck out.”
Nashlly rolled her fake hazel contact colored eyes as she shoved the door open. Slamming the door, she strutted across the parking lot, keying the alarm off her white 2009 Ford Mustang Boss.
***
“I don’t trust that ‘ho!” Art told Veto as Nashlly drove off with the system bumping.
“You worry too much, bruh. Shit, we could of had ole boy slumped if it wasn’t for that damn tank he was riding in,” Veto pointed out.
“Still don’t trust her ass.”
“You holler at your girl today?”
“Nah, not yet. She told me yesterday he supposed to swing by to see his seed, so you know how that shit go.”
“You think she still fucking Swagga?”
“Truthfully, I don’t care. I just know her skinny ass better break bread with that insurance money
when we slump Swagga.”
Veto nodded. “The sooner the better, my nig.”
***
At the same time in West Palm Beach, Rick was back on the clock protecting Swagga. He was hoping Swagga would pull a quickie with his baby momma Jamilah and bounce since his son wasn’t here.
Back in the bedroom, Swagga was trying to keep his calm with Jamilah.
“Why my son ain’t here? I told yo’ ass last week that I wanted to see ’im.”
Twenty-eight-year-old Jamilah smacked her thin lips. “You ain’t been wanting to see ’im,” she mocked. “How you gonna miss your only son’s second damn birthday last month? Explain that!” She rolled her neck.
“I was busy. Damn! You know I had to beat them bullshit charges I had ova my head,” he explained from the edge of the bed where he sat.
“Yeah right.” She rolled her eyes, leaning against the dresser. “I heard you wasn’t too busy to be up under Kendra!”
“Where my son at?”
“My momma got ’im.” She deadpanned.
Swagga jumped to his feet. “You sent my son way up to Atlanta without tellin’ me shit!”
“Nigga, you rich! Catch a jet. And I’m telling yo’ ass now! Ain’t my fault you ain’t never around here!” She gestured wildly with her arms, causing the four 18-carat white gold and diamond bangles to clink on her right wrist.
“’Cause yo’ dumb ass always on some bullshit!”
“Fuck you, Swagga. Okay!” She frowned with her hands perched on her hips. “And why you looking at me all stupid and shit?”
“You got any drawers on?” he asked, lessening the space between them.
She glowered. “You can dead that idea. You been done lost your rights to me!”
He ignored her little tantrum. “Oh, that’s how you gonna handle me?”
“Go and be with Kendra, or your other baby momma, Stephanie!”
Grinning with his dreads hanging in his face, he reached for the first button on her silk orange blouse. “You look so much like Zoe Saldana when you get mad.”
“You better get your hands off me,” she said unconvincingly, reaching for his belt.
“I know you miss ’im,” he teased. “G’head an’ pull ’im out.”
“Fuck you!”
“Can I get a taste of that good-good?” He unbuttoned her blouse.
“I can’t,” she whined, rubbing his growth through his jeans.
“Why not?” he asked, palming her small, big nippled breasts. He squeezed the left one while circling his thumb over the right one.
She took a deep shuddering breath. “I . . . got a boyfriend.”
Before she could speak another word, he took her right nipple between his lips. “Mmmm, mmmm.” He sucked hard on her dark brown nipple while licking it with quick flicks of his tongue. Knowing he had the green light, he grabbed the hem of her miniskirt and then hiked it up her slender hips and waist. A surge of lust filled him when he filled his palms with her tight, honey brown ass. She made no effort to impede him when he took a step back to drop his pants and boxers.
He jerked her around, bending her over the dresser. Even with her legs together, she still had a sizable gap. Bunching the skirt at her waist, he licked his fingers and then started spanking her ass. She rose up on her toes, shaking her ass to encourage him to spank her harder.
“Ahhhh. Maybe we shouldn’t be doin’ this—since you got a man.”
“Boy, stop playing and put it in!” she said, pushing her ass against his penis.
“That’s what I thought.” Swagga shoved himself deep and hard between her skinny legs. Showing no love nor tenderness, he fucked her thoroughly with a tight grip on her tiny waist.
As much as she hated Swagga, she was infatuated with that meat between his legs. She could recall the night she first met him at the King of Diamonds strip club down in Miami three years ago. Unlike many, Jamilah wasn’t on no groupie love. Swagga had approached her while she was leaving the club with her friends. By the time she found out he was only playing with her emotions, she was four months pregnant with his second born. The hurt grew deeper when another girl turned up pregnant two weeks later and gave birth to twin girls. And in the words of truth, Swagga was the dad.
She repeated his name, nearly keeping a cadence with his speedy strokes. With her left leg hiked up on the dresser she strained her neck to look into his face as he fucked her. Her small butt jiggled each time he slammed inside her.
“Harder! Ahhh. You better make me cum!”
“Shut up and take dis dick!”
“Fuck you nigga!”
“Who pussy!” he shouted.
She moaned, “Swagga, please . . . don’t stop!”
He kept pounding at her slender frame, trying his hardest to bend her spine. Stroke after stroke after stroke, he long dicked her against the dresser for seven minutes continuously.
Jamilah’s climax was triggered when Swagga locked a grip around her slender neck. She mixed her juices with his cum that was poured inside her. Wiggling her tight little bottom, she folded down to the floor after he pulled his penis out. Resting up against the dresser with one titty exposed, she turned angry when Swagga rubbed his dick against her cheek.
“What the hell wrong with you!” she hollered, shoving him with her nose turned up.
“I cain’t get no mouth?” he asked with his pants bunched down at his ankles.
“You better get that shit outta my face! Now move and stop playing so damn much!”
“Not even fo’ a new Hermes Birkin bag?” He smirked, wagging his dick.
She kicked at his feet. “Stop playing, fool!” She rose, pulling her blouse closed.
“Why you actin’ all silly?”
“Shut the hell up!” she said, tugging the miniskirt back over her ass. Shoving him aside, she stomped to the bathroom.
“Oh. I cain’t get no head but I can smash?”
Her reply came by slamming the bathroom door and locking it.
“C’mon, Jamilah, you ain’t gotta be like that.”
She ignored him.
Swagga looked at the bed and then down at his wet dick. Waddling across the room, he picked up one of the pillows, using the pillowcase to wipe himself clean. When he was done, he put it back in place. “Dumb ass ‘ho,” he mumbled, pulling his clothes up.
“I’ma bounce, yo! And you better have my son here next week too!”
The door eased open. “I need some money,” she said with only her cute face showing.
“Get it from yo’ punk ass boyfriend. Long as I pay that child support I don’t owe you shit!’
“I need new tires for my truck, nigga! Tires that are worn down from me taking and picking up our son from daycare.”
“. . . You better not be lying ‘bout that shit! How much you need?”
“Sixteen hundred. And don’t bitch about it, because you’re the one that bought the rims and tires in the first place!”
Swagga moved his dreads out of his face, and then dug into his front pocket. “Here,” he griped, tossing a thick roll of fresh one hundred dollar bills on the bed.
“And how much is that?”
“More than enough. Use some to buy yo’ broke ass nigga a hustle, so you can stop asking me for cash.” He laughed.
She rolled her eyes. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah . . . I’m out.”
“Um, where you going?”
“To the studio. Why?”
“Just asking. I might need to see you again later tonight.”
Swagga popped the collar on his black and green Louis Vuitton button-down shirt. “I might can swing through. Just gimme a call.”
“And be careful, okay? I got worried about our son after you told me about somebody shooting at you.”
Swagga mellowed out, understanding her move to send his seed up to Atlanta. Before he left, he assured her that everything was all good.
Jamilah walked Swagga to the front door of the modest three-bedroom cr
ib that was bought and paid for by Swagga. Standing in the doorway, they shared a brief kiss. She played her part flawlessly, waving goodbye as Swagga and Rick slid inside the back of the Bentley Brooklands.
Not a minute after they left, Jamilah was pacing the plush mocha carpeted floor with her cell phone up to her ear.
“Hey, honey,” she said when her call was answered. “He just left.”
“Did he suspect anything, baby?” D-Hot asked.
She smiled. “Nope. And FYI, he’s going to the studio.”
***
Swagga sat behind the tinted glass in the back of his Brooklands in deep reflection. Gazing at the passing landscape along I-95 South, he wanted his focus to be clear before he hit the studio. His manager, Harry Storm was pressing him to get more studio time, and Swagga couldn’t say that he was wrong. Swagga wanted to find that drive and true hustle that had earned him three platinum albums. Truth be told, the issue with Kendra knowing about Chyna had him all fucked up in the head. When thoughts entered his mind about going to get tested for any STDs, he would balk, and then dismiss the idea. Too much drama was starting to flood his focus. Rubbing his forehead, he feared the future. When would the next hail of bullets buzz his way? Who else would learn of his slipup with Chyna? At one point along the trip, his mind drew a bead on the melic words bumping from the speakers inside the luxurious Bentley sedan.
Don’t trust my lady, ‘cause she’s a product of this poison.
I’m hearing noises,
Think she fucking all my boys, can’t take no more
CHAPTER
Nineteen
I Got a Secret to Tell
It was ten minutes to 5 pm when Trevon received a call from Brooke Vee.
“Hey. What’s up?” Trevon answered while behind the wheel of his XJL.
“Um, it’s me again,” Brooke Vee said. “Whatcha doing, handsome?”
“Heading back to the crib. I just left Chelsea’s spot a minute ago.”
“The new girl, right?”
“Yeah. We went over the script for our film and got to know each other a little bit.”
“She’s a lucky girl. Sure wish I could be in her position.”
Trevon smiled. “It ain’t like this is my last film. But anyway, what’s up with your sexy ass?”
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