taken her tender frame to ecstasy. She wasn’t lying when she said that she was thirsty for a good fucking. Her pussy was on fire and she was riding my dick as if it was the only one on the planet. I grunted as I plunged into her harder.
“Shit,” she mumbled as her eyes rolled into her head and she gasped for air. She clung to my body. I could tell that she was glad to have me in her arms again. Each stroke brought me closer to her. My flesh rubbing against hers, her soft hands clutching at my back, her eyes locking with mines—the way we connected with each other went far and beyond mere sex. When we were together, we were on another plane.
Just then, a van slowed down in front of the house. I pumped inside Kyra’s pussy faster. Van or not, I couldn’t stop. The pussy was feeling just that good. I was at the point of no return. She was coming as the van pulled into the driveway. I could see the heads of three kids. Nina, my fiancée, got out of the van as I spurt my seed deep into Kyra’s womb.
7
NINA
I’m Nina Coles, and no, I’m not some chick who just popped up in the mix. I came on the set in What’s Really Hood, Wahida’s anthology with the short story called “Makin’ Endz Meet,” and then I’m the star in The Golden Hustla. Those two stories go together. Yeah, I had to plug Wahida’s books. She’s like that.
Enough of the formalities. I met Rick while I was living in Atlanta. He became my thug knight in shining armor. It didn’t matter to him that I had three kids, a crazy ex and was mixed up in some made-for-reality-TV drama with my job. With his guidance, I flipped all that shit around and made it work for me—or, rather, us. We robbed my boss of his stash money, packed it up and moved to Miami. I wasn’t feeling the superficialness of Miami, so we decided to try Arizona. Especially since my oldest son had asthma.
I knew that Rick used to live out in Cali and that his ex-wife was still there. I knew all about Kyra, the chick he was in love with who got killed. Hell, he admitted that I reminded him of her. He told me that several times. And I hate to admit it, at first, I was jealous of her. It was obvious that she had his heart, and I felt that I couldn’t compete with her. He had the hardest time making me believe that it wasn’t a competition. The girl was gone. Dead. Once I accepted and believed that there was no competition, our relationship went to the next level.
I was and am still madly in love with him. He completes me. He is my soul mate, who loves me for me, and once we found out I was pregnant, he was ecstatic. He didn’t have any kids of his own, so he was beside himself.
Everything was going picture-perfect until he made this trip to his old stomping grounds. I didn’t have a problem with him going back to where he made his career. Especially when he said he would only be gone for a few days. He said it was something he had to do. Some bullshit about a cop’s intuition. Now, that part concerned me. I wasn’t sure if that meant he was going to kill somebody, investigate a crime, or what. But he assured me it wasn’t anything like that. He said he needed to clear his head and wanted to hit the road. Okay, cool. Driving from Arizona to Cali—I didn’t have a problem with that. Shit, I couldn’t stop him if I wanted to. But then, the more he would call home, the more distant he began to sound. I would ask him if everything was all right, and he could never give me an answer that I was satisfied with. And now that he’d been gone for almost two weeks, I said, “Oh, fuck that!” Something was up. And that’s when I started piecing events and conversations together. Niggas don’t realize that women are the best detectives. When we want to find some shit out, we can, and we will.
It took me a couple of days, but I finally faced the facts. I saw exactly where Rick was driving around in our Mercedes ML550, thanks to the “mbrace” system we