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  “Well, I know it means a lot to you that they get it together so continue to pray on it,” he advises.

  “We’re all supposed to meet up next week to go to dinner.” I turn in my seat to check on Tiffany who is sleeping peacefully.

  He says nothing but he squeezes my hand a little tighter to reassure me.

  “How are things with your parents?”

  “My mom offered to babysit.”

  “Really? That’s nice of her.”

  I gave him a look like “Negro, you crazy.”

  “What?”

  “I love my parents and we have gotten past a bunch but I’m not ready to put my child through the crap they put me through.” I tried to hide the bitterness from my tone but I still haven’t gotten over how I told my parents about the Reverend seducing me at sixteen and they called me the liar. “My sister, Latrece, just called me complaining about them having her on religious lockdown. It’s too much for a child. Hell, we haven’t sinned so what can we be saved for? Kids should have a chance to just be kids, you know?”

  He nods but I know that his ties to God are much stronger than mine. “I grew up in the church and I was taught to love and respect the Lord and His words, but I don’t feel like my childhood lacked for anything.”

  I blink away tears that threaten to fall. “But sometimes you can cage a child in so much; then when they finally have the chance to go free it makes them wild and crazy. I don’t want that for my sisters or for Tiffany.”

  He pulls into the underground parking deck of The Top. I move to leave the car but his hand on my arm stops me. I’m surprised and pleased when he pulls me close to him and presses those Duane Martin–like lips to my forehead.

  For me that is not nearly enough.

  With a moan for courage, I raise my hand to his face as I tilt my chin to press my lips to his. He hesitates and I feel him pull back for just a second before he closes his eyes and kisses me back. Whoa. The feel of his tongue against mine is pure fire. I trace my hands down his hard cheek to his chest and abs. I use one shaking hand to yank his shirt from inside his pants. “Taquan,” I moan against his mouth as I push my hand under his shirt to trace my fingertips over his nipples.

  I feel him shiver. It makes me bolder.

  I take his hand and press it to my breast. When his fingers search and find my hard nipple I arch my back and let out breath filled with pent-up frustration. He presses his lips to my neck and I dive my hand into his lap to stroke his hard dick straining against his slacks. Thank you, Jesus. He lives up to the “all black men have big dicks” stereotype. I have to see it. Feel it. Maybe even suck it.

  With one hand I undo his belt and unbutton his pants. Seconds later that big dick is springing free right into my hand. I grip it tightly and stroke it like I’m trying to milk it. His ass clenches and he raises his hips up off the leather seats a bit. When I feel his hands sliding down between my legs I spread them wide until one knee is pressed against the window. One finger and then another stroke against my swollen clit before sliding deep into my pussy.

  I don’t care if a dozen cars ride by. I’m ready for this and nothing is going to stop me including the time nor the place. Pushing his hands away, I hitch my skirt higher around my waist and climb right into his lap. His dick is standing straight up between my thighs. I grip it and rise up until I feel the heat of his thick tip just between my thick wet pussy lips.

  “No, we can’t,” he says weakly.

  “Oh yes, the hell we can.” I try to lower my ass but his hands shoot out to grab my cheeks and stop me.

  I lock my eyes with his as my heart and clit pound crazily. “What?”

  “We can’t,” he stresses with more determination.

  “Why not?” I ask him sharply in frustration just as Tiffany begins to stir in her car seat.

  Taquan licks his lips and looks away from me.

  What’s the problem? He’s hard as bricks so he can’t be gay or needing Viagra.

  He looks back at me and his face is a tad bit embarrassed. “I’m a virgin. I’m abstaining until I’m married.”

  Say what?

  Tiffany broke out into a full cry as the bomb Taquan dropped on me plummeted my spirits. “Don’t worry, baby, Mama feels like crying too.”

  Chapter Eight

  Dom

  “No, don’tgo.”

  I push his hands the fuck off me and climb right on up outta the bed. Like always his ass want to cuddle and shit but that ain’t what the fuck I just wasted my lunch hour for. I was lookin’ for a nut and he just gave it to me along with one helluva back blow out. “We gotta get back to work.”

  Corey Miller sits up in the bed with his hard dick standing up straight between his legs. I ignore him. I strut my naked ass right into the bathroom for a quick shower. Ain’t no way I’m goin’ back to work smellin’ like sex. My ass shouldn’t even be here in one of these short stay motherfuckers grabbin’ a quickie from this Negro any damn way. I grab their thin rag and cheap soap as I step under the hot spray of the water.

  Corey’s the athletic director at the daycare center. He’s the same height as me but he’s cute and the sweetest fucking shade of caramel. Ever since I started workin’ there he been tryin’ to holla. He cute and funny and all that good shit but I’m just fightin’ everyday to stay clean and raise my daughter. Right now I don’t need the drama that a man brings into a woman’s life. I’m scared that any little thing will have my ass huntin’ up a blunt or some dope.

  But I’m still a woman. I get horny and shit just like any other damn woman. And here’s this nice, young, muscular motherfucker always smilin’ with them big damn dimples lettin’ me know that he feelin’ me . . . so I decided to let myself feel him inside me.

  Corey wants more than sneakin’ these little random fucks on our lunch hour but right now good pussy is all I gots to offer him. He ain’t my man so I ain’t got to worry ’bout him cheatin’, lyin’, callin’ me too much, not callin’ me enough, and all that other bullshit relationships come wit’.

  I’m rinsin’ this funky soap from my body when the bathroom door opens. I turn my head and look through the glass door as Corey walks in with a sock hangin’ off the tip of his hard dick. When his jokey ass makes the sock jump up and down, I laugh. He always crackin’ jokes and shit. He always smilin’ and in a good mood. Always. The little short motherfucker swear he Martin or some shit.

  The shower door opens and that sock leads him right on in.

  “Come here, Sensual Chocolate.” He flings the sock over the shower door and his long and curvy dick is covered by a sheer pink condom. “You know you want this caramel all up in ya.”

  I laugh like a little girl or some shit as his hands grab my hips and pull me close to him. “You know you wanna get all up in this chocolate,” I tease him, wrapping my arms around his neck as he turns and presses me back against the cool tiled wall of the shower.

  Corey uses his strong arm to lift one of my legs. I gasp as his dick slides up in me. Feels like a pole or some shit. Pressing my back against the wall, I raise my ass up a little and work my hips as he begins to pop away in my pussy like a motherfucker on a true mission to please. I cry out a little as he uses his hips to press his dick against one side of my walls.

  I ain’t gone lie: Corey and me fuck so good together. Our shit is ridiculous.

  As he starts to grind away like he don’t want to miss one spot of this here pussy I’m thinking like Bernie Mac in Player’s Club: “I’m in trou-ble. Trou-ble.”

  “Mommy, what happened to your hair?”

  I look at Kimani as I zip up her puffy pink coat by the front door of the daycare center. I try to play crazy or some shit like I don’t know that every curl and spike from my short do is done. Steam from the shower and the sex fucked up a perfectly good hairdo. “Uh . . . my hat messed it up,” I lie to my child without a bit of shame. What I’m gone say? Mama had a freak session with Mr. Miller and this hair is what you call sweat the fuck out.


  Corey walks up behind us dressed in his leather coat and wool skully. He has the nerve to laugh at my lie as he winks. “Hey, Kimani.” He tugs one of her ponytails as he walks past us. “Bye, Dom.”

  “Bye, Mr. Miller.”

  “See you tomorrow, Corey.”

  It does feel funny that Corey and me are fuck buddies but we hardly even speak to each other at work. Just the way I fuckin’ want it.

  “Mommy, can Hiasha spend the night?”

  Kimani and her friend Hiasha are inseparable. Wherever you see one, you see the other. They looked like two little chocolate china dolls playin’ together. “Maybe another time. Remember you and me and the girls are goin’ out to eat tonight.”

  My daughter’s face lights the fuck up. “Auntie Ze too, right?”

  I pull her pink wool cap down over her ponytails. “Yeah.”

  “Good.”

  Yeah. Good. Admittin’ to Alizé ’bout bein’ jealous of her was some deep shit for me. My drug counselor talkin’ ’bout he proud of me and all that good shit. Okay, it wasn’t easy but I’m proud of myself too. Diane and my father with all their bullshit fucked me up but I’m proud of gettin’ my shit back together. And that includes gettin’ shit back right between Alizé and me. See, a bitch like me woulda whupped my own ass for the shit I did to her, but she had to understand that I was a different person then.

  I’m better now. And I plan to stay the fuck better. If that meant staying just sheet freaks with Corey; keepin’ the fuck away from Diane’s psycho ass; and making up with Alizé than that’s what the fuck I will do. Period.

  Girl Talk

  The silence around their table at Ruby Tuesday was deafening. Alizé, Dom, Cristal, and Moët focused most of their attention on Kimani contently making funny faces to amuse Tiffany.

  Moët kicked her foot under the table aiming for Cristal to get her attention.

  “Ow. Shit.” Dom swore as she reached down to rub her shin.

  “Oops. Sorry,” Moët mumbled as she dropped her head into her hands.

  They all were glad when the waiter brought over the large plate of appetizers and saucers.

  “I am starving.” Cristal reached for a saucer and loaded her plate with spring rolls.

  Moët was all over the chicken tenders and honey mustard sauce.

  Both Dom and Alizé reached for the mozzarella sticks. Their hands touched briefly and they both snatched their hand back.

  Moët and Cristal shared a quick look.

  “You go ahead,” Dom offered as she grabbed the rest of the chicken tenders to put onto a plate for Kimani.

  “No, I know you like them too. You go ahead,” Alizé said.

  “No, I’m—”

  Moët dropped her fork onto her plate. “Okay, now you bitches trippin’.”

  Every set of eyes at the table turned on her. Moët shrugged. “What? You two the only ones who can talk ghetto as hell? Not.”

  “That reminds of the time Moët cursed Mr. Piccolo out in science class because he kept picking on her for being quiet,” Cristal said.

  Alizé’s eyes widened. “Ooh, I remember that. What was it she told him again?” she asked, excited by the memory.

  The ladies all looked at each other with mischief in their eyes before they said in unison: “If you want me to talk I got some motherfucking words for your ass. Leave me the hell alone!”

  They all broke out in loud laughter uncaring about the eyes they drew from people at nearby tables.

  “Ooh, y’all said bad words,” Kimani said as if she knew a secret.

  “We have said plenty of bad ones over the years,” Cristal said as she reached over and cleaned honey mustard from Kimani’s round cheek with her thumb.

  “We have shared plenty over the years,” Moët stressed with a long look at Dom and Alizé.

  “Good times,” Alizé said softly.

  “And bad times,” Dom added.

  Cristal nodded as she reached for her glass. “Here’s to better time for all four of us . . . together.”

  Moët, Dom, and then Alizé lift their glasses to toast to that together.

  Chapter Nine

  Cristal

  Iam trying my best not to keep checking my gold watch. Mohammed looks up from his plate of jerk chicken and wild rice. He smiles at me and my heart swells up with love for him. I smile back and I know it does not reach my eyes. Guilt already lives there.

  The Caribbean is his favorite restaurant. He says the bright colors, food, and lively atmosphere reminds him of his home in Negril, Jamaica. Coming here tonight was my idea. A bit of a treat before the letdown.

  “You are looking beautiful as hell, Danielle,” he tells me, reaching across the table to rub my hand with his thumb.

  “Tell me something I do not know,” I tease as I kick my Manolo off under the table and ease my foot onto his lap. The colorful floor length tablecloth of our corner booth hides my actions as I stroke his dick to hardness with my foot.

  I cock a brow as he sits up a bit straighter in his seat. “I am ready to go,” I tell him in my softest and most seductive voice.

  “But we just got our food,” he complains without much conviction.

  I look him dead in the eye as I ease my body down under the table.

  “Danielle,” he whispers harshly.

  I am a woman on a mission. Our Friday date night is being switched to the edited version. On my hands and knees I crawl across a random chicken bone to get between his legs. I undo his zipper and work his dick from his pants. His thighs clench as I stroke it just the way he likes it . . . nice and firm with a loose wiggle at the tip.

  His crotch smells like a sexy mix of his sweat and his cologne. I moan a little as I pull his dick to me like a cigar and take a big puff. My lips curve into a smile around it as he hollers out a little at the feel of me blowing him.

  “Is everything okay?” I hear our waiter Henry ask.

  “Yes, I stubbed my toe,” Mohammed answers with that sexy Jamaican lilt even as he eases one hand under the table to grab the back of my head.

  My motive for this spontaneous blowjob is to ease the date along a little quicker but the more his dick hardens against my tongue the more I am getting turned the hell on. No need for both of us not to enjoy ourselves, right?

  I reach down between my legs and jerk my lavender La Perla’s to the side to press my fingers against my clit. Aaaah. My own spit runs down my chin as I suck him deeply. I tickle the thick tip with my tongue before sucking it deeply. His legs shake and his hands grab my hair into his tight fist. I circle my hips as my fingers move faster and faster against my clit. His dick jumps as he fills my mouth with his cum. Like I am starved for it I swallow and suck until I know he does not have anything left. My fingers are wet from my juices. The smell of my pussy has filled the hot space underneath the table. I greedily clean every bit of his nut from his dick and balls as I shake and shiver with my own nut. My clit is sensitive as I cum but I do not dare stop rubbing it until I am spent and done.

  His dick slips from my mouth as I fall back onto my ass and let my head lean back against the seat of the booth. Whoo. I would be wrong to fall asleep under here. I remember my plans and I suddenly have the energy of ten men. I ease back onto my seat and smile at the dazed look in my man’s sexy eyes. With a napkin I clean the corners of my mouth before I rise up slightly to ease my skirt back down.

  There is not a thing ladylike about blowing your man under the table in a crowded restaurant but who would know. I am not going to tell anyone . . . except Alizé . . . and Dom . . . and of course Mo. I have to tell my girls.

  “Ready now?” I ask, pulling a compact from my purse to straighten my hair and check my makeup.

  Mohammed just nods and his dreads swing against the sides of his handsome face as he reaches under the table to zip and button his pants. “Yeah, I’m ready,” he says, raising his hand to motion for the check.

  There is nothing a man can do about a woman on a mission.

 
As we leave the restaurant a man across the room raises his glass to me in a toast. I ignore him as I feel my face get hot. Nosy-behind people.

  Mohammed hugs me close to him as we walk to our cars in the adjacent parking lot. “My place or yours?” he asks as he kisses my cheek and lightly bites my ear.

  I take a deep breath and prepare to lie. “Actually I have an early morning meeting. I was thinking I would just stay home tonight . . . alone,” I finish with what I hope is a beguiling smile as I wrap my arms around his waist and lean back to look up at him.

  He frowns as he searches my eyes. Just when I think a million questions are about to fly out of his mouth he bends his head down to kiss me briefly. He lets me go and takes my key to unlock the door to my Toyota Solara. “Drive home safely.”

  Okay. I am confused as I give him one last kiss to those lips I love and climb into my car. I toot my horn as I pull out of the fenced in parking lot. I look in my rearview mirror to find that he is still standing in the same spot of the parking lot looking at me leave.

  As soon as I step inside the luxuriously grand Waldorf-Astoria, I know I made the right decision to come. Located on Park Avenue, the Waldorf is one of the premiére social venues for the New York elite. This is a long way from foster care and group homes in Newark. I want to be here. I lied to my man and my friends about my whereabouts tonight—they would not understand and probably think I am up to my old ways which I am not. I charged eight hundred dollars to my credit card at a consignment shop for this one-shoulder, black mesh dress with beige chiffon underlay by Dolce & Gabbana—something that will take me at least a year to pay off. And I came to this stag—this is not Mohammed’s type of thing but I will not cheat on him. I am seriously growing because last year I woulda whipped out my Bible and dialed me a date.

  Am I crazy to be here . . . alone and in last season’s dress?

  I step off the elevator and walk towards the elaborate doors of the four-story Grand Ballroom. I carefully hold up the edge of the delicate form-fitting dress. I feel like I am in a fairy tale. It takes every bit of decorum that I have taught myself, not to look fazed by the glamour and elegance surrounding me. I did not miss the looks from admiring men and envious women. I look good and I know it. Sue me.