After the Storm

Copyright © Rae Anderson. All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner or by any means without express written permission of the publisher.

This book is a continuation of material found in Dinner and Lunch of the Knight Family series. This book should not be read as a standalone.

Erin.

Click. Click. Click

One by one, my heels made contact with the concrete floors as I inched closer to the stage. Grabbing the handrail, I moved up the stairs and toward the curtains that hid my body from an expectant crowd of hating bitches, thirsty niggas, and everything in between.

The fire-red thirty-inch bust-down wig was bone straight and flowed past my ass cheeks. Not a single hair was out of place, but the desire to smooth it surfaced. My stage name was Red due to the pale color of my skin. I often wore my wigs in the same color to establish myself as a brand. It was a simple name and easy to remember noting my wig color.

The rhinestone two-piece I wore was a signature ensemble that was custom-made to maintain its shape and stay in place as I performed on stage. The funds that sponsored the fit were in surplus, and I was grateful for the generosity. The bearer of said funds, I couldn’t stand, however.

His ass was out there too. Somewhere among the masses of salivating heathens, he was waiting for me. Forcing my mind to focus, I continued the short flight of steps until the DJ announced my presence. Noting the wetness of my palms forced me to grab a towel from the bucket near my feet. Trepidation hadn’t reared its head since my first day at Pleasure, yet it managed to return tonight.

What the fuck?

Before I could consider what had brought out my nerves, the beat to Twista’s “Wetter” blared over the club’s speakers, signaling my entry. As I emerged from behind the curtains, my hips swayed toward the pole.

“I’m calling you daddy, daddy. Can you be my daddy, daddy? I need a daddy, daddy?”

As Erika Shevon crooned, I slowly moved around the pole to the beat, giving the audience a tease of what was to come. My heels clicked, my ass shook, and my hips swayed as bills flowed freely into the air. When Twista’s verse came on, I climbed the pole until I’d nearly reached the top. Inverting my body, I eased back down the pole into a split.

Though the motion was slow in my mind, people always marveled that I was swift. Once on the stage floor, I isolated the muscles of my ass cheeks to the beat.

Left cheek. “Daddy, daddy.”

Right cheek. “Come and make it rain down on me.”

More bills flowed at my performance. It always did. Signaling their appreciation, men whistled and made the sky rain. As I lifted from the split and my feet made contact with the ground again, I shook each of my ass cheeks to move once more. Scanning the front of the stage, my eyes probed for my sponsor for the night.

There were several men lining the front of the stage. There weren’t many that caught my eye, however. They mostly smoked, drank, and babysat their stacks to prevent running out. The ballers on a budget. I didn’t want them.

Him. Off to a corner of the stage with endless racks of money, he tossed his earnings freely. His hat covered his face, preventing me from adequately seeing him. For all I knew, he was likely ugly. It was always the ugly ones with the biggest bank, though. Just as well. A bitch needn’t be attracted. I was here for green paper, not love.

The black Houston fitted cap informed me he wasn’t from here. Niggas in the A loved the Falcons despite their consistent disappointments. They hadn’t been to the Super Bowl since ‘99 when I first moved to this city, and they’d lost that, but niggas loved the home team.

He was different, though. Maneuvering my body toward his space, I gave him the attention his money requested. Now free of the rhinestone panties and bra, I was bare for all to see, but tonight he’d won me for the duration of his money unless he misbehaved.

Clapping my eight-inch heels together as my waxed bald kitty gyrated in his face tugged a smile from his chocolate lips. Black was his favorite color, but he was fixed on a redbone tonight.

The Hermes shirt he wore was black, and so were his jeans. The diamonds dancing on his chocolate skin were black too. Subtle, with deep pockets. The bling informed me he was young like me. Young niggas were such disappointments, but I would endure.

Ugh, come on bitch. Let’s milk this cash cow. I coaxed as my body worked harder to free him of every piece of greenery sitting before him. Drug dealer. He had to be, considering he’d just tossed two stacks with ease. As I turned away from him, I gave him the full view of my ass, continuing to move to the beat of the song. Another two racks spilled onto the stage.

Yeah, definitely a street pharmacist.

As the DJ cut to Rihanna’s “Pour It Up,” I eased off my knees to stand, giving him a jump as my cheeks shook violently. The turn-up was next, and this was goodbye unless he planned to spend all his bricks on me.

With more energy required for the quicker tempo, I ran to the pole, eager to remove myself from the heat his body elicited. Grabbing it as I bent to twerk, I could feel his eyes on me.

“Throw it up, throw it up, watch it all fall out.”

As the bad gyal encouraged my spectators, I rounded the pole, making my ass jiggle with my index finger aimed at the ceiling. Rih Rih’s song had just dropped a few months ago. This was my shit.

My eyes caught Mr. Black again. With his long finger, he summoned me. When I didn’t respond, he tossed another stack in my direction. Not bothering to break it into small chunks, the space where he stood erupted with paper precipitation. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Transitioning to the floor again, I returned to where he stood waiting.

“Spend the night with Daddy, love.”

There it was. The bullshit every man assumed when they saw me perform for the first time. I didn’t turn tricks. I was simply paying my way through art school. There were a plethora of bitches here that could be of service to him. Instantly annoyed, I clapped my heels and turned to move away from his presence.

“Aight, my bad, baby. Shit. What can a nigga get for blowing half a bag, though?”

“The fuck out my face,” I huffed, writing his fine ass off. I had yet to see his eyes, but every feature from the nose down told me God had shown the fuck out with him. What a shame. He’d lost his manners, and so did I.

“Next lifetime then, love.”

Moving back toward the pole, I climbed it with sophisticated ease. When I reached the top, I inverted and locked my thighs around it as my body went horizontally.

“Oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh-oh.”

As Rihanna turned up, so did I, fiercely shaking my wig with my hands on my hips as fresh bills littered the sky and the floor.

“Money on my mind. Money, money on my mind.”

Sliding back down the pole, I finished my performance, impressed by my earnings for the night. Twenties and fifties littered the ground near where Mr. Black stood. As the song ended, my gaze didn’t return to him. I quickly left the stage, fighting to control the racing in my chest.

Calm down, Erin. Seldom did a trick cause me to lose my composure. Mr. Black had me completely out of it. To say he’d earned my disposition was an understatement. The funds from his bank were in surplus tonight.

Shay brought the spoils of my hunt to the dressing room in the back. The black trash bag was filled to the brim with cash. After tipping her $100, I sought the privacy required to comb through the bag. Grateful, I planned to count my shit and go home for the night. It was likely one of my best nights working at Pleasure since I started eight months ago.

“Erin, one of your regulars wants a private. What do you want me to tell him?” Shay asked as she sat the bag down.

Considering what was still left to be counted, I could say no. Instead, I eyed the trash bag full of bills and decided tonight might be my luckiest.

“I’m coming. Let me get my shit to Jada first.”

Dragging my limbs and cash down the hall, I found Jada in her private room, preparing for the night’s last act. She was always the last and the biggest. Niggas stuck around for her. A true performer, she sucked the souls of men from the audience, leaving them suspended above the weed, cigarette, and hookah smoke permeating through the building.

When she’d finished, niggas were left to figure out where they’d been transported, where their bodies were, and where their money went. Jada was the big bitch at Pleasure, and I’d befallen her favor since I walked through the door.

“Hey, sis. Can you keep an eye on this for me? I have one more private, and then I’m leaving.”

Jada was the only one I trusted to keep watch over my money. Over the year, we’d gotten close. She had my back and taught me the ropes about the dancing life. It required thick skin, something I didn’t always have but quickly developed.

“Bitch it looks like you had a good ass night. What the fuck you doin a private for?”

“I know, but he’s a regular. The stage sponsor is new booty.”

“Aw, shit! Did you lick his pockets clean?”

“Nah, he was trying to trick off.”

“Oh, hell naw. But is his ass still out there?”

“Girl, I don’t know. Let me go deal with Bryant’s ass. I’ll be back.”

Turning to leave her suite, I headed for the Boom Boom Room. That’s what Pleasure called their private suites. The fear that threatened to earth me returned, emanating from my palms again. The tightness in my chest became known the closer I moved to the private room.

With my lengthy rhinestone and neutral-colored nails, I rubbed at the center of my chest and breathed deeply. Chalking it up to gas, I chastised myself. Fuck, Erin. Get your shit together. 

As I drew closer to Boom Boom Room 1, the discord in my heart couldn’t be tamed. Security wasn’t present outside the room, forcing me to halt before entering. Every fiber of my being said not to enter, but the night had gone so well, and I didn’t want to lose Bryant as a trick.

Save for Mr. Black, whom I’d just stumbled upon tonight, Bryant paid the best. It’s just Bryant, hoe. Run this trick’s pockets dry. Breathing deeply, I entered the room with a renewed sense of false confidence.

“Hey, Bryant.”

A cloud of smoke greeted me upon entry into purple darkness. The smell of Gucci Guilty and weed graced my nose, forcing me to frown in contempt. Neither of the fragrances ever agreed with my senses.

“Don’t ‘hey Bryant’ me.”

Locating him on the far end of the room, I eased closer and reached for the strap around my neck to remove my top. With ease, it fell to the ground.

“Don’t be like that, Daddy.”

With my breasts bare and in his face, he never could resist. A small stack of money rested beside him, but I was disappointed by the denomination of bills it housed.

It was too late to scurry away. Once you entered the room, the agreement to bill the patron was made. As “I Luv Dem Strippers” blared over the speakers, I removed my rhinestone thong and bent forward to showcase my ass and everything in between.

Standing to his feet, Bryant eased near me and grabbed my waist.

“Bryant, behave,” I warned as the mounting pain in my chest became unbearable.

“Bitch, you fucking behave. Why the fuck did you have another nigga’s face all in this shit while I was watching you? When I’m up in this bitch you belong to me.”

“Bryant, baby,” I coaxed, trying to ease his drunken rage.

With his free hand, he grabbed my neck and pushed us to the lounger he was seated in. “Tonight, you gon take this dick.”

“Get the fuck off me.” Pushing until he stumbled to the ground, I ran toward the door.

“Bitch get back here!”

As Bryant tugged against my frame, I lost my footing and fell to the floor. Turning me over and straddling me, he slapped me across my face. The ache in my chest threatened to split me in half as my heart raced.

“I done told you, little bitch.” Reaching for the buckle to his jeans, he released his manhood.

With all the force in me, I fought, aware of his intent. My stiletto nails clawed at his face. My legs flailed wildly, and my scream was deafening. My daddy always told me I could’ve been a singer. Now I was grateful for the set of lungs he and my mother awarded me at birth. As I yelled, I prayed someone could hear me over the bass of “Rack City.”

Bryant fought to control my screams and violate me simultaneously, but he was too drunk. As I removed my frame from under him, I grabbed my heel that managed to come off my foot and knocked him upside the head.

Jada rushed into the room with her gun and fired a single shot. As the bullet met its target, the pain in my chest dissipated. My sigh of relief was loaded with shock, gratitude, and bits of fear. Bryant lay motionless as he bled into the Boom Boom Room’s foundation.

“What the fuck do we do now, Jada?”

Adrenaline was high, and logic was low. We’d just killed a man. Though in self-defense, there was no one to attest to our actions. Security had disappeared conveniently, and the club manager, Curtis, was awol.

As Bryant’s blood inched near my feet, I hastily moved to get away from it. Swiping at my tears, I sniffed as my mind replayed the night’s events.

I should’ve just relieved Mr. Black of the ten or twenty racks he held tonight. That shit could have paid for the remainder of my last semester in school. Things elevated so quickly, changing my life in an instant.

“Aight. Curtis is on the way. Go change and get all your shit,” Jada announced, hanging up her phone.

Following Jada’s orders, I slipped off my remaining heel and ran to the main dressing room. Dressed in shorts and a tank top, I returned to the Boom Boom Room to find Curtis and security standing near Bryant’s corpse.

“Erin, go get your car and pull around to the club’s back door,” Curtis instructed. “Get all your shit out of the car too.”

Following the instructions, I headed into the night’s air and moved my car to the back of the club’s entrance. As I emerged from the car, my body went into autopilot as my thoughts commenced to a whirlwind.

“You should be more careful when you pick tricks, love.”

The voice from earlier jarred me from my thoughts. My nipples pebbled at the sound of his tenor, causing me to jump backward and hold my chest as he neared. He’d scared the hell out of me.

“Gimme the keys.”

“What?

“Here. Put that with the rest of that shit from tonight and buy yourself a new car. You won’t be seeing this shit again, love.”

As he handed me the money and took my car key, I tried to peer up at his eyes. Heavily lidded and shrouded by his hat, they held the mystery of who he was.

***

Blinking out of that world from nearly ten years ago, I returned to the one at present. My husband looked at me with so much hurt and contempt, it split me in half. Two weeks had passed since my abortion, and he refused to sleep next to me. My nights were cold and filled with endless puddles of tears as I cried myself to sleep alone.

When I left the clinic that afternoon of the procedure, I instantly regretted my decision. The pain was written on my face and seeped from my pores as I battled the heat and afternoon traffic of the northside to return home.

The physical discomfort afterward was immediate. The dilation and evacuation procedure was so brutal. My cervix was forced open as they removed what they called “tissue” from my womb. Said tissue was larger than a tennis ball with a placenta twice its size. The tiny human inside was a mere three months into its journey before I’d robbed it of a chance at life.

My baby. Our baby. I’d done the unthinkable and killed it instead of turning to my husband in my time of confusion and need. My body, my choice, yes, but it was a decision that would affect the remainder of the life I intended to share with him. It was the first and worst mistake I made as his wife.

The guilt I felt was immense as I entered the house that afternoon. Stalking into the kitchen, I looked at the buffet of food before me. Lucky had called his head chef from Le Milieu to create a spread for us. The thoughtfulness of the deed threatened to swallow me with more guilt.

Worry, disappointment, and grief immediately replaced the joy pirating Lucky’s handsome features. Those three musketeers remained like a permanent fixture every day thereafter.

“Baby, please don’t tell me.”

He read my body language with ease as the realization of my deed swept over him. He promised we would get through it as we cried together that first evening. Now it seemed he could barely stand the sight of me.

A few weeks after the procedure, it was more of the same. Daunting evidence of the hurt I had administered rendered my husband mute. He rose early from the guest room, showered, and dressed before leaving for the morning. Our evening was more of the same in reverse. He came home, showered, and avoided me as if I didn’t exist.

Today was different. Instead of isolating himself in a world separated by the Sheetrock of our home, he lingered in the living room, flipping through the television. Finally, he came upstairs and entered the bedroom where I’d cordoned my offending presence away from him.

Lucky barely issued a glance in my direction as he moved to the closet. With my last ounce of courage and strength, I moved from the bed to stand near the closet’s entry. He was packing his belongings in a bag.

“You’re leaving me?”

The raspy sound that emerged from my voice box was startling. I didn’t recognize it. For the last two weeks, I refused every call that came through my phone, including Jada’s. I only wanted to talk to Lucky, but he consistently refused to speak to me. I was forced to remain silent and wait for him.

Still, as I spoke, he returned little. As he moved about the closet, gathering his things, a fitted cap emblazoned with the Houston Rockets logo fell to the floor.

Swiping a hand down his face, he spoke without meeting my eyes. “Nah, I’m going to handle some shit. I’ll be back.”

Brushing past me, he exited the closet, leaving me to watch him disappear as I shattered for the hundredth time into a million pieces.

Lucky.

I married her because she was my peace in a storm. Now she’d become the author of my hurt. Where did we go from there? The destination seemed so inconceivable and the journey so murky.

The worse part was that I looked at her and still failed to contain the abundance of love I’d reserved exclusively for her being. For years, other women sought what she’d obtained. It was as if I’d stockpiled my heart’s contents for her arrival.

The hurt she issued cut so deep that I couldn’t stand to be in her presence. As badly as I desired to shower her in the reservoir of my heart’s depths, I couldn’t. The discrepancy in my emotions was frustrating. For days I fantasized about make-up sex, but as her face came into view, so did her betrayal.

She’d gutted me. Sickened me. Brought me to my knees. Though capable of being a goddess, she wielded equal power to be a fallen angel.

The disappointment was the worse. Knowing she was capable of falling so far from the grace she effortlessly brandished reminded me that she wasn’t perfect. To exalt her in such a way was to my dismay.

What we now faced didn’t require guns or a massive ranch to protect us. We were broken, and I couldn’t remedy us. I wasn’t sure how we’d move forward, so I moved out.

It was painful watching her fall to pieces because of our distance. I couldn’t bare to watch her cocoa rounds outlined in red and colored with misery. I couldn’t fathom another second of her tear-stained cheeks. Removing myself from her energy gave me the time I required to think clearly, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she had crippled me. Lotus’ words rang true, considering her actions. 

“She might be pregnant, Luck.”

“Nah, man, she told me—”

“Lies because she doesn’t feel safe. Or doesn’t feel you can make it safe for them.

Maybe it was selfish of me to desire a future from her without ensuring it was a secure one. We had a tumultuous first year. Maybe she was right in her decision-making to have an abortion. Still, it didn’t alleviate the fact that she’d made a decision for us without me.  

For two weeks, I stayed away. Denying myself the wonder of her presence, I was fearful that she’d become something different as my heart navigated through the gashes she’d administered. My head didn’t desire to associate her with anything other than love. My heart proclaimed she was the source of its evisceration.

Nuanced by my emotions, I sheltered in places that were the furthest thing from her. The furthest thing from home.

Finally, I grew tired of hurting. Never one to let things fester for too long, I left the hotel I was holed up in and went home to my wife.

As I entered from the front door, she stood waiting. Her face was somber and stained with the fresh saltiness of tears. Her once full mane had been cut to an inch, but she sported the short hair as masterfully as she did everything.

As stunning and refreshing as it was to see her, this wasn’t the woman I married months ago. She was a broken version. A ghost of the beauty that used to massage her cheeks and complain that I made her smile too much.

It was time to put this version of us to rest. It was time for us to heal. Setting my keys on the entry table, I pulled her into my arms. The warmth of her embrace invited me to more sacred places as I lifted her onto the table.

“Baby.”

She slid a hand down my face, tugging at my chin as I sought to bury my face in her neck and indulge in her scent. It was a scent I’d been missing for weeks as she bled away the remnants of our seed. The distance between us had overgrown. It was time to reinforce our intimate connection. I wanted to make love to my wife.

Her hungry kisses told me she missed me too. As she tugged at my chin and drew away from my lips, her red-rimmed orbs connected with mine for the first time in weeks. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

The genuine contrition was evident in her posture, tenor, and eyes as she spoke. Had she not been sorry, I’d ensured she was over the past four weeks. Erin wasn’t used to me ignoring her. The act alone tore her to pieces daily.

Sliding my hand under her dress and up her thigh, I tugged at the fabric covering the hole I loved to spend my time inside. Swiping at her wetness, I closed my eyes. The mistake was corrected as quickly as it was made. Visions of our baby being pulled from her womb taunted me. As I opened my eyes, I drew away from her and stumbled toward the door.

“Baby!”

With arms outstretched, she called out to me. A wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing, she was. I couldn’t look at her the same. My soft and safe place had been brutally damaged.

Leaping from the table, she started in my direction, but the damage had been done. My excitement waned as I grabbed the front door handle and exited the house.

In the grass outside, I leaned over and summoned my lunch from earlier. With haste, it raced up my throat and out onto the green turf. This shit between us had, beyond a doubt, made a nigga sick.

Once I was sure I had nothing more to hurl onto the perfectly manicured lawn, I stood. Swiping at my mouth, I turned to the house, determined to tackle the issue at hand before it destroyed my marriage entirely.

Upon reentry, I found Erin on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest and her head buried in her arms. Tugging at her compact frame, I tried and failed to lift her as her body resisted me.

At one hundred and fifty pounds, she was no match for the strength of my arms, but I respected her need, whatever it was. Many words hadn’t been shared between us, so I couldn’t discern what it was. Sitting beside her, we shared the silence until my long limbs numbed from the stillness. Standing, I stretched and held my hand out to my wife.

“Me and you, love?”

Lifting her head, she eyed my hand for several seconds before finally reaching for me.

“Me and you.”

Erin.

“Two months later, where are you, Lucky?”

Dr. Nguyễn waited for Lucky’s answer as he scribbled on his notepad.

Turning toward me, Lucky waited until he had my full attention. “I’m ready to move on. I miss you. I miss us.”

The doctor scribbled on his notepad before turning his attention to me. “Two months later, where are you, Erin?”

“I still struggle with guilt. I miss you too, Lucky. I feel like I live with a roommate. I hate this for us.”

Though our interaction with each other had returned, some days Lucky opted to sleep in the guestroom or the couch, claiming his need for space. I was forced to accept it and patiently awaited his return to me as his peace.

“Ok. Let’s circle back to Lucky. You mentioned being ready to move on. What does moving on look like for you, Lucky?”

“Can I pass for now?”

“Sure. Erin? What does moving on look like for you?”

Sex. Lots of it, I rejoiced mentally. Biting my lower lip, I refrained from speaking my truth.

Lucky’s head rotated until his eyes locked on mine. Upon recognizing the familiar look, I wondered if he’d read my thoughts. Telepathy was my favorite form of intimacy.

“Sleeping in bed with me” is what spilled from my lips. There were things our therapist needn’t be aware of. There were things solely meant for us.

“Is that it?” Dr. Nguyễn pressed for more, but I decided to keep my thoughts privy to the soul sitting beside me.

“Lucky? Are you ready to share?”

“There’s so much I want, Dr. Nguyễn. Can I make a list and get back to you?”

“Of course. Well, I’m happy with the progress you both have been making. I want you two to remember that healing is a journey not defined by anyone else’s timeline. Remember to remain patient with one another. As long as you all do the work, you’ll get there. Let’s schedule the next appointment for one month out.”

“Can you have your assistant email us to arrange that?”

“Of course.” Dr. Nguyễn chuckled as Lucky ended the Zoom. Turning to me, he eyed me carnivorously.

“Where are you two months out, Erin?”

“I want you inside me, baby. I don’t like things held before me that I can’t have.” As I confessed my need, my nipples hardened, but I fought through my urge. I needed to check in on Lucky without Dr. Nguyễn’s interference.

“Where are you two months out, Luck?”

“Two months out, I need that pussy in my face, Love. I’m famished.”

Lucky’s revelation caused the buoying of my heart. Returned from whatever place it had sunken, I prayed we had the tools necessary to keep it afloat. Lifting my dress revealed my bare skin. Every day possible, I wore a dress in the same manner, praying for the day he returned to me.

Two months out, I wanted to try again. I wanted to get pregnant and carry his child.

As he slurped at my nectar, I grabbed his head, steering as needed. Constantly, he paused, prohibiting me from reaching my desired destination.

“Luck, let it come,” I begged.

“No.”

“Why not?” Flustered, I asked because we’d been avoiding each other for far too long. I was ready for the release I desperately needed him to issue me.

“Punishment.”

Pushing him away from my center, I sat upright before moving my body to straddle him.

“Stop playing with me.” We’d been distanced for long enough. Whatever punishment he sought to enact would take a backseat to my desire for his closeness.

“I don’t have any condoms, Erin.”

His words caused me to freeze as he spoke them. The shriveling of my heart was immediate. I did this. It was my responsibility to fix it.

“Lucky, you’re my husband. You don’t–”

“I don’t want to put you in that situation ever again.”

My heart decreased in size again, seeking to shrink to infinitesimal dimensions. Never again was his solution to our hurt. To his hurt. His words caused me to wonder if I’d permanently turned him off from having children with me. It was indeed something that I ached for, even if it were just one. He’d now affirmed that it was forbidden to us.

“Baby….” Tugging at the waistband of his sweats, I freed his manhood and massaged it to attention. The tears mounting behind my lids spilled as I guided him inside my sweetness.

“Mmmh. Erin, you gotta lift up when it’s time.”

“No.” Rocking my hips against him, I grabbed hold of his head.

“Beloved,” Lucky moaned before lifting us from the ground and taking control. His movements were the sweetest and gentlest. Together we savored every inch of each other.

“Don’t pull out.”

“What?” As he stroked me to utopia, he questioned my intent. In and out, he moved with slow and extensive strokes. Left and right, he rocked his hips as I felt my body climb. “What did you say, baby?”

“Come in me, husband. I–I want.”

“Tell me what you want, baby.”

As Lucky moved, he rubbed his hand across my chest and toyed with my breasts.

“I want us to get pregnant again.”

Though Lucky slowed, he continued to move, swimming in my depths. Licking his thumb, he toyed with the swollen nub between my legs. “Yeah?”

My muscles gripped his length as he rocked me to my peak, and his eyes closed. “Damn, I missed this pussy.”

“Come in me, Lucky. I want your babies.”

“Mmmh.”

“Come with me in me, husband.”

“Shit. Look at you talking me through it,” he tittered.

As I toyed with my nipples, Lucky continued flicking against my nub as he began to unravel.

“Make that pussy talk, love.”

“It’s coming!”

“Let it come, baby. Come with your man.”

As the wind was knocked from my chest, my center exploded. Pressing my head against his, I bathed in the aftershock. Lucky collapsed against me, stroking and pulsing inside my walls.

“Fuck. I love you, baby.”

Lucky.

Seven months later.

The smile that erupted across my features as I held my niece couldn’t be tamed. Lily was everything. Her tiny body squirmed, seeking to scurry off to places unknown. She was only six months old but had so much personality already.

I can’t wait to have one like you.

Baby fever had commandeered my senses. Lily mirrored my brother and his late wife in every way. She had Leila’s spirit but Lotus’ wisdom. The way he gushed over her as if she were the best thing to happen to him often caused my face to split with joy.

The nanny Lotus hired to help with Lily emerged from the lower part of the house. “Hi there, I’m Kennedy. Lily’s charge.”

Kennedy was a breath of fresh air. With copper hair and a model physique, Lotus stood no chance. Though he was still grieving from Leila’s unexpected death, the woman he’d named nanny would have him like putty in no time. I was sure of it. He was already stealing looks at her despite her modest apparel.

Erin and I had moved to Houston. The decision was made without delay after the passing of my brother’s wife. Lotus needed all the support he could get from us. It was the least we could do.

The move was hectic, with most of my businesses still in Atlanta, but the family always came first. My time was split between Houston and Atlanta as I adjusted to the change, but things between Erin and me had substantially improved.  

Her ocean moistened my dick at every opportunity. Sleep was an afterthought, with sex consuming most of our time together. The baby fever had struck us both something vicious. It was ridiculous the way we craved each other. In some ways, the loss we’d experienced had pushed us closer together.

“Baby.”

Looking up from the sales projections for Soleil, my orbs located the center of my world. The moisture staining her face prompted my instant discomfort. Effortlessly, I lost myself in her mind. In oneness, her pain was mine.

Shoving the report aside, I gave her my attention. “What’s wrong, baby?” I probed, wondering whom I needed to body at her request.

“I’m uh–I’m.”

“What is it, love?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Really?”

Standing to my feet, I rushed to her. The distance between us was conquered swiftly as I moved away from my desk. The circus in my chest sought the source of its joy with haste.

“Stop playin with me.”

“I’m thirteen weeks. I just wanted to wait to tell you,” she tittered.

Ensconced in my arms, I tugged at her chin. Forcing her rounds to connect with mine, I lowered my tone to the caress of a whisper. “What the fuck wrong with you, huh?”

Lowering my lips to land on her, I silenced her response with my tongue.

“Mmmh, Lucky,” she pulled back, breaking my assault.

“You having a nigga’s seed?” Smitten by the smile she issued, my heart triumphed. We’d been through the storm, faced its terror, and were reaping the benefits of growth afterward.

“Yes!” She flushed out, swiping at her face.

“You hid this from me? You went to the doctor without me?” I was impressed and envious. There was little I missed when it came to her.

Internally I chided myself for not being attentive to her lack of a period for three months. The pussy had me in a tizzy. We were honeymooning all over again. Between work and sex, I was drained.

“Let me see the lil picture and shit.”

“Babe, it’s nothing. Just a little bean from a few weeks back. You can’t really see much. I was waiting for us to go to the next appointment together.”

“Fuck that noise. It’s my bean.”

Tittering, Erin stalked out of the office with me on her heels.

“Let me see my bean,” I tossed, smiling again. After the year we had, the good news was welcomed. Excitement sought to swallow me as I imagined a tiny version of us running around the house and issuing pure hell. A daddy’s girl, perhaps. One that looked as gorgeous as Erin.

Erin.

Rummaging through the closet, I located the box I stashed my ultrasound in and handed it to Lucky. The ever-present joy visible across his features threatened to overtake his limbs.

“Damn, that’s my bean.”

Together we stood in comfortable silence. No words were required as we basked in the glory of pending parenthood. His Houston-fitted hat tumbled to the floor as he backed into the closet wall. His joy was everything and nearly knocked him off his feet. As I bent to pick up the cap, his eyes wandered to it.

“Damn, that shit’s so old. We can put it with the giveaway clothes.”

Recovered thoughts from my days as a dancer caused the spiking of my brow. “It was you!”

“What you talkin, love?”

“You’re Mr. Black!”

Recalling the black diamond necklace Lucky seldom wore that was tucked away in his safe, I pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“Erin Michelle Knight, my name is Lucky Knight,” he clarified.

“No, no, no. You were the man at Pleasure that night! You were outside the Boom Boom–

“–Room!” Lucky finished. “Damn, that was you?”

“Mister ‘Spend the night with me, Love,’” I mocked, swaying my neck for emphasis.

“I would’ve married your fine ass back then too. I was in love. You had a nigga disappearing bodies and shit off one dance. You nicknamed me Mr. Black?”

“You were dressed in all black and so damn gorgeous, but I never saw your eyes,” I confessed.

Bringing my hands to my cheeks, I massaged the smile that ached my features.

“Baby, we’ve been running into each other for almost a decade. If that shit doesn’t tell you the universe has been conspiring for our connection, what will?”

As tears mounted behind my lids, Lucky’s hands swiped them away before they could fall. “I love you, Erin.”

“I love you too, Mr. Black!”

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