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He sighed. “Look, Quandra. I’m not tryna beef with you.”
“Neither am I,” LaQuandra admitted, finally taking her seat.
“A’ight then. ’Cause I’m not flying halfway around the country to hear you bitching and complaining the whole time because if that’s what you’re about to do, I can get my shit and step.” He raised a brow, then pinned her with a hard stare.
LaQuandra stared back, feeling the urge to reach over and slap the shit out of him for treating her so damn shitty. This cocky bastard!
She was cranky. Evil. And she needed a good fucking.
It’d been months since she and Isaiah had been intimate; let alone, shared the same bed. He’d moved out of their master bedroom nearly two months ago, and she’d been stricken with anxiety ever since. She loved him. Her love, however, sometimes—okay most times, bordered along the fringes of obsession, but—oh well.
So what if she stalked his text messages and calls, or rifled through the clothes hamper and sniffed his dirty drawers every night? So what if she stood at the door, arms folded, foot tapping, and waited for him. Then fought to snatch down his pants and drawers to smell his dick? Daring him to have another bitch’s dried-up pussy juice on his dick.
What woman hadn’t done so once or twice in her lifetime?
Sniffed her man’s drawers and smelled his dick?
Real love, she reasoned, made a bitch do some crazy things. So crazy or not, LaQuandra had no intentions of searching for someone else to call her own when she already had whom she wanted.
He wasn’t perfect—hell, neither was she, but he’d been her perfect love story.
She hadn’t snagged Isaiah sixteen years ago, only to lose him now. He was hers. And she’d do whatever she had to do to keep him. Bottom line, she missed what they’d once shared. And she missed him fucking her. Oh God how she missed the stretch of her pussy melting over his powerful dick.
That’s what she’d fallen in love with, first. His dick.
Long, thick (oh so very thick) and curved.
And, now, selfishly, the bastard denied her it. What kind of man denied his wife dick? That was so goddamn thoughtless, cruel, and unusual torture. She was so fucking angry with him for being such a selfish prick.
Sure, she’d sneak into the guestroom where he’d taken up residence and slip between the covers and take his dick into her lush, greedy mouth. She’d suck him hungrily (and, with no words spoken, he’d fuck her mouth with an urgent need), until he’d explode his warm seed down into her throat. Tears streamed down her face every time she swallowed him. She’d drink him, empty him, until he had nothing left to give her while she rubbed her pussy and shuddered. Then after she’d cleaned his dick with her tongue, she’d tiptoe back into her big, empty bed with her wet, lonely pussy weeping as she cried herself to sleep.
Sadly, that had become the soundtrack of her now failing marriage.
She was goddamn miserable.
And yet she didn’t want to lose Isaiah. He was a good provider. And, as painful as it was to admit—he was a damn good father to his fourteen-year-old bastard son. Isaiah Jr. The lovechild he’d conceived with some hoodrat bitch he’d been fucking almost a year into their marriage.
Cassandra Simms.
She hated that bitch with a burning passion.
She was everything unholy and foul. And she was the cause of LaQuandra’s grief. Cassandra just couldn’t stay the fuck out of her life, his life . . . and their marriage. And their bastard child—a spitting image of the man she loved—was a constant reminder of how deeply he’d sliced open her heart with his sordid affair. That bitch, Cassandra, had given him the son she couldn’t. And every time she looked into his handsomely chocolate face, that painful fact was smeared in her face.
Her marriage was in shambles. And she felt as if she were hanging on by a thin thread—no, no . . . a cobweb. Yes. That’s what she’d been hanging onto. But this couple’s retreat, she hoped, would be what they needed to relight the flame in their marriage, a start to a new beginning.
LaQuandra breathed through her mouth, then exhaled. The fact that Isaiah had even agreed to participate in this once-in-a-lifetime experience had to mean something.
Didn’t it?
“All I know is,” LaQuandra said as she eyed him, “shit is gonna have to change, Isaiah. I can’t keep going through this shit with you and that ghetto bitch. What kind of man lets some bitch disrespect his wife, huh, Isaiah? I’m your wife. Not some dirty piece of ass you found on some street corner. I deserve respect from that ratchet bitch.”
Isaiah swallowed, then blew out a frustrated breath. He was royally fed up with LaQuandra’s bullshit. However, deep down, he knew she was right. His BM needed to respect her more. Nevertheless, respect went both ways, and LaQuandra needed to figure out a way to respect the mother of his son regardless if she despised the woman or not.
Yeah, his BM was ghetto. But, shit, so was she. The only difference was, LaQuandra had a college degree and his BM had a bunch of kids. Ten.
With eight baby daddies, he just so happened to fall into the lucky number seven spot. And, yeah, he admitted that when he’d first met her, he’d thought with his twenty-year-old hard dick when he’d seen all that ass his BM had bouncing in the back of her the day he’d spotted her fifteen years ago, strutting across Essex County Community College in some skimpy-ass outfit with an infant son already propped up on her thick hip.
What he hadn’t known before he’d fucked her sexy-ass raw was that, at twenty-five, she already had seven kids. Shit. Had he known she was so damn fertile, he would have probably pulled out. Then again, on second thought, he would have still busted inside of her. The pussy had been too damn good to pull out.
