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“Who?”
“Royce,” she says, washing her apple then biting into it.
I grin. “He’s okay. But, I love his dick.” The doorbell rings. He must have sped over here for some of this good, wet pussy. “Speaking of which, there he is now.”
She waves me on, heading for the stairs. “Have fun.”
“Oh, trust me. I plan on it. But, it’ll be even more fun if you join us.”
“I’m sure it would be,” she says as I walk to the door. “But you’re on your own tonight with that young stud.” She disappears up the stairs as I open the door.
“You ready for me?” I ask, smiling.
He licks his lips. “I stay ready.”
I pull him by the hand, slamming the door shut, then leading him downstairs to the Fuck ’em Down room where I plan on fucking him all night.
Paris
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
I have locked myself in my room to think, to wonder, to cry. To have my own private pity party away from the probing eyes of my sisters. You’re pregnant. The words ring in my head. I’m still in shock.
After Desmond’s disappearing act and my vomiting incident, I started panicking. My mind went back to the first night we fucked and I let him dick me raw. So stupid on my part, I know. I’ve been worrying myself sick, thinking he might’ve given me a disease, which would explain why I haven’t heard from his ass.
I replay the visit in my head. “Wait, repeat what you just said?” I asked, shocked. I heard her the first time, but needed, wanted, her to confirm my ears weren’t playing tricks on me. They weren’t.
“You’re very much pregnant.” She smiled. I didn’t. Still, I was relieved that I wasn’t infected with anything—not yet, anyway. It’s a fear that looms in the back of my mind every time I wonder why Desmond abruptly stopped calling me; stopped coming around. Maybe he’s purposefully spreading HIV or some other disease, maliciously infecting women. I don’t know. In my heart, I don’t want to believe that that is the kind of man he is. But his actions don’t leave much room for hope.
I’m pregnant! The next thing to do should be the easiest. It’s a no-brainer. Get an abortion! Problem is I’m not a victim of rape, nor am I facing a life-or-death health crisis—situations I believe warrant an abortion if one so chooses. No, I’m a victim of my own careless choices. Whatever life crisis I’m in, it’s by my own hand. And I have to deal with the consequences. Still, I’m torn. Aborting this life inside of me, or bringing it into this world, knowing there’s no father.
Someone’s at my door, turning the knob. When it doesn’t open, they knock. When I don’t respond, Persia’s voice calls out. “Paris, why is the door locked? Are you okay in there?” I lie still. Turn my face into my pillow. Ignore the knocks. Ignore the pounding in my head.
I’m pregnant!
Persia
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
It’s been weeks since my sisters and I have fucked a man together. On four separate occasions, I’ve asked them if they wanted to fuck Royce with me, have asked them if they wanted to fuck Damon or Irwin, or anyone else we have on-call. Each time, they’ve both told me that they’re not feeling up to it. When I’ve asked if they wanted to recruit some new dick to suck and fuck, they’ve both told me, “No.”
Yesterday, Porsha came into my bedroom and told me she wouldn’t be swapping men for a while. That she needed, wanted, to take some time for herself and not complicate her life with man sharing. “Is there anything in particular that has caused you to change your mind?’ I asked, sitting up in my bed and taking her in.
“Yeah,” she said, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. She was already dressed in her workout clothes. “I’m seeing someone.”
I gave her a shocked look. “Since when? Who is he?”
“For about two months now. But, I’ve known him for a while.”
“Well, who is he?” I asked again, curious. Although I’m not surprised to hear this since she’s been staying out later, and not always coming home. Still…
“I’m not ready to say. But when I am, I’ll tell you all about him. But for now, I wanted you to know that I’ve fucked my last man with you and Paris—for now, anyway. I really want to see what happens between me and this guy I’m seeing. I hope you understand.”
“Of course I do,” I said half-heartedly. I forced a smile. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Does he know about—”
She nodded, cutting me off before I could get the rest of my words out. “Yeah, he knows.”
“Wow,” I said surprised. “And he’s okay with it.”
