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“I have done nothing but love you, Jasper. I’m not trying to lose what we have, baby.”
“And you don’t know who that nigga was?”
“No, I already told you that.”
“I know what the fuck you told me,” he snaps. “And I’m asking you again. Did you know the nigga?”
I shake my head. “No, Jasper, I don’t know who he is.”
“Have you been fuckin’?”
“No, Jasper. I told you. This pussy is yours, and only yours. Always has been, always will be.”
“It better be, Pasha. I don’t want no other muhfucka puttin’ his hands on you. If I find out who that nigga is I’ma snap his mutha-fuckin’ neck, word up. And if I find out you been playin’ me, yo; that you had another nigga’s dick up in you, I’ma beat the dog shit outta ya ass, you dig?”
I nod my head, wiping my face with both of my hands. He cuts his eyes down at my hard nipples. I know better than anyone how easily I turn him on; even when he’s pissed off. As nervous and scared as he has me right now, there’s one thing I know for certain, Jasper loves me, but he loves this tight, wet pussy even more. And if I wasn’t sure before, I am now. This nigga means every word he says.
He pulls his shirt off, unbuckles his jeans, then steps out of them. His angry dick is already getting hard. He grabs at it, stretches it out. “Take them fuckin’ drawers off, yo. And bend over.” I don’t ask questions, don’t blink; just do as I am told.
I walk over to the edge of the sofa, then lean over the arm of it. Jasper walks up behind me. I flinch glancing over my shoulder, hoping he’s not going to beat me upside the head while he’s fucking me. I can’t front. This nigga has me shook right now. I close my eyes, relieved when he gets down on his knees, pulls open my ass and eats my pussy from the back, getting me slippery and wet. With each tongue stroke I become more relaxed. I let out soft moans, winding my hips to match his rhythm. He squeezes my ass with both his hands, jiggles it, slaps it, then stands up and straddles me from behind, pushing his dick deep in me. He stretches me. Lets my muscles grab his cock. Then violently rams himself deeper into me. I dig my nails into the leather. Bite down on the arm. Try to hold back screams. His aggressive thrusts make it very clear that he intends to fuck the shit out of me.
“Uhhh, uhhhhh…oooooh…” He pounds the inside of my walls with one powerful thrust after another, hitting my spot. My stomach tightens with each rapid stroke. “Aaaaaaah…oooooohhhhhh…”
He slaps my ass, hard; makes it sting and burn. He slaps it again. He grunts, groans, slams his hips into my ass, causing my whole body to jerk forward. Sweat drips off his body onto my back. “I love the fuck outta you, Pasha…”
“Uhhh, aaaah…uhhh…oooh…I love…you…too…”
“This pussy’s so good,” he grunts, pounding his dick into me like a runaway train. “I’m warning you. Don’t…”—he slams his dick in, pulls out—“make…”—slams it back in—“me…kill…”—pulls his dick out, slams it back in—“you…”
I let out a loud scream as one nut after another erupts and coats his cock. He is fucking me mercilessly. I look over my shoulder. Plead with my eyes for him to keep beating my walls. To fuck me, hard; fuck me, deep. He grabs me by the shoulders, forcefully pulls me back into him and beats my pussy until it screams. Two minutes later, Jasper’s grunting and groaning and moaning, dumping a load of anger and doubt deep inside of me.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Two months later, there is no more mention about the nigga who attacked me. There are no harassing phone calls to the salon. No mail; nothing. It’s like the nigga just vanished. Still, I am too leery to become overly excited. Until he’s picked up or bodied, and I know he’s off the streets; that he’s behind bars or buried, nothing is over. Nevertheless, I am thankful for the peace, no matter how short-lived it may be.
Jasper is home from the halfway house. I am still surprised at how fast he made it home. Only thing, he’s been released on parole for the next year. Of course he hates the shit. And bitches about it every chance he gets. “These cracker muhfuckas are always lookin’ for ways to keep a nigga down. They wanna see a muhfucka fail wit’ all this dumb shit they got me doin’?”
“Like what?” I asked him the last time he complained.
“Like this fuckin’ curfew, yo. What the fuck I look like bein’ in the muthafuckin’ house at nine o’clock? I’ma grown-ass man, yo. This nigga talkin’ ’bout if I’m one minute late he’s gonna violate me. What kinda shit is that? Shit, I coulda took my ass on ISP if I wanted to have a muhfucka breathin’ down my back e’ery fuckin’ day. That muhfucka needs some pussy in his life, yo. Maybe then, the nigga wouldn’t have so much free time ridin’ my nuts ’n shit.”
I am always so tempted to remind him that he got himself caught up in this shit so stop fucking complaining about shit he can’t control. Instead I keep my mouth shut. Let him vent. “A muhfucka can’t even get his drink or smoke on fuckin’ wit’ these crooked-ass muhfuckas.”
I had to smile, shaking my head. I realized it wasn’t the fact that he was on parole that was his issue. He was pissed that he didn’t have his parole officer in his back pocket, like he’s had everyone else his whole bid; from CO’s to counselors.
Anyway, aside from his “detailing job” five days a week and checking in weekly with his parole officer, Jasper’s been pretty much hanging around the house. And for the most part, it’s fine ’cause I’m down at the salon the majority of the day. The weekends haven’t been so bad. Most times he’s out with Stax doin’ whatever they do. Or he has everyone chilling here. The only problem: I can’t get away with shit. If I sneeze wrong, he’s on it. This fool watches me like a damn hawk. He won’t let me out of his sight. And when he does, he’s calling every ten to fifteen minutes checking on me. Even when we’re in bed, I can feel him watching me. A few times I woke up with him standing over me watching me sleep. Ever since he found out about that incident with that nigga, he’s become excessively possessive and protective over me. It’s not all the time. Mostly when something snaps in his brain and has him thinking crazy shit, like I’m out doing some sneaky shit, which I’m not. Hell, I’m too damn paranoid to.
“Yo, wake ya sexy ass up,” he says, shaking me. I don’t budge. “Pasha? Get ya ass up, yo.”
I groan, stretching. “Fifteen more minutes.”
“Don’t you have to go into the salon today?”
“No,” I mumble. He asks why not. I tell him, “I have a doctor’s appointment this morning.” He wants to know what kind of appointment. “For a checkup.” I decide this nigga isn’t going to let me get any sleep so I might as well get up. I pull the covers back and get out of bed.
“What kinda check-up?”
?
