Baby Momma

Book 1: Baby Momma

by Ni'chelle Genovese

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Welcome to the fast-paced, high stakes world of Rasheed, an anti-hero you’ll love to hate much like Scarface. Caught up in a game of fast money, faster women, and a hustler’s dream, Rasheed’s secrets and lies threaten to sever his alliance with his baby’s mother, Michelle.

Trapped in an emotional whirlwind of sex, love, and mistrust, Michelle attempts to hold the threads of their lives together. With the passing of each day, their bond unravels further, forcing Michelle closer to a decision to either confront the reality which is her life or suffer in silence.

Once she makes her decision, some bitter and surprising cards are dealt to her son’s father. Now Michelle is finally looking forward to leading a normal, quiet family life. However, there is nothing quiet about the secret lives people around her are leading. Michelle finds herself drawn in by the allure of her budding real estate career, catering to the likes of models and basketball players and enjoying the sex-fueled spoils of the rich and shameless lifestyle. This only highlights the unsettling fact that her marriage and home life aren’t as picture perfect as she once imagined.

When things begin to fall apart and fingers start pointing, it leads her down a dark and dangerous path. Her present is united with a past that could potentially destroy everything.

Will the lies, secrets, twist and turns of life prevent this baby momma from achieving her goals and living out the life she dreamed of?

A Blackstone Audio and Buck 50 production.

Release date: April 24, 2012

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 240

Sample

I lay back on the fake leather couch, sippin’ my Henny and relaxing while I let Honey take care of me. Honey was the finest stripper at the Hot Spot, one of the few remaining strip clubs in East Ocean View. No one had an ass as big and as soft as hers, and on top of that, the bitch was fine. If she wanted to, she could be in any rap nigga’s video, no questions asked. She had cinnamon-brown skin that glowed like she was covered in baby oil twenty-fo’-seven, and these titties that just seemed to hypnotize. I had been fuckin’ wit’ her for a minute. I came to the club and checked her out, even made it rain like a hurricane lettin’ loose tens and twenties all over the stage every now and then. In return, I knew that this was my piece of ass until I decided otherwise. Honey climbed on my lap and leaned close to me. She started to whisper into my ear.

“I missed you, Rasheed. You ain’t gave me none in a week.”

I gave her my famous boyish grin and playfully whispered back, “You know what to do.” And so it began. She reached down between her legs and grabbed the belt of my pants. I had been missing that pussy a li‘l bit so I decided to help her get to it a li’l faster. I set my glass down, undid my belt, and pulled out what I liked to call every bitch’s bad habit. You see, every nigga thinks he got the biggest dick in the world until he stand beside a nigga wit’ a bigga one. I ain’t confessin’ to peekin’ at nobody’s Johnson, but I could damn sure say I got that crack rock, dopefiend, call me Jerry Springer ’cause I’ma leave ya ho sprung type dick!

Honey was definitely addicted. First, she massaged it wit’ her hand. I didn’t know what this broad be doing wit’ her hands, but they were soft as hell and always made me shiver a little bit when she stroked me like that.

I was getting excited as I listened to R. Kelly’s “Wind for Me” playing in the background. I grabbed the side strap of her thong and untied it. I could feel it fall apart on my lap and I started to palm her ass. Damn, this bitch had a nice ass. I couldn’t even get all of it in my hands, but damn if I wasn’t trying.

I suddenly had the urge to feel her wet lips. She wasn’t experienced at givin’ head. From what she told me, she’d just lost her virginity the year before when she was eighteen. I could believe that shit, ’cause a nigga was a breath away from punchin’ her in the top of her too damn expensive Remy weave the first time she ever went there with me. I can’t stand feelin’ teeth, nails, any of that shit grazin’ my dick. I made it a point to teach her ’cause a nigga like me need that shit in my life for sho. Good head and good pussy from the same bitch is a hot commodity. You can find a million and one chicks who’ll give it to you, but only a handful can do that shit like Pinky the Pornstar or Supahead. I like these young chicks ‘cause they got more potential and they definitely more willing to learn. Not that I’m that much older than Honey; five years ain’ shit in this day and age.

I grabbed her waist and lifted her off my lap.

She looked a little puzzled, like she didn’t understand what was going on. “What’s wrong, baby? You want me to stop?” she asked.

I loved her voice. It was kinda hoodish and whiny, but still sexy in that young chick kinda way.

“Naw, girl, I just want to watch you suck that shit for me.”

“But, baby, what if somebody see me? I could get fired.” She really sounded like she was worried about it.

Somebody needed to remind her that I owned the fucking club. We were secluded in the smaller one of three lounge areas. They were primarily for private dances but every now and again someone would rent a section for a bachelor party or whateva. I had already requested this section be reserved and undisturbed, so Honey was worrying for no reason.

Besides, the only person with the audacity to even go against my word in here was my biz partner Derrick, and last time I checked he was busy tryin‘a holla at a new bitch who came in yesterday lookin’ for work. She looked a li’l old in the face by my standards, but she had an hourglass, wide-body physique that left a nigga speechless! Shit, with the right makeup and lighting we could pull in stupid paper off her shifts for sure.

I smacked Honey on her ass, gave her a little grin, and told her to get to work. She hesitated for a second, then got on her knees and started her practice test. She was getting better. I felt less teeth, and damn, this shit was starting to feel real good. I had to grab her head a couple of times to stop her ’cause I didn’t want to bust in her mouth. I wanted to feel that pussy tonight.

“Come here, baby, come fuck daddy real good,” I told her and obediently she did.

She straddled my lap and placed me inside her. It felt like a warm cloud had surrounded me. With every movement she made, every up and down stroke, I felt my legs go weak. I didn’t know what it was this broad had in there but that shit was like heaven. And she was so willing to do whatever I asked.

I could get that shit anywhere I wanted. Maybe the fact that I was the biggest drug dealer in the city had something to do with it. They can deny ‘til they die but every bitch wants a li’l excitement. A li‘l rush of adrenaline when you see ya nigga. These bullshit-ass playas talkin’ ‘bout they runnin’ game and doin’ shit big. Connect four hustlas, ’cause that’s how many times they product gets chopped down before it ever even touches they hands. I’m number fuckin’ one. Runnin’ this fast-paced, do-or-die shit that a regular nigga or Reggie, as I like to call ’em, too scared to do. Single, married, young, old, it don’t matter. Bitches just naturally gravitated to a nigga like me.

I could hear Honey’s breath gettin’ raspy as our bodies molded together. I loved the way she stared me directly in the eyes while she was gettin’ it. That shit was like a silent challenge, sayin’ a nigga needed to go deeper or stroke harder. If her eyes closed even for an instant I knew I was hittin’ it extra right. She grabbed my hand, placed my pointer finger in her mouth, and began to suck it as if it were my dick. Talk about some sexy shit. She must have been watching those porno tapes I left for her the other day. I could tell she studied ‘em hard ’cause she was working my ass. I might have to hit this shit again before the night was over with.

Just as I was getting ready to let go, I was distracted by my phone vibratin’ in my pants pocket against my ankle. I leaned forward, placed my arm around Honey’s waist so she wouldn’t fall, and I grabbed my phone. It was Michelle, my baby momma. Leanin’ back against the couch, I gave Honey a nod to keep going and answered the phone.

“What’s up?”

“Rasheed, where are you? It’s almost two-thirty in the morning.”

Michelle was pissed. I had told her I’d be home at eleven. She hated it whenever I’d show up later than expected, even after I told her I didn’t like bein’ asked that type of shit in the first place. Michelle was always clockin’ a nigga. If it took fifteen minutes to get home from somewhere and I got there in twenty, she’d be right there at the front door with all sorts of questions and accusations. Actin’ like I actually stopped for five minutes to fuck anotha bitch or somethin’.

“I’m handling some very important business right now, an’ I’m a li’l busy. I’ll be there, damn.”

Honey shifted and rode me harder, excitin’ me and makin’ me address Michelle more aggressively than I meant to.

“Well, your son has a fever, jackass, and he needs to go to the hospital. You need to come on.”

It killed me when she tried to tell me what the fuck to do. She knew damn well that I wasn’t gonna get there until I was ready. “Well, I guess you need to make a trip to the hospital then. I’ll be there.” I ended the call before she could respond.

Honey had already cum. I could feel her wetness running down my leg, but being the good girl she was, my baby was going to ride until daddy told her to stop. That’s why I liked these young broads. You dick ‘em up real good, throw ’em a few dollars, get their hair and nails done, maybe take ’em out to eat, and they happy. Michelle almost fucked up my mood, but all I had to do was look at Honey’s pretty face and get a feel of that ass and I was right back where I had been sixty seconds ago.

I forced my hips upward, slammin’ into her each time she thrust down. I knew she liked it when I did that, and I could see ecstasy written all over her face. She grabbed my shirt and the more she grabbed the harder I rammed into her. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she grabbed the back of my neck and loosened her legs around me. That was my cue to take over. I pulled her closer, focusin’ on my breathing so I’d last longer. The scent of musky leather from the overused couch mingled with Honey’s signature Juicy Couture sweetness, pushin’ me closer to the edge. I was startin’ to feel like a taut rubber band extended to the max and ready to pop. Instinct took over and I started fuckin’ the shit outta her. I was gonna make sure her ass wasn’t gettin’ back on stage tonight.

When I thought I was about to pass out more from the pleasure than the pain, I let myself give in and I exploded in a heated flood of pleasure and muscle spasms.

“Damn girl, you gonna make me stalk yo’ ass if you keep puttin’ it down like that.”

“Oh really, well wait ’til daddy see what else I learned.”

She got up from my lap and bent down over my dick. She placed it in her mouth and licked it clean. Damn, she was surprising the hell out of me tonight. I’d have to find out what she really been up to.

She stood up and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I smacked her on her ass and told her to go get dressed ’cause we were leaving. She ran to the dressing room, no questions asked, and I headed to the car to wait for her.

I had thought about going straight to the hospital to meet Michelle, but I couldn’t get rid of Honey tonight. I was too hot and too ready and Michelle had given me too much lip. I didn’t even want to touch her ass tonight. She would just have to wait until tomorrow to see me, and that was only if she didn’t piss me off again. I cringed as Honey hopped into the passenger side of my all-white Lexus LFA. Three oily smudges skewed my view out the passenger side window from where she’d grabbed the door to pull it open. It cost a nigga a buck-twenty three times a week to keep the chariot washed and waxed. Keepin’ my temper in check I resisted the urge to point that shit out and headed for the closest IHOP. You know how a nigga do, fuck, eat, and sleep.

He never ceased to amaze me. Pissed, I slammed my BlackBerry down on the counter and immediately regretted the action. My insurance wasn’t going to cover me for another replacement phone. Rasheed’s temper had been the reason I’d replaced the last two after he crushed one under the car tire and threw another out of our front door. I rotated the phone between my French-manicured hands, inspecting the screen to make sure I hadn’t added another nick or ding to the metallic pink casing. I could feel myself getting worked up. Rasheed knew I had to be at work in four hours, he knew I had contracts to review, clients to meet, and a shitload of housework on top of all that. All I ever asked was that the nigga come home when he said he would.

Trey moaned and tossed on the couch in the living room. I walked over and placed my cheek against his forehead, feeling a little bit of relief. He wasn’t as hot as he’d felt earlier; maybe his fever was finally breaking. Bad enough I had to leave work early to pick him up from daycare, I couldn’t afford not to go in in the morning. He hadn’t been keeping food down at all and the daycare was certain it was a flu virus. Those daycare heffas were so quick to diagnose a child and send him home. But for all I knew my baby really could have the flu, and you would think his daddy would be a little more concerned. I hefted Trey up into my arms and carried him into his bedroom. My baby was getting so tall and lanky, big for a two-year-old. My cell rang from the other room just as I’d tucked the cover under his chin.

“Damn. Chelly, you watchin’ this shit on TV? They runnin’ a Snapped marathon an’ this mufukin’ bitch killed erebody!” Larissa was talking a mile a minute, leaving me no room to respond. “Girl, her ass was free fo’ damn near ten years befo’ they caught her! Fuck, she took the nigga money, sold the house—”

“Hi, Ris, I’m good. How are you and how did you know I was still awake?” That’s how you had to do when Larissa was on one of her tirades. If I didn’t interrupt she’d give me the rundown of the whole damn episode, scene by scene.

“Girl, I’m sorry. You know how my ass is when somethin’ good is on. I knew you’d be up, ’cause I know you. How was your day today, sweetie?”

“Trey got sick at daycare and, as much as I didn’t want to, I had no choice but to go see ‘Heman-Shebitch’ and tell him I needed the rest of the day off.” I sighed heavily into the phone. Heman-Shebitch was the name I’d given Kenny Soloman, the regional manager of the bank I worked for and the only person hell-bent against me becoming VP of the mortgage group. He had the whole exotic mail-order wife, picture-perfect marriage, and fake-ass persona thing down pat. He was one of those identity-confused black men who simply had a hard time dealing with an intelligent and self-assured black woman. His life’s purpose was to point out to the entire senior management staff the fact that I was a twenty-four-year-old unwed black woman with a child and a hood-ass baby daddy.

“Oh, hell. Not his bitch ass! Chelly, promise when you get in charge ya first order of business is gonna be to fire his whack, no-life-havin’ self. He jus’ mad he gotta look at yo fine ass ereday knowin’ he ain’ got the equipment to put it down!”

We laughed. Ris was always good at making me smile. “Um... so where da hell is yo’ baby daddy?” You could cut the sarcasm with a knife. She knew where Rasheed was, or what I should say is that she knew where Rasheed claimed to be.

“Same as last night and the night before, Ris. He’s working.” I didn’t sound convincing, not even to my own ears. I’d been trying to give Rasheed the benefit of the doubt, but he was making it next to impossible for me to believe he wasn’t out doing dirt.

“Okay, Michelle. So that’s the game we playin’ right now huh? Otha than the afta-hours spot, there ain’ a damn club in Virginia that stays open past two-thirty. I say we go find his ho’n ass!”

“No, momma. It’s okay. Trey’s fever broke and I need to try to get some kind of sleep so I can review this contract with these clients tomorrow. I’m just tired, Ris. I’m getting so tired.” My voice caught in my throat and the line beeped with an incoming call. It was Rasheed.

“Let me call you in the morning okay?” I rushed Ris off the line, anxious to see what excuse he was calling to give me. That seemed to be my life these days. Wait for Rah to call, wait for Rah to come home, wait for Rah to fuck up so I could catch him in a lie; I was always waiting for Rasheed.

This was a far cry from the family life I grew up with. My momma came home from work every day and cooked dinner for my father, who in turn brought his ass home every day at a reasonable time so we could all sit and have a meal as a family. My parents had what I liked to consider the real American Dream. They’d been married for nearly thirty years and were still each other’s best friend. As far as they knew, me and Rasheed were perfectly happy together. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them I spent most of my time miserable and in doubt. I closed my eyes and silently prayed for strength. I hit the “accept incoming call” option, mentally preparing myself for another battle of the sexes.

“Yes, Rasheed?” I waited but could only hear background noise. He was talking to someone and it was hard to make out his words over the background noise. “Rasheed, hello?” No response. This nigga had actually “butt-dialed” me. Somehow his phone was in his back pocket, and since I was probably the last number in his call log, when he sat down the phone dialed my number back.

It felt wrong, almost stalker-ish to eavesdrop on his conversation, but I couldn’t bring myself to press the end button. I could tell from the bumps every three or four seconds that he was driving. The radio was low and garbled and I still couldn’t hear who he was talking to or what he was saying. I placed the phone on speaker and carried it with me into the bedroom as I tied up my hair and got ready fo. . .