You've seen them in print before, and their books are hot, hot, hot! Now see what Edd McNair, Keisha Ervin, and Brenda Hampton can do when they join forces to bring you three stories in the latest installment of Girls from da Hood. Being married to notorious gangsta rapper Sean Pynn isn't as glamorous as it appears to be. Behind closed doors, Queen is dealing with knock-down drag-out fights, verbal abuse, and neglect. When her bodyguard, Ahsim, comes into the picture, things change in a hurry. When a man thinks his woman is cheating, he keeps tabs on her. When a woman thinks her man is cheating, she calls Jakki. Rochel "Jakki" Thomas' way of catching a man in the act is a little risky, but she's worth every penny. Niecy Brickhouse and her twin sister Naquel are living the glamorous life - until Naquel is shot by their older sister's boyfriend. Everyone is calling it a suicide, but Niecy knows the painful truth about her sister's death, and it sets her on a dangerous, self-destructive path. Will she be able to overcome her depression, or will her new life on the streets be the death of Niecy?
Release date:
July 1, 2012
Publisher:
Urban Audiobooks
Print pages:
288
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Doing as he was told, Ahsim placed the tip of his tongue on Q’s clit while she looked on with sheer appreciation. She couldn’t wait for him to taste her. Gazing back up at her, Ahsim flicked his tongue across her clit at a feverish pace. Q never knew that the feel of someone’s tongue on her clit could be so good. Her husband of five years, Sean, never made her feel this way. He said that giving head was something a real man would never have to do to please his woman.
But the way Ahsim worked his tongue in and out of her pussy proved Sean’s theory to be wrong. Dead wrong, as a matter of fact. Ahsim’s tongue felt like a feather fluttering ever so lightly across her pussy. Q had no other choice but to rub his head and moan. Ahsim always made sure to take his time when pleasing her. Never once did he rush through their lovemaking. Slow and steady was always the pace.
None of their encounters were ever the same. Whenever and wherever was their motto. At any given moment, Q could find herself bent over the couch or on top of the kitchen sink getting fucked. This time she and Ahsim were in her and Sean’s bed getting it on. She was buck naked except for a pair of red patent leather stilettos. Her legs were spread-eagle in the air.
She was always guaranteed to cum at least twice, when fucking Ahsim. The man knew how to handle a pussy. His tongue, fingers, and dick worked her into a frenzy every time. Deciding that she was ready to cum, Ahsim targeted her spot on the right side of her clit. He licked and sucked until Q couldn’t take it anymore.
“Ooh, baby, stop. I can’t breathe,” she yelled. “This shit feels so good!”
“You want me to stop?” he asked, daring her to say yes.
“No, baby! Please don’t stop! I don’t want you to ever stop! Ooh . . . yes . . . I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” Q shrieked as she rotated her hips in a circular motion.
Cum slithered from the lips of her pussy onto his tongue. Ahsim savored every drop. Q’s entire body shook as she came all over her thighs and sheets. Then, before Q or Ahsim knew it, someone came bursting through the door.
Ahsim sat on the edge of the couch with his hands clutched firmly together, his face stony. By instinct, he surveyed his surroundings. Everything seemed fine on the surface, but Ahsim knew better. He wouldn’t have been called if nothing were wrong. His job was to protect the wealthy and the elite with his life. This particular client was willing to pay top dollar for him to do just that.
Before arriving at the Pynn estate, Ahsim had done some research on the man who’d called requesting his services. Sean Pynn was a well-known Midwest rapper. Since his debut album in 2002, he’d produced hit after hit. He’d won numerous American Music, Grammy, and Billboard awards. The Source magazine named him the hottest rapper alive, but as the old saying goes, ‘mo’ money, mo’ problems.’ Sean’s cocky, disrespectful attitude and boastful ways garnered him legions of fans, legal issues, and enemies.
Sean hadn’t been on the scene even a year before things began to go downhill. In 2002, he was convicted of attacking an employee on the set of a music video. He was sentenced to thirty days in jail and community service. Two years later, he was arrested on a weapons charge and sentenced to five years’ probation.
Months later, he was arrested on a violation of his parole. In 2007, Sean almost ended his career for good. He was accused of sexually abusing a woman in a hotel room. Sean vehemently denied the charges, but was sentenced to two years in prison. During that period, he was dropped from his label and flat broke due to legal fees. He’d tried shopping some of his unreleased material to other labels, but nobody wanted to sign him because he was such a liability.
After serving twelve months, Sean was released from the penitentiary due in large part to the help and influence of Rocco “Roc” De Luca. He was the CEO of Murder Mob Records and a well-known mobster. Roc was a huge fan of Sean’s work. He posted $1.5 million bail pending appeal of the conviction; in exchange, Sean was obligated to release five albums under Murder Mob Records.
Desperately wanting to be released from jail, Sean signed the contract without even knowing what half of it meant. Upon his release, Sean immediately went back to recording and beefing with other artists, mainly fellow Midwest rapper Grip. Sean claimed in an interview that Grip was trying to copy his style and didn’t write his own rhymes. Grip then responded with a dis record titled Sucka Niggaz.
The two men went back and forth on wax and in interviews for months, but after coming face to face at the 2008 BET Awards, things got heated. Sean walked up to Grip during the red carpet taping and hit him in the face. After that it was on. Both men and their camps were escorted from the premises and denied access to the show.
For a while things died down; that is, until Grip came with the ultimate dis, claiming that he fucked Sean’s wife.
That’s were Ahsim came in. Sean wanted to believe his wife, but he didn’t, so he hired a bodyguard who would report back to him daily on her comings and goings. Ahsim checked his watch. After being greeted at the door by the housekeeper, Rosa, he had been escorted into the living area and told that Sean would be down in a second. Fifteen minutes later, Ahsim was still waiting for him to make an appearance. He had five more minutes. After that Ahsim would be up. He didn’t give a fuck how much money he was being offered. Luckily for Sean he came striding into the room with just a minute to spare.
Within a matter of seconds Ahsim had him fully sized up. Sean’s swagger was topnotch. With the looks and confidence of NFL player Reggie Bush, he knew he was the shit. That afternoon he sported a pinstriped Etro suit and a pair of Ermenegildo Zegna Leonardo loafers. The Aude-mar Piguet watch he rocked spoke for itself, but Ahsim could tell that, underneath it all, Sean was still a street nigga to the heart.
“Sorry for the hold up,” Sean explained. “I just got out of a meeting. Ahsim, right?”
“Yeah.” Ahsim stood up.
“You good.” Sean waved him off, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and sat down.
“Mr. Pynn—”
“Call me Sean.”
“Sean, I was informed by my company that you were in need of my services.”
“Yeah, I’ll be out of town for a week and I need someone here I can trust to look after my wife, Queen. She’s a little hard-headed but she is never to go anywhere alone, even if she insists. Ya dig?”
“I got you.” Ahsim nodded as he noticed a voluptuous figure glide down the spiral staircase.
She was unlike any women he’d ever seen before. Everything about her said “proceed with caution,” but Ahsim was willing to take the risk. It was like they were in a silent movie and she was his leading lady. Her skin was the sweetest shade of butterscotch. Long, coal black hair cascaded past her shoulders and down her back. That day, she wore it over to the side in a partial bun. Three-carat diamond earrings gleamed from her ears.
She possessed catlike brown eyes, lashes that went on for days, high cheekbones, and succulent pink lips. Her shape was reminiscent of Jessica Rabbit. The black, one-shoulder Herve Leger dress she wore highlighted her thirty-four D breasts and hugged her plump ass just right. Sean sat back in his chair and crossed his legs.
“Ahsim, I’d like you to meet my wife, Queen.”
“Hello.” She extended her hand, giving him a once-over glance. “Please, call me Q.”
“Nice to meet you, Q.” Ahsim took her delicate hand into his and almost didn’t want to let go.
“I didn’t know we had company.” Q stood beside her husband and placed her left hand around his shoulder.
“And I ain’t know we walked around not wearing our wedding rings. Where the fuck is yo’ ring?” Sean shot with his face screwed up.
“Calm down. I just finished washing my hands. I must’ve left it upstairs on the sink,” Q tried to explain.
“Yeah, a’ight,” he sneered. “But check it; this Ahsim, your new bodyguard. He’ll be keeping an eye on you while I’m out of town, touring.”
“An eye on me,” she repeated. “What am I, five? We never discussed me having a guard. I’m a grown-ass woman. I can take care of myself,” Q spat, offended.
“Am I confused about something? Last time I checked, I took care of you. You don’t take care of me.”
“All I’m saying, Sean—”
“Look,” he interrupted, raising his hand, “don’t make me come outside myself in front of company. You’re getting a guard and that’s it. Do I make myself clear?” he questioned without even looking in her direction.
“Perfectly,” she replied, storming off.
“And put your fuckin’ ring back on!”
Once Q was out of earshot, Sean reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a Cohiba cigar, and lit it.
“I know it may seem like I’m going hard on her, but Queen means a lot to me.” He took a pull from the cigar then exhaled the smoke. “I mean, it’s obvious she’s beautiful, but if anything were to happen to her or if you were to touch her in any kind of way, I don’t know what I might do.” Sean gave Ahsim a warning glare.
Ahsim studied his expression before replying. He didn’t want to lose his cool and say the wrong thing, but Sean had him fucked up. He wasn’t Q, or just some flunky on Sean’s payroll. He was a man. A man who didn’t take too kindly to threats.
“Trust me; Queen will be in very good hands wit me.”
Q sat in front of her gold vanity and brushed her hair with her back to the mirror. She hated seeing her reflection. Instead, she focused her attention on her exquisite bedroom designed by Kara Mann. The entire room was designed with a contemporary feel to it. The focal point was the bed. It sparkled in a blanket of platinum, with a towering headboard made of clean lines detailed with understated tufting. An Opera armchair and an Ixelles Collection wing chair added an extra dose of spice to the space.
But all of the fancy furniture in the world could not hide the fact that she was unhappy. Over the past seven years Q had lost herself. She was no longer the church-going girl from the North side of the Lou with a voice like velvet. The media portrayed her as a cheating, gold digging wife. It didn’t matter that she once had dreams of stardom or that she’d known Sean before he had millions.
The media didn’t know that he was prone to violent outbursts. They didn’t know that before the platinum plaques, Sean had been so poor he couldn’t book his own studio time, or that Q loved him so much that when he asked her to strip (on top of going to school and being a cashier), she did so in support of his career. They didn’t know that he’d sheltered her to the point that she had no friends and could barely communicate with her family. They didn’t know that she drowned herself in numerous charities just so she could be away from him. The media was blind to the fact that behind Sean’s megawatt smile lay a cold-hearted, malicious man. Despite it all, Q hoped that one day the man she fell in love with would return, and things would go back to the way they used to be.
Out of the corner of her eye, Q saw Sean enter the room. She didn’t even acknowledge his presence. Instead, she set down her brush and began rubbing La Mer Body Crème into her calves and thighs. Staying quiet usually avoided any arguments or drama, so Q held her tongue and prayed that for once God would make her invisible.
“So what you gon’ act like you don’t see me?” Sean asked from behind with his hand inside his pants.
Q looked into the mirror at him. There was no denying it: Sean was finer than a muthafucka. Dressed simply in a wife beater and jeans, he was 220 pounds of absolute wonder. The muscles that rippled down his physique were like works of art painted by Van Gogh. But all of that went out the window once she noticed the remnants of white powder on the tip of his nose.
“Hi, Sean,” Q replied dryly.
“You got a’ attitude?” Sean stood behind her.
“No, ain’t nothing wrong with me.”
“Well, fix yo’ fuckin’ face then.” He mushed her in the back of the head then walked away. “You know what?” He spun back around. “I’m about sick of you and yo’ shit. Why you always gotta disrespect me, huh?”
“Disrespect you how?”
“In front of the bodyguard and shit! I’m out here grindin’ hard in these streets. Tryin’ to take care of you. Make sure you a’ight and you got the nerve to question me about the muthafuckin’ choices I make?”
“Sean, I wasn’t tryin’ to question you.” Q kept her voice steady as she turned to face him. “All I was tryin’ to say is I don’t understand why I gotta have a bodyguard with me twenty-four hours of the day. That’s silly.”
“No, it ain’t, when niggas out here claimin’ they fucked you!”
“How many times do we have to go over this? I didn’t fuck him!”
“So now I’m joke?” Sean stepped back with a surprised look on his face. “You think you gon’ play me? What you think, ’cause you went to college you better then me?”
“What are you talkin’ about?” she shot, slamming down the lotion.
“I’m tired of muthafuckas like you think ’cause you read a book once or twice in yo’ life that you know something. I know shit too, Q!” Spit spewed from his mouth onto Q’s face.
Disgusted, she slowly wiped her face and said, “I never said you didn’t.”
“Well, why is it every time I say something you gotta question me? It’s bad. . .
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