Finding Forever (5 page)

Whitney was long gone. Trina was his future and no one was gonna take her place. Koran was a good catch and one hell of a man. She missed his sweet kisses, their long talks at night, and his text messages, asking what she was doing later. Koran accepted her, flaws and all. He took on the role of Daddy when her son’s real father neglected his responsibilities.

He took her out of the hood and spoiled her with things she’d only dreamed of. How in the hell could she let all of that go? The thought alone gave her chills. And, yes, her feeling the way she did was all her fault. She’d taken him for granted and thrown their love away on a sexual whim, but who didn’t make mistakes? All of her life she’d been in one relationship after another. Trina had never known what it was like to be single and carefree. Koran had to understand that.

Koran couldn’t deny that a part of him was still attracted to Trina. Her looks were what attracted him to her in the first place. He used to call her his diamond mommy with slanted eyes. She was five-eight with skin the shade of sweet honey. Almond shaped eyes, a bunny nose and heart shaped lips made up her facial features. To most she resembled R&B singer Monica. And although she had a six-inch waist, Trina possessed more thighs and ass than a little bit.

Koran, being the alpha male he was, thought it wouldn’t hurt if he had one more taste of her, so without saying another word he placed his lips on hers and silenced her cries.

Regret would consume him when they awoke, but that was a consequence he was willing to accept. Trina was a beast in the bedroom. She knew just how to please him. The things she did with her tongue made Koran’s toes curl. All the chronic in the world couldn’t mess with her. Making love to Trina was something he used to enjoy, but tonight was different. There would be no erotic kisses that led from her neck down to the heartbeat of her clit. He wouldn’t hold her in his arms until they fell asleep. Trina wasn’t getting anything but pure unadulterated, animalistic, non-emotional sex.

Koran was tired of pretending that their relationship was worth holding onto. Too much had been said and done for them to ever go back to the way things were. Trina wasn’t worthy of his love anymore. With her back facing his chest, Koran aggressively pulled her skirt up and placed her panties to the side. The lips of Trina’s pussy ached from the thought of him entering her. Bending over she held onto the corners of the kitchen table to stabilize herself.

Koran couldn’t wait to dive up in it. The visual of Trina with her legs spread wide open and her fat ass up in the air was turning him on to the fullest. His dick was brick hard, but the days of him fucking Trina without a rubber were over. Koran quickly dug into his back pocket and found a magnum Trojan. Once the condom was securely on he checked to see if Trina was wet by sliding his fingers up and down the center of her slit. Trina was wetter than wet. The tips of Koran’s fingers matched the texture of the M.A.C lip gloss she wore.

As he played in her wetness with one hand, Koran placed the other around Trina’s mouth. Trina being the freak she was took his index finger inside and began to suck. The room was filled with sounds of her eagerness. It had been weeks since the last time they’d had sex. Trina made a mental note to treasure each stroke as Koran’s mammoth dick entered the folds of her lips. The force of the first stroke was heavenly.

Moans of pleasure escaped from Trina’s mouth. With her face pressed against the table, she screamed out his name. This only made Koran grind harder. He gripped her waist tight and pounded into her pussy with reckless abandonment. Momentum built with each stroke and with each stroke Trina screamed louder and louder. This was how sex was supposed to be—rough, raw and rugged. She loved every minute of it. Jolts of electricity exploded in her stomach as she felt herself about to cum.

“Oooooooooooooh, baby, I missed you,” she whined.

“Shhhhhhh, be quiet,” Koran insisted. He was about to cum and he didn’t want Trina distracting him.

“But, baby, I wanna taste it. You gon’ let me suck it, daddy? Please let me lick it.”

Trina knew she wasn’t playing fair. Koran loved receiving head. There was no way he was turning her request down. Tantalized by the idea of her sucking his dick Koran pulled out. White foamy cream saturated his manhood. Shamelessly Trina positioned herself on her knees. The sight of Koran’s ten-inch dick dangling in front of her face made her mouth water.

He had the prettiest dick she’d ever seen. It was thick and rigid. Pre-cum oozed from the tip. Trina made sure to stare up at him with her eyes as she placed him into her mouth. The facial expressions he made were priceless. Trina bobbed her head and French kissed his dick like a pro.

At any moment he was due to explode. The veins in his dick throbbed against the buds of her tongue. Sweat beads dripped from Koran’s forehead as she played with her clit. The anticipation of him cumming in her mouth made her suck and rotate her fingers faster. Finally, her wish came true. Semen shot from his dick and into the back of her throat. Trina savored every drop.

As soon as his orgasm subsided and the reality of the situation reentered the picture, Koran began to feel played. Once again he’d fallen into Trina’s trap. She threw out the sympathy card, batted her puppy dog eyes and he fell victim. He was stronger than his behavior. The twisted roller coaster ride they were on had to stop. Trina was right; he couldn’t just continue to use her body and not want the person that came along with it. After this encounter there would be no more back and forth. This time Koran was gonna cut her off for good.

With his eyes behind shades, Koran sat low inside his old school Cutlass Sierra. The tinted windows were rolled up, giving him the opportunity to see, but not be seen. It was midday, but the corner of Page and Hamilton Streets popped with the sound of bass booming from the trunks of cars passing by. Little children played, but this was an area where even playing was a sport and not recreation.

Kids were trained at a young age to watch out for killers, rapists and thieves. They knew the terrifying sound of gunfire could go off at any second. Page and Hamilton were both streets the ice-cream truck wouldn’t dare drive down. Prostitutes as young as sixteen pranced the block in their skimpiest outfits, in search of their next trick. Crackheads roamed the streets feenin’ for the ecstasy of their next hit. Graffiti decorated the exterior of buildings that had been vacant for years. Tires, broken bottles, and food wrappings beautified the streets.

It was a sad sight to see, but this area was Koran’s territory. It was the place he called home. His little youngins manned the block with a vengeance, distributing bags of crack cocaine. Koran could’ve encouraged them to stay in school and get good grades. He knew what these streets could do to them over time, but in his mind guidance wasn’t the key. These boys had parents and it was their job to raise them, not his.

But on the flipside of things, Koran could feel their plight. At that age he’d had nothing but cashmere thoughts and caviar dreams, too. And just like them, he’d hit the block with no regrets. Koran was gonna get it how he lived by any means necessary and where he lived the only way to get it was to sell ass or sell dope. Koran, being the dude he was, chose the latter. And, yes, he understood that the life he was living was foul, but, no, he wasn’t asking God for forgiveness. All he asked was that he be able to live out his dreams until his heart gave out. In his mind that wasn’t too much to ask for.

“What up, nigga?” his boy Sheek said, hopping into his car.

“Shit, just checkin’ up on things.” Koran gave him dap.

“That’s what’s up. You and shorty get up last night?”

“Nah, I went on home, but, yo, what’s up with this cat?”

“Who?” Sheek surveyed his surroundings.

“That nigga, O, man. You see how this nigga lookin’? He on the block in a brand new fit, chain glistening and he got his truck parked right on the corner, like the police ain’t watchin’. Yo, I been sittin’ here . . . for a minute . . . the police have circled the block twice already. You think they ain’t knowing this nigga hustlin’?”

“I told you.” Sheek shook his head.

“I mean, what the fuck? I’m happy to see that the nigga is full. Shit, I make sure that all my youngins is eatin’, but this nigga trippin’. Never will he be on my corner stuntin’ while he sellin’ my shit. ‘Cause you know who that’s gon’ draw attention to? Me. And I’ll be damn if the boys in blue start runnin’ around askin’ questions about me.”

“I feel you, I feel you. I’ma go handle this shit right now.” Sheek opened the passenger side door and got out.

Koran hated to do O in, but the boy had it coming. Out of all the workers, he was Koran’s biggest disappointment. He’d taken him under his wing and taught him the game only to be slapped in the face repeatedly with disrespect. There were rules to the game and O wasn’t following them. Koran knew why. At first he didn’t want to believe it, but O didn’t want to take orders from the boss he wanted to be the boss.

He yearned to style and profile. He craved the respect Koran possessed, admired his swagger and loved the attention females gave him. Koran regretted making a conscious decision to ignore the splash of envy in his eyes. If it wasn’t for the fact that O was his biggest seller Koran would’ve gotten rid of him a long time ago.

“Yo, my man, let me holla at you for a second,” Sheek said, grabbing O by the back of the neck.

From the inside of the car Koran couldn’t tell what was being said, but by the way Sheek manhandled O and the bewildered look on his face, Koran knew his point was getting across. Pleased, Koran started up the engine. Just as he was about to pull off his cell phone began to ring.

“What up?” “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, handling some business.” He grinned, happy to hear Whitney’s voice. “What’s up wit you?”

“Missing you. You miss me?”

“Man, get out of here wit that.”

“Ill you mean.”

“No I’m not. You already knew the answer to that.”

“Umm hmm—”

“Hold up,” Koran interrupted her mid-sentence. “My other end clickin’. Hello?”

“You can’t call nobody?” Trina asked, trying her best to sound cute.

“I’m on the other end. What’s up?”

“I was just callin’ to see what was up wit you. I hadn’t heard from you in a couple days and plus Malik wanted to talk to you.”

“Put him on the phone.”

“Malik! Telephone!”

Malik got on the phone. “Koran.”

“What up, man?” Koran smiled. Malik wasn’t biologically his, but he loved him just the same.

“Nothing, what you doing?”

“Talkin’ to you.”

“Ah, yeah.” Malik laughed. “You know I got a hundred on my spelling test?”

“Nope.”

“Mama, why you ain’t tell Koran I got a hundred?” Malik took the phone away from his ear.

“I forgot,” Koran could hear Trina say in the background as Whitney hung up.

Malik got back on the phone. “Oh, well, yeah, I did.”

“I’m proud of you, lil’ man. You wanna go to the Mills tomorrow?”

“Oooooh yeah! Can we go go-cart racing?”

“Why not?” Koran chuckled.

“Bet. I can’t wait.”

“You been taking care of yo’ mama?”
“Yeah, but I wish you were here.”

“We talked about that, remember?”

“Yeaaaaaaah. I’ma come over to your new house every other weekend. But it’s still not the same.”

“I know. You love me?”

“You already know the answer to that.” Malik giggled.

“You too hip. I love you too, lil’ man. Now put ya’ mama back on the phone.”

“Mama, Koran want you.”

“Hello?” Trina said into the phone.

“I’ma be over there tomorrow to come get him.”

“Why can’t you come over tonight?”

“I got plans.”

“What, you going on a date?” she questioned, barely able to breathe.

“I’m not answering that. I told you I had plans.”

“Whateva, Koran,” she snapped, hanging up.

Any other time Koran would’ve called her back and cussed her out, but cussing Trina out wasn’t worth it. Scrolling through his call list he found Whitney’s number and called her back.

“What?” she answered with an attitude.

“My bad.”

“You got that right.”

“Now what was you saying?”

“I was gon’ ask you to have dinner with me later at The Drunken Fish, but now I don’t know if I want to. I might call up one of my other tenders, since you actin’ funny.”

“Ain’t nobody actin’ funny wit you. You the one playin’ games. Had my dick harder than a muthafucka and wouldn’t do shit about it.”

“Whateva, you’ll be alright. So you gon’ meet me later or not?”