Always Wrong

by Xyla Turner

  Pulling her off the couch, I led her into the bedroom. Where all of this shit began. Us settling the growing score between us taunting the other. It was in the bedroom where we’d solved that fight. It would be in the bedroom where I planned to solve this next one too.

  The first time, I wasn’t sure what to expect because the woman pushed me on the bed and pounced as soon as we crossed the threshold. Then she’d wrapped those red fucking lips around my dick and sucked the absolute life out of me. This time, I was ready for her ass. Circling her, as she was pretty short, I began to undress her from the back, starting with the elegant dress she wore to the wedding, then the bra that held up two of my favorite assets on her. Those beautiful, brown, and bountiful breasts.

  Sheryl stepped out of her heels and shrank before my eyes. The only piece of clothing she had on was the thong that revealed, yet hid so much treasure. Her sweet pussy for one, but also that tight ass of hers.

  “Do you plan to just stare at my ass?” the sassy woman taunted.

  This landed her with my hand slapping her butt cheek and making it bounce.

  Fuck. My dick was hard, just thinking about how it would move and shake as I fucked her tight cunt.

  “Don’t tease me with one slap to my ass, Jacquez.” She was taunting me.

  “On your knees,” I commanded.

  “With pleasure.” She began to lower, but I stopped her by nabbing her elbow. “On the bed.”

  With one sashay then another step, she climbed on the bed, opened her legs, and knelt so I had full access to her thong-covered ass. Both globes stared at me, and I just wanted to bite each of them. Claim them and let them know that Daddy was home. With a slap to each of them, Sheryl moaned and extended it out for me a little more. Then it was my teeth that connected with that perfect-shaped ass. It was just right, round and enough for me to hold on to, lick, kiss, fuck, and squeeze.

  “Yes, Jacquezzz,” Sheryl moaned. “Give me those teeth.”

  With other women, it was rough and too much. Not with Sheryl. She enjoyed every moment of it, so I gave her what she wanted.

  Following the trail of her thong string between her ass cheeks, I slid a finger inside of her cunt, and fuck me, she was scorching hot and wet. Sliding my free hand to rub the fabric that covered her wet clit, I began to massage it. This caused the thong to be drenched with her juices and me heady with her scent as my tongue twirled around her ass hole. Her moans and pleas for help were killing me, and my dick was pressed against my trousers.

  Her scent would be on me for days, I knew, but didn’t care as I pushed my face and fingers farther into her. It was like a drug, and I knew I was about to overdose.

  Addicted—and nothing was like that for me, outside of making money. For a while, I thought this insane attraction was because she’d left me in the middle of the night, like I was a quick fuck and she was done. Then I realized it was her, and I was the one who couldn’t stop our banter even before we had sex. There was a determination to be with her, and she was just as hell-bent on showing me up. Was it for the chase, the kill, the sweet sound of victory? Maybe. But this taming of her was beyond my control.

  The more my fingers swirled around her clit, the louder her moans grew. I was close to exploding in my pants, so my fingers made quick work of losing my trousers and drawers while making her cum. And fuck, if she didn’t cum and cum. That was one thing that I loved about her, she was so gotdamn sensitive and responsive.

  Turning her over so her back was on the bed, I hovered over her. “I’m clean, and you’re already pregnant.”

  Those fiery eyes stayed on me, then she said, “Use a condom.”

  “Are you clean?” I found myself pausing as I processed her words.

  “Yes, I’m clean,” she snapped. “However, I don’t know who the fuck you’ve been fucking over in London—or here, for that matter.”

  “Since you, nobody,” I admitted before I could censor myself.

  Quite frankly, it was odd for this to be a fact. I literally had a black book. It was old school, but my uncles used to have them. There were many aunties in and out of their life. I only liked a few of them, but since my father had passed away early, they were my example. Now, we just called them fuck buddies.

  Sheryl, though, wasn’t really that. She was more of a conquest or a prize of some sort. Well, I definitely felt like she regarded me in that way. Which was fine, but this baby business. That was the thing throwing me for a loop.

  I was a forty-seven-year-old man, and I wanted kids, but I had no real idea of when I wanted them. Approaching fifty should have been a bloody clue, but I was too busy trying to build my empire. My educational software company had a social-emotional component before it became popular. Therefore, schools and districts across the world were utilizing the efforts of my expanded product for students at all levels. It started with my senior colloquium course, where I created a student information system. This expanded to curriculum, social emotional learning, and every major content in various languages.

  This woman being pregnant with my offspring was a paradigm shift, and we needed to talk. But first, we needed to relieve the stress we’d both been under.

  “I’m clean,” I repeated and slid inside of her snug heat. “Fuckkkk!”

  She had me groaning and pausing to collect my sanity. I swear on everything her cunt was a fucking trap that sucked me into her and squeezed the bloody life out of me. It fit like a glove that was made just for me.

  Yes, we needed that. In her eyes, I could see that she had the same emotions. The air that was forced from her lungs when I pushed in was a release and a much-needed one.

  Once we were both adjusted, I began to push in and out of her hot pussy. With her brown pearl winking at me, I began to rub it, causing the woman to writhe under me.

  “Oh, Jacquez,” she moaned. “Ummmm, right there.”

  Flicking her clit faster, I began to ride her like a runaway cart, disconnected from the train. There was no stopping me, and even with her cries and cumming around my cock, I kept going, causing her to cum again and again. She grabbed her round breast and squeezed so only the nipples were showing, and I fucking lost it. My movements became erratic, and my fingers dug into her hips as I fucked her into the mattress.

  Hard.

  I didn’t release until those nails of hers began to claw down my back as I emptied a heavy load into that hot cunt of hers with a curse under my breath.

  My body was wired, and I couldn’t really talk to even describe what had just happened or my thoughts. Therefore, I just lay down next to her, pulling her into my chest. At first she was stiff, then she began to relax as I rubbed my hand up and down her arm.

  “Now let’s talk,” I said through a sigh after five minutes of silence.

  A few more moments passed, and the next words out of her mouth took my breath away.

  “I had a miscarriage,” she whispered into the chilly air-conditioned room.

  There was nothing else that she said, but the reality made the room and my sweat-covered body colder.

  “Are you all right?” I finally asked.

  “No,” she answered after a beat. “I’m not.”

  Some things began to click for me in that moment of honesty between us. This wasn’t banter, she wasn’t a conquest, but a woman who was pregnant—and then the creation had been snatched from her without any say so. Whether she’d wanted it or not, there’d been no choice in the matter.

  I rose from the bed, grabbed a washcloth, and ran warm water over it so I could clean myself and repeated the same action for her. When I returned, she was still lying the way I’d left her, but I put her on her back, opened her legs, and began to take my time as I cleaned her lower region.

  Then without any thoughts or prompting of my own, I began to kiss her stomach, breasts, neck, and eventually her lips. Not to lead to sex, but as a peace offering.

  Against her lips, I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  “Shhh.” She tried to hush
me, but that wasn’t the time for this.

  “No.” I stopped and looked into those brown eyes of hers.

  They were watery, and something told me this was not easy to come by. Sheryl South could not afford to be vulnerable. Fuck, I knew, because neither could I. With our jobs and lives, any sort of vulnerability was a weakness. The woman did not get to where she was by showing emotions. We’d probably both lived our lives with few attachments because of the cost. Not financially, but emotionally.

  “Tonight, Sheryl, we are who we are. You had a miscarriage. We lost a baby. Not willingly, so we can be sorry tonight. It’s you and me, and tonight, we can be sorry, okay?”

  A lone tear slid out the side of her eye and quickly ran down to her ear. Then another and another.

  “Okay.” She nodded. “Tonight.”

  More tears escaped, but I simply kissed her face until she had her arms wrapped around my neck, and her body began to jerk as the cries escaped. It was as if they were trapped inside, and I had no idea when or if they would stop, but I held on to her like my life or hers depended on it.

  Shit, it might have.

  Sheryl cried herself to sleep in my arms, and eventually I joined her. In the middle of the night, I felt a stirring, but she was still sleeping with her face on my chest.

  The next morning, when I woke up, she was gone. I had not expected anything different, because we’d agreed that last night was for us. For the baby.

  My flight to London was filled with the night of Ms. South. Oddly enough, it wasn’t about the sex. It was about watching the larger-than-life woman come apart in my arms. She called to another place within me, one that I did not always have the luxury to explore.

  Yet with this was the notion that I was about to have a baby. We were about to have a baby. I did not want to let that go.

  No, I wouldn’t.

  Chapter Three

  Sheryl South

  With my feet propped up on the expansive patio, I watched the waves from my thirtieth-floor condominium. My body ached in certain places from having sex only some hours ago. Jacquez was good in bed. Good with that mouth and his dick. Even I couldn’t deny him that.

  Sex is supposed to be intimate, but it had stopped being that for me a long time ago. It seemed the higher up the ladder, the harder it was to find people that wanted me for me and not for what I could do for them. It became apparent that finding a man for love probably wouldn’t happen, so I just focused on getting off, like they did. When I got the itch, of course.

  However, I hadn’t had the itch for weeks now. Not after the miscarriage. Well, not after Jacquez, if I had to be completely honest.

  When I felt the warm liquid running down my leg two weeks prior to the wedding, I immediately thought I was dying or peeing on myself, which meant I was dying. Rushing to the bathroom in my office, I saw that it wasn’t pee but blood, and that just sent a gut-wrenching panic to my entire being. Tears and an involuntary sob came from me as I tried to take off my clothes and sit on the toilet.

  Literally, I had no idea what to do or who to call. I’d never been so scared in my whole life. My assistant came knocking on my door in a panic, which sent me in my freak-out.

  “Ms. South, are you okay?” Tammy called out to me.

  “Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Grab the gym bag in my closet and um”—I swallowed my saliva that had gathered—“place it at the door. Thank you.”

  “Okay.” I heard her scamper off and then a quiet thud let me know that she was back.

  This was followed by the trickling of liquid hitting the bowl of water underneath me as blood trickled down into the toilet. Nabbing my phone, I called my doctor directly and told him what had happened. This was his profession, so he was not as worried as I was but calm.

  “Sheryl, this sounds like a miscarriage, but get cleaned up and come into the office now. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Right,” I told him and hung up the phone.

  A miscarriage.

  The word kept circulating around my head as I realized the distant dream of something I didn’t know I wanted was gone. Having a kid was not really a priority. They often seemed to be more of an inconvenience, but this…well, it felt like an opportunity. Something that would add meaning to my existence. A company might boast about its owner, but in the next breath trash them. Then say shit like, It was good when it started or they had a good concept, but we’re taking it to another level. This shit wasn’t fulfilling. I mean, it was—until I realized I was pregnant.

  My mind finally wrapped around the idea that I was going to have a child, so I began to look at my health insurance differently. I changed my doctors, took a look at my will, and started rethinking my whole life. I had begun to fully get used to the fact that I was going to have a child. I’d signed up for parenting classes, Lamaze classes, and everything.

  Now, nothing.

  After seeing the doctor and deciding to have them finish the job, crying to him that I’d never be able to bear kids, I went home and contemplated drinking the bottle of Jack Daniels, but they said something about no alcohol, because it would cause more bleeding. I did not want to feel, but simply escape. Far, far away. Well, until I finally told someone, which happened to be the man that was the father.

  Jacquez Costa.

  I could not believe he responded in the way he had. Shit, I never expected him to track me down like he did. I hadn’t thought I was going to tell him at first. Well, not like that. Maybe in a text or something. However, seeing him at that wedding was … well, it was triggering. Simply because I remembered what that arrogant specimen of a man had done with that thing below his belt. Therefore, his conversation about meeting him at the W was an automatic yes. I could definitely go for another ride with him, though I never did seconds. The only saving grace was he lived in London, and I did not have to talk to him or be connected to him in a permanent way.

  The night before seemed so surreal, because for a moment in time, he and I were not the bantering rich people that we postured ourselves to be. No shields. No guards. Just two people who’d experienced a tragedy. I couldn’t remember a time in my adult life where I was able to lean on someone in that way. Even my friend Maxine. She’d never known I was pregnant. Mainly because I didn’t want to take away from her moment.

  My mother was a hard woman and did not show much emotion besides anger and frustration. She was not one for tears. Literally, she’d say, “Stop all that damn crying. You know what needs to be done.” She was also mentally unstable half of the time, so it was more of a relationship where I was the adult. One that I did not want to repeat.

  My motto was to put the bullshit behind me and handle business. That’s how I lived my life for the most part—except that night with Jacquez.

  Fuck, I’d needed that moment with him, more than I knew. It was like a form of therapy in a way. Definitely a cleansing. As I watched the sun rise over the skyline, I reflected on the loss of my child and let the tears slide down my face. There would be no seeing them grow up, nor the love that I could give them. The things I could teach him or her. They could be groomed to run my businesses. There were so many things I was open to think about with the hope that I would conceive a child.

  Now that dream was crushed.

  Like a fucking bug.

  More tears ran down my face, and I didn’t bother to wipe them. What was the point? The flood gates had opened last night with Jacquez, and now they were back. They might as well be shed, because I was not sure of the next time they would come.

  My phone dinged, then the vibrations began to beat on the glass table. It was six in the morning, and no one should be texting me on a Saturday. Snatching up the phone, because it had to be important, I saw it was a text from an unknown number.

  Clicking on the dropdown message, I froze as I saw the message. There was no announcement of who the sender was, but I knew.

  Oh, yeah.

  I knew.

  Unknown Caller:

  Have a
baby with me.

  What the fuck?

  Was he serious?

  Me: What?

  Unknown Caller: You read it right.

  Me: Are you serious?

  Unknown Caller: I would not joke about this. Especially after last night.

  Me: This is more than a texting conversation.

  Unknown Caller: It’s a decision until we do the act. Have a baby with me.

  Staring at the screen, I blinked more tears and looked back at the waves hitting the side of the bridge’s tower base. We were all like the waves, I guessed, coming and going and once in a while we’d hit something significant, or have a good go, but at any moment, we could disappear into calming waters, having no impact on the world and leaving nothing behind. It was odd, but above all else, I wanted my life to mean something. Not how much money I had, how many jets I obtained, or how strong I was.

  There had to be more. Before any thought, protest or simple logic could kick in, I began to type my answer back.

  Me: Okay

  Unknown Caller: Splendid.

  My tears for some reason dried up as hope bloomed. It was the weirdest feeling, but I planned to hold on to it with everything I had. This dream was my lifeline, and if he could not come through, God help his soul. I would fry it with fire and brimstone.

  Chapter Four

  Jacquez Costa

  Once I made it home, safe and sound, I poured myself a large glass of bourbon and stood on my patio to watch the waves hit the London Bridge pier. I loved the water and vowed to always live near it, because it put me at ease. Filled me with a calm that was not easily attained. Leaning against the bannister, I remembered Sheryl’s gut-wrenching cries in my neck. Her brokenness pulled at a part of me that reminded me of my mom. When my brother, Mateo, had been shot right in front of our house, I remember her dropping to her knees and pleading for his life. Blood stained her chest, hands, and face as she tried to get him to wake. I watched and remember being too young to do anything besides call the police. They did very little for our community, unfortunately, because it was run by the gangs. Mateo was in one, which meant that there would be blood running in the streets. It was the rival gang that had killed him.