Always Wrong

by Xyla Turner

  Sheryl South was a damn goddess who knew that she was sexy as hell. She had the moves, the tight pussy, and the skills to bring a man under her possession. I know there had to be a sea of men that she fucked, then left them because of her commitment issues. I had them too, but time was running out. The baby scare had caused me to get more serious. Now I was in bed with Sheryl South and planning to have a baby with her.

  She was scared that the lines would get blurred, with that bit about the relationship, but that would never happen. I was not looking for a damn relationship, and she wasn’t either. There were no two different people that could ever happen.

  I pulled Sheryl into me as I let her ride me with my finger in her tight ass. My teeth pulled at her delicate neck because I was about to cum hard. Her ass had a mind of its own as it twirled all around my dick. Fuck if I wasn’t delirious with her hypnotism. If she wanted all my riches and fortune, I would have given it up right then. Damn, she felt good.

  “I’m coming,” she purred, and that was it for me.

  Using my one hand and the other lodged in that tight space, I pulled her down hard on my cock and began to bring us home in a way that her clit rubbed up against my abs. A growl left my body as she came apart and me right along with her. My fingerprints would mark her ass, along with my teeth on her neck. For some reason, I couldn’t muster up a damn to give.

  Sheryl collapsed on me as we fell back on the bed. There were no words to say or utter as we caught our breath. Again.

  After a while, she broke the silence and said, “I guess I can’t sneak out in the morning, huh?”

  This caused me to laugh out loud as I rolled into her and kissed her lips.

  “That’s what it means,” I confirmed. “To our new beginning.”

  She chuckled and nodded.

  “Our new beginning.”

  *-*-*

  The next day, I woke up to a sleeping Sheryl, or a pretending-to-sleep Sheryl. She had a bit of a snore to her, but it was cute. Yet when I got up, there was no snoring.

  Moving towards the kitchen, she had the basic food for breakfast. My typical morning meal consisted of fried eggs, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, and toast with tea. She had everything but the tea, because apparently Sheryl was a coffee drinker and a serious one. The woman also had a waffle maker and I was from the Bronx, and I knew waffle makers meant waffle lovers.

  Twenty minutes later, Sheryl came downstairs in a light pink sheer robe that displayed those nipples and that landing patch in the center of her body.

  Fuck the breakfast. I moved around the island, picked her up and placed her on the marble and kissed those shiny lips. She tasted of toothpaste and Sheryl.

  “Well, good morning to you too,” she laughed. “You cook? Might be a keeper after all.”

  “I cook up more things than food.” I pressed into her body with my own.

  Her hands outlined my shoulders as she moved them over my expansive chest. “I know.”

  Then the woman licked her lips, as if she were eyeing her next meal.

  “Woman, if you keep looking at me like that, we won’t get to this food, and we need sustenance.”

  “Mmkay,” she sighed with those hooded eyes on me.

  Down, boy.

  “I have waffles, eggs, toast, sausages and I don’t know how to take your coffee.” I patted her hips and lifted her off the counter. “Let’s eat.”

  Begrudgingly she followed me to the stools where I had the food set up, but not before she pressed a button on her phone and the coffee maker whirred to life.

  “Fancy,” I commented.

  The two of us sat down and we ate together; dare I say like a couple. In that moment, there wasn’t much said, but it was a comfortable silence to the point where I felt like I had déjà vu. I was in the same place with her, as if I’d been there before. It was so weird, because I’d just met the woman a year or so ago. This was my first time in her house. Therefore, I had never been here, unless it was in my plan to be there. That’s what I thought déjà vu meant. I was where I was supposed to be. Either I had a dream or vision or had been here before, and now it was the manifestation of it.

  “I got the dishes,” Sheryl added.

  After I gave her a look, she explained. “You cook, I do dishes. I cook and you do the dishes.”

  “Fair enough.” My head nodded at her words.

  When she finished cleaning up the kitchen, I transitioned us to her living room.

  “So what does Sheryl do on a Saturday?” I asked while looking at the various artwork she had around the condo.

  They ranged from clumps of paint, it seemed, to detailed images of black women in Africa with loads on their head, leading children, and one where a man and woman were engaged in sex. He had her by the throat, as a hold, while he ravished her from behind. Her head was slightly tilted back to view him and there was consent and an erotic dare on her face. The shit was sexy.

  “Who’s the artist?” I inquired.

  “Oh, she goes by Vega Four. She’s local to New York. She has a lot of these, and they are a mint. As soon as she has an exhibit, everything is gone. I had to nearly fight over this one at the auction. There were people kissing in the middle of the showing, and I took advantage and won the bid.”

  “I need to check her out,” I made a verbal and mental note. “This is good!”

  “Yes, she’s excellent!” Sheryl confirmed. “I’ll let you know when she has her next showing. If you’re in town.”

  “Crikey.” I nodded. “We’ll have to make that happen, then. So Saturday morning, what is Sheryl doing?”

  She smiled and gave me a side-eye. “Well, she’s probably looking at emails, going over work shit, and then maybe she’ll go for a walk to the local bakery.”

  “Okay, what else?” I asked.

  “I might go away for a three-day…” She cut herself off.

  “Rendezvous?” I asked with a chuckle.

  “Something like that.”

  She boldly stared at me, while squaring her eyes on me.

  “What does Jacquez do on a Saturday?”

  “Take care of my garden,” I told her truthfully, only to see her eyes widen with my words.

  “Garden?” she asked with a small gasp.

  “Yeah.” I shrugged. “I maintain a garden. It was a stipulation for my contract in my condominium.”

  “Well, well…” She tsked with her teeth. “I would have never guessed.”

  “Most people don’t,” I replied. “So how about you?”

  “Me what?” she asked with a sly smile.

  “What’s your hobby?” I inquired. “You know, the thing that no one would think you do.”

  Crossing my ankles, I folded my arms and dared her to lie to me. She had a tell—well, everyone did. However, with this question, I knew that I would be able to tell if she fabricated the truth in any way.

  “Ha.” She gave a fake laugh. “That’s an, um, interesting question. I’d have to say…a guilty pleasure of mine is romance books.”

  Well, fuck me.

  That was the truth, and we both knew it was more revealing than she probably wanted it to be.

  “Now that, Sheryl South, I would not have expected,” I mused out loud. “But I get it.”

  Her head nodded, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to explore that subject any longer. That was a pattern of hers, so I simply moved on.

  “How about we sit down and talk terms? Let’s go over non-negotiables, and though we aren’t writing a contract, we can have a standard operating procedure for communication. I’m reading this book, and it talks about how many co-parenting relationships end badly because of communication. Let’s avoid that and get ahead of it is my stance.”

  “Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” she replied. “I have the perfect place we can go to do this.”

  Sheryl led the way to gather our laptops, changed into some presentable clothes, then we went to the roof, where we were able to sit and spread out on the fake
greenery carpet. It was a typical Philadelphia luxury condominium. Sleek furniture, clean, solids and sharp edges. Sterling silver, brown, black, and creams were the color décor, but it suited the lady. London wasn’t quite this chic. There were parts, but it would be an adjustment for her living there.

  Maybe.

  We had some cooked meals already in the refrigerator. Chicken parmesan and Italian salad. I knew she’d probably gathered I was Italian with Costa for a last name, and she’d be right. She’d also be right that this was my favorite dish and combination of foods.

  Instead of continuing our growing list of things we wanted and didn’t want, we decided that we needed to definitely attend parenting classes and we might want to see a counselor for the two of us. I was open to it, and so was Sheryl.

  Once I finished and returned to her condo, I turned on the dishwasher and extended my hand to her, so she would grab on to it.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I want you to bounce on top of my cock to work off that delicious food.” I smiled as she allowed me to pull her up.

  “Sounds like dessert,” she responded and allowed me to lead her back to the bedroom.

  Chapter Seven

  Sheryl South

  Jacquez and I spent three days in my apartment talking, planning, and fucking. The man had not said one thing about staying at a hotel, nor did he make any moves to leave. Actually, I did not make any moves to hint that he should, which was not like me. My space was mine. It was made and tailored for me, but Jacquez seamlessly folded right into the vibes. He cooked, cleaned up after me when I facilitated the food, and he was quite handy. There was a drip in my bathroom sink. It had been dripping for months, but I never was home to call the super and let him know. The first night, Jacquez saw it and asked if I had a toolbox or kit. Then he proceeded to fix it, as well as the light on my patio. It was out, but really because I broke it. The light attracted the bugs when I just wanted to sit on the patio in peace. One day, I was a tad bit on the testy side, went to swipe at a bug and broke the glass of the light, but left the silver piece in the socket. Due to this, I did not call management, so it was out, but Jacquez fixed this as well.

  On our third day, we found a garden, where he proceeded to tell me every single flower, plant, and bush we passed. I was still in shock about his immense knowledge around the science of botany. That third night, he also took me out and we ate at a nice restaurant that was hard to get into.

  “How did you get in here at the last minute?” I asked.

  “Reservation,” he replied.

  “The waiting list is years long,” I told him. “Maxine has been trying to get us in here for a while now. She’s going to be so mad I’m here.”

  This made me laugh, because she would only be slightly mad, but more shocked that I was here with Jacquez. Even more stunned that I had the man, or any man, stay at my place and I wasn’t freaking out about it.

  “I’m sure if she tells that to Noah, he can make it happen,” he commented, before picking up his menu and perusing through the plethora of options.

  Observing him, I noticed that he was polished, sure of himself, and had a sense of command around him. The same could be said about me, which meant that Jacquez and I would have to work through the power dynamic and think about this cohabitation that we were talking about. In the back of my head, I just thought maybe he’d pull out. See that there was something about me that he didn’t like and then say no. That he would realize that I wouldn’t be a good mother or the type of mother he wanted for his child, so I just assumed it would fall through. At some point. Those were my thoughts, which meant that all the power was in his hands. All of these things prompted me to ask, for the last time, “Why me?”

  He put his menu down, looked up at me and gave me a slight smirk, lifting one side of his mouth.

  “Why not you?” Jacquez asked.

  “Let me phrase this differently: What type of mother do you want for your children?”

  “A loving one. One that is confidant, aware, successful in her own right, smart, capable, and one that will do whatever she needs to for her family.” He spouted this off with no effort, as if it was something rehearsed.

  With a deep stare, he asked, “What are your fears? Your real fears.”

  “That this won’t happen,” I answered honestly. “That it’s somehow a hoax or some practical joke. Those are my thoughts, and I am trying to manage them, but if I am being honest, they are winning.”

  Leaning forward, Jacquez asking in a low voice, “Did I not fuck you hard, like you begged me too? Cum in you, every fucking chance I got. Every drop of cum was pushed into your hot cunt. Babe, this is fucking real. And next week, when you’re ovulating, I will be back here to do the same thing. It is no hardship to make you nibble on my ear as you cum, or watch you throw your head back and bite that bottom lip when I’ve hit your spot. The way you grab my hair or even your light snores after I’ve put you to sleep. It’s real, and soon your body will began to transform with our child. Then I can show you all the ways I’m delighted that you’ve chosen to be the mother of my son, and I always want to make sure you know that.”

  Well…

  When he put it that way, it didn’t seem like there was a power dynamic that I couldn’t live with. It seemed fair and equitable, but still there was a kernel of doubt. Way in the back of my mind.

  *-*-*

  Once Jacquez flew back to London, he left me with a kiss on my lips as he turned to board his jet. He texted once he landed, but I was asleep. That morning, I texted him back saying that I was glad he’d arrived safely. Then I tried to go on about my day, but that was nearly impossible.

  Being at the office was more of a blur. I wasn’t even sure if I’d had my coffee yet, but by the time I arrived back home, it seemed that his presence was still there. A faint scent of him remained. And if I sniffed hard enough, I could imagine that he was here. The couch, bed, bathroom, kitchen, and even the balcony were where the two of us had sex. This wasn’t about what we both wanted, which was a baby. No, I was not ovulating, and he knew this. Yet still he made sure that his mark was all over the place. So that I could never forget. I knew men like Jacquez. Powerful, smart, and always with a plan. The problem was, I tried to stay away from them, because I never wanted to be a part of their plans. In the case of Jacquez, I think I was too caught up already. He knew my secret. Therefore, he could exploit it was my thinking. Then what was I supposed to do?

  I settled in to eat my dinner, and that was when my phone rang, showing that it was Jacquez. A part of me wanted to ignore it, but then I remembered we’d just made a verbal agreement. Jacquez abided by my wishes of no contract, but just like I would not renege on a written one, I could not do the same with a verbal one that I insisted we have.

  “Hello,” I answered.

  “Evening,” he answered with that smooth, deep voice of his.

  All man. My lady parts remembered and so did my nipples.

  Damn.

  I was sprung.

  “Evening.” I think a smile formed on my face.

  “How was your day?” he asked.

  “It was all right, yours?”

  “What made it all right? Walk me through it,” he asked.

  Wait, what?

  “What do you mean, walk you through it? My day?” I clarified.

  “Yes, that is what I mean,” Jacquez said with a serious tone.

  Mmkay.

  I gave him the rundown of the day, including it being sort of a blur and that I was eating dinner when he called. He then gave me a rundown of his day thus far, since he was ahead of us by five hours. So his day was full of meetings, in various parts of London. He had to use his helicopter to get to one of the meetings, but the pilot had to be replaced because he kept yawning, and Jacquez was not taking any changes. This made me laugh, but also let me know the man wasn’t timid in expressing what he wanted. Then he shared he had just finished watching television and was about to
sod off to bed, but wanted to touch base with me to see how I was doing.

  My heart, my heart.

  Girl, get a grip.

  “How are you feeling physically?” he asked. “I’m exhausted. Some woman kept me up all night for three nights.”

  This made me laugh out loud.

  “You are not trying to blame me,” I told him.

  “Oh, I am,” he replied. “Now, what about you?”

  “Sore in places, but in a good way,” I answered honestly.

  “Fuck, I wish I was there to make it better,” he added. “I’ll be there this weekend.”

  “You will?” I turned from my food to stare at the phone.

  “Yes,” Jacquez remarked, like I did not comprehend well.

  “But…you were just here, and…” He didn’t let me finish.

  “You’re ovulating this weekend,” Jacquez shared. “Plus, my mom needs some things, so we’ll go see her too.”

  Wait one minute.

  “We?” I gasped.

  “Yes,” he answered again with that voice that was asking if I was dumb.

  “Jacquez, I don’t want to meet your mother. Why do you want me to see her? That doesn’t make sense.” I needed to draw the line, because he was going too far.

  “Sheryl,” he called. “You’re going to be the mother of my child. You will need to meet my mother, so calm down.” He took a pause. “We’re going.”

  Nope.

  “Jacquez, I am not going to meet your mom. There’s no need. I’m not even pregnant now, and what if this doesn’t work out? Why would I meet her? That makes no sense, and I’m not going. Period.” I was back, because this was asinine and truly, I had no time for that bullshit.

  “What the fuck do you mean, what if this doesn’t work out?” was all I heard come through that phone.

  Did I actually say that? I mean, I thought it, but fuck, did I say it out loud?