Jessa spotted a photo of herself at age twelve. She reached out and took the album from her mother’s hands. With her heart pounding wildly, she flipped through the pages. Nearly all of her school pictures were there.
“Where did you get these?” Jessa asked, her voice soft.
Darla pulled a flask from inside her brassiere as she slumped down on the couch, nearly flattening the cat, who flew from under her just in time. “My mama sent them to me,” Darla said, looking down into the flask before raising it in mock toast.
That had to be true.
Where else would she get them?
Jessa slammed the album closed and let it drop to the floor with a WHAM. “So you wanted photos, but you couldn’t be bothered with the real thing?” she snapped, reaching out to snatch the flask from her mother’s hand.
Darla jumped to her feet and started to breathe in and out her nose like a bull.
Not exactly sure she wasn’t about to be run over, Jessa tossed the flask back at her.
Darla caught it and took a healthy swig. “You don’t know nothing about what went on. You don’t know shit about what I been through,” she said, her eyes filling with tears as she bent down and opened the album to the last page.
Jessa looked down as Darla rocked and fell on her ass, her legs splayed out in front of her as she pulled a thin bundle of letters out. “My own mama told me I wasn’t good enough to raise my child,” Darla said, stroking the cat, who moved up close to her side and purred.
Jessa squinted her eyes.
“She bought me this house and give me money every month to stay away from my baby,” Darla whispered in a singsong voice that was eerie.
Jessa felt goose bumps race up her arms.
Let me see my baby. Please just let me see her.
Her mother’s ramblings in her sleep.
“She said I would ruin my baby,” Darla snapped in anger, her fingers balling up into a fist with some of the cat’s skin in her grasp. It cried out and exposed its teeth and claws before angrily swiping at Darla’s arm.
Jessa stood there in shock and horror as Darla cursed and flung the cat away from her. It flew in the air a little before landing on its feet and jetting off down a long hall.
Darla sat there among the chaos of her life crying like a child as she held on to the letters tightly. Jessa bent down as best she could and wrapped her hands around her mother’s wrist. “Come on, Mama,” she said gently. “Come on. I got you.”
Darla struggled to her feet. “I’m so sorry, Jessa. She said I wasn’t no good for you. And she wouldn’t let me see you. I fucked up. I promised you I would come back. I promised you and I knew I wasn’t. I’m sorry.”
Jessa’s heart ached to know that after all those years her mother remembered the promise she made. Even if she broke it. She couldn’t leave her mother in this filth and to her own devices. She couldn’t do it.
“Let’s get out of here, Mama,” Jessa said, easing the letters and photo album from her mother’s hand as she walked her out the door.
Hours later, Jessa sat in the chair beside her mother’s bed in the hospital’s psychiatric ward. As soon as they left Harlem, she had the driver take them there and Darla was admitted for her addiction to alcohol and crack cocaine. But the psychiatrist also diagnosed her mother with bipolar disorder. They believe she used drugs and alcohol to defeat the symptoms of the mental disorder, not realizing it created a crazy and vicious cycle, with one further hindering the other.
Jessa had already contacted Keegan to get a cleaning and organizing expert and her team into the brownstone that Monday to get rid of the clutter and the cat. When Darla finished her treatment and got on her psych meds, Jessa wanted her to return to a home as clutter free as her life and her mind.
She felt no guilt about sticking to her decision not to move her mother into her home. Darla would have to prove herself for that, and that came in time. Jessa felt she had to be wary and cautious because more than just her feelings and her life were involved.
Rubbing her belly, she looked over at her mother as she slept peacefully. Probably the best sleep she’s had in years, Jessa thought, looking down at an old photo of her mother in a form-fitting dress with curves that made Beyoncé look like a man.
Even then Darla struggled with her mental disease and didn’t even know it.
Jessa swiped at the tears that filled her eyes as she lightly patted the letters. She felt betrayed and lost and confused as hell.
Every letter from her grandmother to her mother confirmed what Darla had said. She was literally paid to stay away. Warned not to call the house or be cut off. Threatened not to show up at Jessa’s school to watch her from a distance. Who gives money and a free place to live to a junkie and not expect them to spiral out of control?
Someone who didn’t know better would think her grandmother was just looking out for Jessa’s best interests. Jessa wasn’t buying it. She had felt the supposed wisdom of her grandmother’s actions, and Frances Jordan looked out for herself first and foremost.
Jessa thought of her pain at her mother leaving—and Darla had some of the weight of that to carry for herself—but Jessa knew firsthand that Grandma Frances had a way of getting anyone to see, and do, things exactly how she wanted.
Aria
I woke up some time late during the night with Kingston cupping my nude body from behind with his hand warm and secure on my stomach. Before my body became swollen with the baby, he used to sleep cupping my breasts or with his hand snuggled down between my thighs.
Kingston claimed he loved me big and pregnant. God bless his lying heart—although the way he made love to me last night, gently but strong and passionate, made me feel damn sexy even though I was damn big. I smiled, remembering teasing him that we were putting sex on our baby’s brain.
And because we were having a son, Kingston joked he was getting him ready early to please the ladies.
A son.
I smiled in the darkness, letting my hand stroke Kingston’s at the memory of how happy he was to have a boy on the way.
His nursery was done and I knew the baby shower Renee and Jaime were throwing me next month would supply so much of the smaller things he would need like bottles, Pampers, and blankets. Still, I had his drawers stocked.
My mother was already packed to move in for a few weeks after his birth to guide me in the right direction, answer all my silly questions, and keep me from overreacting to the small things most first-time mothers panicked about.
We were all set for his arrival.
The only thing left to do was give birth and then name him ... once we laid eyes on him. Kingston was very adamant that he didn’t want or need to make his son a junior. He wanted him to have his own identity. I agreed.
And even if he was our miracle child and we would never be blessed with another pregnancy, I was happy for him. Our son.
To think I almost threw this—my family—away because of my own fears and bullshit. I thank God every day for bringing Kingston back to me and blessing us with a family. We made it through some tough times, and I had faith nothing could defeat us. Nothing.
Feeling thirsty and needing to pee, I eased free of Kingston’s body and sat up.
“Where you going, baby?” he asked, instantly waking up from his sleep.
“To the bathroom, ” I told him, rubbing his strong arms reassuringly before I padded barefoot and nude to the bathroom.
Soon his snores filled the air again and I just chuckled as I relieved myself and then pulled on a thin cotton robe that hung on a hook behind the door. Pausing by the bed long enough to put on my slippers, I made my way out the bedroom.
Sighing, I pressed to my lower back as I made my way to my office down the hall. Being eight months’ pregnant and having gained nearly fifty pounds, I felt all of my pregnancy in my lower back. I was taking my baby weight in stride and found it funny when my mother teased I looked like I was ready to float up to the sky like a balloon in a holiday parade.<
br />
I grabbed my iPad and snuggled down in the oversized chair in the corner. Not feeling too sleepy, I updated my Baby on Board blog site, read a few online magazine articles, and checked a few of my favorite daily blogs, like A Belle in Brooklyn.
Lastly, I checked some industry sites for writers and in a flash my night when straight to hell.
You have got to be kidding me with this bullshit?
Frowning in disgust, I read for a second and third time the announcement for the major book deal Jessa signed.
I have lost all faith in the publishing industry.
Renee
I couldn’t sleep and I was standing at my bedroom window when a light January snow began to fall. It was a really beautiful winter scene of the snow sticking to the trees and bushes of my neighbor’s front yards. Nothing in the neighborhood moved or stirred but the snow. If it continued, it meant digging out cars and shoveling walkways, but I loved the winter.
Jackson and I used to love the winter together. Playful snow fights. Making love in front of the fireplace. Drinking hot chocolate spiked with brandy. Decorating the house for Christmas.
Although I missed him, I knew I was on the road to recovery because I didn’t cry not once this Christmas because he was not there at my side. I had no urge to lose myself in a drunken stupor so as not to face the dissolution of my marriage. Or the fact that my children had a sibling that wasn’t borne by me. Or ... or that my husband and son weren’t speaking because of my son’s sexuality.
Something about knowing that Jackson would lose his relationship with his son than accept that he’s gay made me so hurt and disappointed by him.
The baby put the nail in the coffin holding our dead relationship, and his treatment of our son hammered the nail in all the way.
And so, yes, our divorce was almost finalized. We both were ready to move on.
Jackson had signed the papers. We worked out dividing our properties, alimony, and child support. We were just waiting for the final divorce decree.
And truly, I was okay with it.
“Renee, come back to bed.”
I looked over my shoulder at the man waiting there for me.
I met Davin Thorne a few weeks ago at my Alcoholic Anonymous meeting, and tonight a long talk over coffee led to a flirtation that led to him following me home. And I hadn’t been disappointed by my choice.
He flung back the cover, exposing his naked body to me.
Nice, I thought, dropping my robe and feeling damn good about his thick dick rising from lying across his thigh to stand erect.
“See something you want?” he asked.
I licked my lips as I climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips. “I see lots of good dick and someone who is good with it,” I said softly, bending to circle one of his nipples with the tip of my tongue.
The kids were away and Mama was going to play.
I sighed as his hands massaged my lower back and then cupped my ass deeply as I moved my lips up to suckle his neck.
I leaned up and he lifted his head to take one of my nipples into his mouth as I heard the tear of the condom wrapper.
I pushed pillows behind his head to prop him up as he lifted me up by my hips and slid me down onto his hard dick. I gasped and bit my lip from the feel of him pressing against my walls.
“Damn, it’s hot,” he gasped, looking up at me as I grabbed the headboard and took control.
I closed my eyes and let my head fall back as I circled my hips, bringing the base of his dick against my swollen clit. His hands teased both of my full, undulating breasts as he gently rolled my nipples between his fingers.
I locked my legs beneath his and popped my hips, riding just the tip of his thick dick. He freed my breasts and they hung above his open and panting mouth as his fingers dug into my ass and tried to control the movement of my hips.
I resisted him, loving the control. Loving that he felt he would cum if he didn’t stop. Loving that I was so near my third nut on his dick that night.
I looked down at him intensely as he licked my nipples wildly. “Yes. Yesss,” I moaned, adjusting my ride to take all of his dick into me as I continued to glide back and forth on him.
He slapped my ass as he fucked me back, sending his dick even deeper inside of me.
I sat up straight and then turned on his dick to ride him backward.
He sat up behind me and wrapped his arms around my body as I worked my hips until my heart pounded and my sweat soaked the sheets.
“I’m gonna come,” I moaned, gasping hotly when his hands covered my breasts again as I glided back and forth on his dick like I rode a log.
I cried out as the first explosion burst inside me and made my clit extra sensitive. I didn’t give a damn who heard as I flung my head back and released all of my pent-up sexual frustration in a shout that was primal.
He didn’t feel like Jackson.
He didn’t taste like Jackson.
He didn’t smell like Jackson.
His touch didn’t electrify me like Jackson.
But it was nice. It was satisfying.
In time, with him or someone else, the rest would follow.
Jaime
I woke up with a start and realized the house was cold. Icy cold. At first I tried to bury my entire head and body beneath the covers, but even that didn’t keep enough of the chill from seeping into my bones.
Dammit, I swore, before I jumped from under the covers and raced on my tiptoes to the digital thermostat on the wall. I kicked the heat up another five degrees and raced back beneath the covers.
Everyone knew winter was the perfect season to have a man in one’s big lonely bed to provide the heat. It had been six months since Eric’s death, and I was ready to get out and date again. Something I truly had not done since before I married Eric.
My relationship with Pleasure had never involved anything outside the bed—or in whatever locale we chose to have sex.
And although it would be so easy to call Pleasure to bring that dick to me, I refused to budge. Pleasure turning me down to fuck another woman who had the money in her hand had hurt me. I could admit that. Yes, I knew he was a whore, but I really thought I was first on his list. That I was special. That my pussy was better. That he would never turn me down. That his dick was mine.
That reality check slapped me hard as hell in the face and I knew I had to wean myself off my drug. I had to. It was all well and good that he fucked other women for money as long as I never saw it. We never talked about it.
But I was looking for more than just dick in my life. I wanted a relationship. Not marriage. Not even something completely exclusive, but someone of similar style and class to escort me to social functions, hold an intelligent conversation—and still be able to bang my back out when I wanted.
The thought of that made me smile as I shifted my hands to the edge of my pajamas. I had just scooped my hands down to cup my pussy when my phone rang. Frowning, I sat up in bed and picked up my cordless. Aria? Aria!!
“Are you having the baby?” I asked, already throwing back the covers.
“No, I’m going to have a coronary over that crazy bitch!” Aria snapped.
Jessa. It was always Jessa. I was tired of talking about the bitch.
I dropped back down on the bed and ran my chilled fingers through my hair. “What is she up to now? I haven’t really seen her the last month or so.”
“Do you know that bitch is writing a goddamn book? On what?”
I opened my dresser drawer and took out a suede box. “Listen, after that bitch came at me about suing Eric’s estate, I don’t put anything past her ass,” I said, shoving the phone between my ear and shoulder as I opened the box and took out my vibrator. I turned it on to test the batteries.
Bzzzzzzzzz.
It jumped to life in my hands.
“What the hell is that? A chainsaw?” Aria asked.
I turned it off. “Nothing, ” I lied.
“Whatever happened with that law
suit?”
“We’re assuming she’s waiting for the little bastard to drop, because we told her if she pursued it we would push to make her have a prenatal paternity test, ” I said, rising to walk into the bathroom to rinse it off. I smiled as I lathered it with soap and worked it like a real dick.
“Jaime, do you really have to call the baby a bastard all the time?” Aria asked.
I paused. “Oh, so now you’re Jessa Bell’s best friend again?” I asked coolly.
“No, but I’m mad at her, not the baby. The same should go for you. ”
“Well, Aria, that’s fucking easy for you to say; she didn’t fuck your husband and get pregnant. Did she?” I snapped.
“Bitch, you tripping. I’ll call you in the morning when you get your head and your thoughts together.”
Click.
I shrugged and tossed the phone on a chair before I climbed back under the covers with my little friend. Soon the vibrating motion of it against my clit made forget every damn thing.
Bzzzzzzzzz.
Chapter 13
Two months later
Jessa couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t nervous about the Halls’ threats of suing her for custody as the time neared for her to have her baby. She hadn’t heard from them since the day they ambushed her at her home, but they were never far from her mind.
Even though Lincoln assured her that grandparents rarely ever won a custody battle against a fit mother. But Lincoln doesn’t know everything.
Sighing, she picked up the remote and flipped through the channels before she gave up on that and picked up her laptop to try and finish the detailed outline for her book. Boredom is a bitch.
Myra had put any further interview requests on hold and advised her to focus on the outline for her still untitled book. Considering she had already signed the contract and deposited the check for half of her advance, she knew her publicist and literary agent were right when they pushed her to get it done.
Mistress, Inc. Page 17
