Love and a Gangsta. Erick S Gray
Читать онлайн книгу.
me before you got locked up,” she whispered.
“What?”
“The fifty-thousand you stashed, I saved it and got us this place. I wanted you to come back home to something better. I didn’t want you going back to South Road; you need a change of scenery, boo. And this is a new start for us and a family.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Just promise never to leave me again. Be with me. I got you, baby. I got you. We can do this together. I want you by my side forever,” she said.
We gazed into each other’s eyes. Her eyes pleaded for me to leave the streets. She didn’t say it directly, but I knew where this was going.
“I love you so much, Omar. I can’t lose you again. I just couldn’t bear it.”
Her eyes became glossy, filled with emotions. We embraced. Her angelic features and soft touch made me commit.
“I promise I will never leave you again. I’m over the game, America. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I got too much talent to be wasting my life away on the streets. I fucked up once, and I ain’t fucking up again. If it wasn’t for you, I don’t know where I would be right now. So you know what… Let’s be a family and get married.”
“Baby, are you…?
“I want you in my life forever.”
She hugged me tight and confessed her love for me again. Her arms were wrapped tightly around me and she had tears trickling down her cheeks.
“I got a surprise for you.”
“Pussy,” I joked.
“No silly. Come here,” she laughed grabbing my hand.
America led me into the second bedroom. I walked inside and got choked up. What she was doing for me is the epitome of what love should be. On the bed, she had dozens of gear sprawled out, Armani suits and dress shirts. At the end of the bed were Gucci and Kenneth Cole shoes.
“You is too much, baby. I don’t know what to say,” I said.
“My man, you represent me, and I represent you. We’re a reflection of each other, and if I’m looking right, my man… No my husband is going to be right too.”
We were wrapped in each other’s arm, nestled together like an unborn in their mother’s wound. I kissed her fervently. She was everything to me, and I wasn’t trying to let her go.
After several minutes of endless affection, I pulled myself away from her and said, “Baby, I need a shower. I smell like that fucking prison. I want it off me. I ain’t trying to be up on you an smelling like this.”
“I understand, baby. Everything you need is in the bathroom. Go do you and I’ll freshen up out here.”
Her eyes stared into mines, reflecting love. She disappeared into the next bedroom and I walked into the bathroom. I quickly stripped away the unpleasant clothes that I had on, and was butt naked in her rose-pink bathroom. I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror over the sink. I had to admire myself. My physique was breathtaking. After four years of lifting weights with Rahmel and his peoples, I had a eight-pack, bulging biceps, defined triceps, and my back was muscular broad. I had one tattoo and that was of my girl’s name, it was embedded into my right arm in bold italic scribble.
I reflected on my troubled life as I peered at my image. I was a thug, making at least a grand a day selling crack. I used to push guns. I shot people, even killed a man, unbeknownst to America. I drank, partied like the end of the world was coming, and cheated on my boo with countless of women. And yet through my wild ways, America still stood by me, treating me like her man. While the rest of the world saw me as a threat to society, she stuck with me. When I got dragged out my mama’s crib by half dozen cops, America cursed them out like she was the one who birth me.
She was by my side when I caught a knife to my side because of beefing over a corner. She was in the hospital everyday, praying, asking God to heal me, and nurturing me back to health. She sat through my trial with me, everyday encouraging me to be strong and pray. When I got sentenced, she promised no matter how far they sent me she’d always write and visit.
I hated myself for putting that woman through so much. She didn’t deserve it. I didn’t want to be the same man I was four years ago. I wanted to be different and become better for her.
Rahmel coached me. He knew how I was feeling. When I first got jailed, all I could think about was America, wondering if she’d be faithful while I was on the inside. I was the only man she’d ever been with, and when you’re alone in your cell, you think about all kinds of craziness.
I did her wrong, because I cheated on her with women that lusted after me since I was fourteen. And some I even had unprotected sex with, risking my life and hers. I didn’t care. It was always about me, and with Omega, I felt invincible.
I continued looking at my image, and I didn’t like what I saw. A handsome dude was my reflection, but on the inside, I felt ugly and deformed. I felt twisted with conflict. I wanted to change. I needed to change. The fear that I might be weak and fall back into my old ways gripped me. When I was in jail, there was no temptation for me. I read a lot of books and worked out, and took guidance from Rahmel. It was easy on the inside. I was home now and it was a different story.
I turned on the shower and got in. The warm water felt good. I was alone. I felt comfortable. It was quiet and tranquil. It had been a while since I had a long shower like this. I spent about twenty minutes in the shower, enjoying every minute of it.
I heard a knock and then America saying, “Baby, hurry up. Why you got me waiting?”
“I’m coming, baby.”
Turning off the water, I jumped out and reached for my towel, drying myself. I looked at my reflection, wrapping the towel around my waist and promising to do right by my woman this time around.
I stepped out the bathroom and into the soothing and sexual melody of some R. Kelly’s, Honey Love playing softly. The bass was bumping from the speakers at a comfortable volume. I looked down and noticed another dozen of silk rose petals at my feet leading a trail to the main bedroom. I smiled.
I followed the trail and walked into the bedroom, where it was dimly lit with four French vanilla candles burning, creating a soft, yellow vanilla fragrance in the bedroom.
“It’s about time,” America said with lust in her eyes.
She was on the bed, upright on her knees and naked with her honey brown skin shimmering gracefully in the candle lit room. Her nipples were hard, her long sinuous hair falling stylishly down to her shoulders and her pussy trimmed. She wore the diamond, seed pearl, sapphire, platinum and pink gold necklace that I bought for her before my incarceration. It stopped at the tip of her breasts. I took in all of her and felt my dick hardening under the towel.
“Come get what’s yours,” she smiled.
“Damn, you is looking extra right now,” I proclaimed.
She smiled. It was contagious. Because when she smiled, I smiled.
I heard the CD changing to its next track, and Marques Houston, Naked, played. She gestured with her index finger for me to come to her, dividing her thighs apart a little bit, and had her other hand in between her thighs as she tenderly massaged her clit.
I walked up to the foot of the bed, and she came to me, still on her knees, and pulled at my towel.
“You heard what the man said, I want you naked baby. I miss big daddy. I want you to park that thing into me tonight,” she whispered in my ear.
Her warm breath tickled my skin. She touched me while untying the towel from around my waist, it drop to the floor. I was blissfully hard. She pressed her luscious cherry flavored lips against mines. I felt her hand travel south, reaching for my thick dick. Her thin fingers coiled around my nine inches of thickness. She began moving her hand pleasingly up and down