Real Wifeys: Get Money (4 page)

“Shit,” I swore, fighting the urge to block the front door with our sectional.

Instead I rushed around the apartment and grabbed up my purse and any random bills or personal items we had lying around, including Make$’s stash of weed, coke, and pills from the huge wooden box on the oversize ottoman in the center of the living room. As far as I knew, Peaches smoked weed and got fucked up on the regular, but our apartment was not going to be her cop spot. I carried everything into our bedroom and set it on the middle of the bed, not taking time to notice the plush linen and décor—more of the stylish work of our designer out of Maplewood.

I locked the door—and double-checked that it was a hundred percent secured—before I headed back to the living room just as someone banged on the door like they was the police enforcing a damn search warrant.

“You better not be in there fucking some other dude in my son’s crib,” Peaches yelled through the door before going at it with her fist again as she laughed like the straight-up fool she was.

Bam-bam-bam.

She probably was scaring the hell out my neighbors on the floor. They already side-eyed me and Make$ like we were not be trusted.

“Dumb bitch,” I muttered under my breath before I put on a big fake-ass grin and opened the door with my keys still in my hand.

My eyes widened at the sight of Make$’s mother. It was amazing that after seven months this crazy bitch could still shock me with her ways. “What’s up, Peaches?” I said, fighting hard not to stare at her petite four-foot frame in skintight jeans and a flashy gold strapless bra underneath a black sheer tank with thigh-high suede boots that it was entirely too hot for.

“Whaddup,” she said, heading past me and straight for the kitchen.

Looking like a fucking dancehall reject or some shit.
There was many things Peaches’ ass was wrong for—like having Make$ when she was just thirteen—but the top two errors was her thinking she had style and class. Coming from me—a college dropout, ex-stripper, without job the first—that was saying just how low the chick could go.

His twenty-year-old twin sisters, Heaven and Earth, strolled in next, smelling of too much knock-off perfume and dressed from head to toe in matching Baby Phat like their ass owned stock in the company. One was on her cell phone, motioning with her neck and finger like the bitch was having a seizure.

“Girl, I told him if he wanted me to do
that
to him and for me to let him do
that
to me then it was going to take more than a trip to Dr. Jays and some appetizers from Applebee’s! What-what?” she said, before turning to high-five her twin like she just gave an uplifting speech instead of revealing she was a trick. And a cheap trick at that.

I sighed on the inside as I pushed the door closed, wishing they was on the other side. This bullshit right here could turn into an all-night affair of me entertaining they ass—at my cost. In their eyes this was Make$’s house, and if they felt like chilling, enjoying the 3-D flat-screen and all the other luxuries, then in the words of Sheree from
Real Housewives of Atlanta
: “Who gone check them, boo?”

I eyed them already kicking off they rubber-bottomed, pleather shoes. “What y’all doing on this side of town—”

The door wouldn’t close and I turned with a frown. But that shit dropped from my face quick as hell at the sight of Make$ standing there with a big grin on his thin face, his usual toothpick in the corner of his mouth. My eyes took this nigga—
my
nigga—all in as I smiled like a cat getting stroked.

He was about thirty shades lighter than me—all light-bright fine and shit—but his tat addiction had him covered all on his neck, arms, and chest. He was just my height and slender, and I loved to see him naked and grinding above all my thickness.

As I stepped into his arms, removed his shades, and kissed him like I hadn’t seen his little sexy ass in months instead of days, I thoroughly blocked out the sight of his entourage piled up in the hallway behind him or his mother clapping and carrying on about tricking me. I didn’t give a fuck about none of that or none of them as I gently sucked his tongue into my mouth, tasting his liquor, weed, and cigarettes.

My man was home and it was water for my thirst.

His hands came down to grab my thighs before moving up under my skirt to grab my ass in the silk thong I wore. I felt his dick get hard against my stomach as my clit tingled.

“Put her dress down, I don’t need to see all that black ass,” Peaches said with attitude from behind us.

“Fuck them,” he whispered into my mouth, reaching down to grab my hand. “Come give me my pussy.”

I licked my lips and pressed my face against his shoulder as he led me to our bedroom. It had been like this since our first night. When it was on, it didn’t matter where, and we didn’t give a fuck about nobody. Fuck it, enjoy the show, you know?

“Y’all so fucking nasty,” Peaches called behind us, just seconds before the front door shut and the sounds of more voices and loud music suddenly filled the air.

Bump her. I was about to fuck the hell out of her son.

Make$ pressed my back against the closed door and tore the top of my dress. He lifted up his diamond pendant of the world and unscrewed it to dust my nipples with the cocaine hidden inside of it. I didn’t give a fuck that he just ruined a four-hundred-dollar dress. I felt a thrill as my nipples went numb from the powder. He circled one nipple with his tongue before sucking it between his moist lips. My pussy just got wetter. The nigga’s tongue game was
bananas
and better than his dick game. He sucked. I fucked. We balanced each other to make sure our ish wasn’t bullshit. You know?

“Yes. Yes,” I moaned, arching my back as I pressed my hands to the back of his head as he snorted more of the coke off my chest.

“Huh, baby. Get on this shit with me,” Make$ said, the coke already making his tongue sound thick in his mouth.

I opened my eyes to look at him as he sucked the tip of his finger and then dipped it inside the world like it was a mini bowl of Fun Dip or some shit. He pressed the coated finger to my mouth.

I didn’t like him getting high, and when he wasn’t on that powder I always talked to him about slowing down. But when he offered me some of his world I took it. He said getting high together while we fucked gave him something to look forward to if he was going to stop doing it all together.

“I love the hell out of you, Make$,” I whispered to him before I unrolled my tongue and licked the coke from his finger. I made sure not to hit a lot of it. I wasn’t trying to get hooked, and the shit just made me feel nervous. I didn’t like it and I damn sure didn’t plan to love it.

Make$ reached one hand down behind me and turned the knob. He lifted his head and looked at me. “It’s locked,” he said with a little smirk of his lips.

“You know how your mama go,” I said, looking at him through lids heavy with wanting his dick inside of me.

He laughed and nodded. “Good looking out, baby,” he said, before kissing my lips again.

I turned in the small space between his body and the door, wiggling my ass against his hard dick as I tried to make room to unlock the door.

“Man, fuck it,” he said, his lips pressed against my shoulder.

The sound of his belt and pants dropping soon filled the air along with the noise of his crew partying it up in our living room. He brought one hand around to finger my wet and swollen clit in circles that made me cry out against the door. He backed away from me. I looked over my shoulder as he fell back against the wall of the hallway, his dick hard and hanging from his body. “Back that ass up on this dick, girl,” Make$ said, closing the diamond pendant.

“Sit on the floor,” I told him, pulling off my thong and hitching my torn dress up around my hips. “I wanna ride that dick, baby.”

Make$ dropped to the floor and I squatted to ease my pussy down onto his dick. He sucked away at my exposed titties as I worked my hips, bringing my clit against the base of his dick. His shit wasn’t itty-bitty but it wasn’t nowhere near an eleven-inch beast. But we were straight. Like I said. He sucked. I fucked. I always came faster when I got on top.

“You know I had to come home and celebrate with my wifey,” Make$ said, leaning his head back against the wall.

Needing the feel of his hot mouth and tongue on my nipples to push me over the edge to a nut, I guided his mouth right back to my jiggling breasts as I enjoyed the feel of my clit being stroked.

“Celebrate what?” I finally asked, panting for breath as I felt the pressure building deep in my pussy.

“We booked for shows all summer long and I got a meeting with Platinum Records in the morning,” he said, before grabbing my breasts and licking away at both nipples at once.

I fucked him harder even as disappointment nipped at me.

Not even free-falling through a high intensified by an explosive nut could erase that a major deal moving him over to Platinum Records meant him going back into the studio to work on his sophomore release. More money. More fame. More lonely nights . . . for me.

Two Months Later

I felt like a celebrity my damn self as I walked inside Club Infinity in New York with my cousin Eve and our friend Michel right behind me. The three of us were looking, smelling, and feeling good. Eve and Michel were my friends and my distractions when Make$ was away. And most nights that we went out, we headed straight for Club Infinity, one of the hottest spots on the East Coast. Celebs rolled through like nothing. The biggest names hosted parties.

The line was damn near around the corner, but when we walked straight up to the door it was on my own steam and not because my cousin Mali was working security, like the first time I brought Missy and Goldie there. Being the wifey of Make$ had its privileges, and we were led straight to a VIP booth upstairs, with the neon lights flashing against our bodies.

Once we was set up with drinks, we settled back against the leather booth circling the area. It was hard not to have a ball at Club Infinity. I picked up the flute of champagne Michel handed me before I stood up on my spiked peep-toe platforms and walked over to the glass wall surrounding our VIP area. I moved my hips to the bass-driven music as I looked down at the crowd below us. Nothing but a good time. A damn good time.

I wished Make$ was there with me and not in Miami doing yet another show. He hadn’t lied—the amount of shows he did was increasing. His summer was fully booked, and I overheard him and his manager saying how adding Goldie and the girls to the shows was the reason. I forced myself not to think about the show they were putting on. I’d never been to one of the shows, and I made sure not to watch any videos of them on the Internet. I had enough of my own tits and ass to see.

I knew how some of the bitches working with Goldie rolled. Coko and Ming was two freaky lesbo bitches who stayed fucked up and fucking—especially for some money. Goldie didn’t know about they side-hustle but I did. They used to laugh about double-teaming some dude in bed and doing whatever it took to make him hit high notes like a woman.

I hated that I pictured them and Make$ fucking.

I felt anger and jealousy eat me up inside at the thought of that bullshit. I quizzed Make$ nonstop about his time on the road but what was he gonna say, “Yeah, I smash on the regular out on tour?” Please. It was bad enough when I had to worry about groupies and shit, but now my man
took
pussy with him on the road. He had plenty of money to burn, and that was right up Coko and Ming’s freaky alley. And to top all that drama? I hated that Goldie and them got to see my man perform. She got to travel with him and be up on the stage with him in those bright lights.

Me? My ass been ordered to stay behind. Stay home. Hold him down while he worked and have the pussy ready when he got home to play.

I stayed on Make$’s ass to catch him slipping on me with some other bitch. And I did whatever I had to. Snooping. Sniffing. Questioning. Fucking and sucking. Whatever I thought it took to not feel that crazy panic at the thought of him fucking around on me. Falling in love with another bitch. Leaving me.

I closed my eyes and took a deep swallow of the champagne.

My only consolation? Goldie was my eyes and ears on that motherfucka. So far so good.

“Where ya man at now, Luscious?”

I looked over at my cousin Eve as she walked up to stand beside me, looking tall and thin and cute with her short jet-black pixie cut. Her pink strapless dress was short and her gold heels were high.

“Miami,” I told her, leaning over to say it into her ear over the blaring music.

She raised a brow in question. “Ain’t no way I could have my man touring and whoring while I sit at home. Fuck that shit.”

I gave her a wink and a smile that everything was cool. Nothing but a motherfucking lie.

Eve was my cousin on my mother’s side, but she wasn’t the type of chick to share your business with. It wasn’t that she didn’t have my back; she just was immature as hell. We was the same age physically but definitely not mentally. Cool as we were, the chick couldn’t hold water, so I fed her with a long spoon and kept her from stirring too deep in my shit with her Maury-like dramatics. She was cool to party with but a definite no-go on anything serious.

Humph.
Eve always had some bum-beat niggas around her. She didn’t believe in boyfriends and kept plenty of “friends.” I never dipped and told her what to do with her life—even when she caught one of her “friends” sucking a dude’s dick.

Because I didn’t tell her what to do with her heart and pussy . . . she wasn’t going to tell me what to do with mine.

Michel stepped up on the other side of me in a black sequin romper and smelling heavily of some flowery perfume that I knew was sprayed everywhere. Wide-set decorated smoky eyes that any tanned Jersey shore chick would die for were locked on topless dancers doing sultry acrobatics from metal poles suspended from the ceilings.