16. Rakim #2
This was different. Though LaMia and I dated a long ass time ago, I still remembered the nigga I was and how I behaved in the relationship.
A nigga had to be strong at all times, and back then, I felt no type of way about the shit.
My father raised me to be tough, regardless, and instilled in me that whatever happened to Josias, Zaire, and even Ayan would be on me.
I carried that shit into my relationship with LaMia, and she expected it from me as well.
Daylin didn’t. She encouraged me to talk, share my fucking feelings, and shit I wasn’t a fan of doing prior to meeting her, but I felt relaxed around her. If she was playing me to get away, she deserved the shit, because she was a fucking master at her work.
“Oh my gosh.” She cradled me tighter against her chest. “I’m so sorry.
” She thrust her soft lips against my temple.
When I tried to pull away from her, she halted me.
“You’re supposed to be this upset, Rakim.
I haven’t known you long, and I can see how close you all were and how much you loved him.
Get it all out,” she coached, and it somehow made a nigga sob harder than a bitch.
No sound, all tears and body trembles as every moment I spent with Zaire seemed to be on replay in my mind.
“I should’ve done more for real.” I sniffled. “I should’ve picked his ass up and threw him into rehab. I fucked up.” I shook my head as much as I could while laying on her chest.
“This is not your fault.” She tilted my head back, palming both sides of my face as she eyed me sternly. “I know you were his big brother, but he was a grown ass man. You did what you could to protect them, and Zaire loved you for it. He told me so.”
“He did?” I frowned, attempting to recall her having any conversation with him.
“Yes. I was on your head about how you were acting one day when he was watching me, and he told me how much he appreciated you.” She kissed me slowly and pulled back some, allowing our eyes to catch for a moment before we kissed some more.
My hands went down to grip her ass as she hugged my neck, fusing our bodies together. When I began to lift the T-shirt she had on to take hold of the waistband of her panties, she thwarted my movements.
Though I had been tearing that pussy up for days, I knew she felt guilty.
“Daylin.” I kept them in my grip as her hands encased mine. “You want me to bring that nigga to you so you can tell him to his face?” I queried, waiting because I was prepared to do that shit.
“No.” She smirked, fondling the back of my head with her free hand as she drank me in.
Kissing and sucking on her collarbone, I whispered, “I need you.” Taking her bottom lip into my mouth, I smacked and groped her ass. “You got a nigga feelings jealous.”
This wouldn’t be a semi-lovemaking session like the night of the party. I needed to fuck.
Saying nothing else, she slipped her tongue into my mouth, removing her hands from being atop mine simultaneously.
Pushing her panties to the side, I exposed myself before lifting her slightly and bringing her tight pussy down onto the head of my dick. She whimpered mid-kiss, face bunched, so I gave her some time to adjust, measuredly working her further down every so often.
Daylin had some of the wettest pussy I’d ever experienced, and I couldn’t be sure if it was all me or the fact that she’d been abstaining from sex for so fucking long, but I wasn’t complaining.
It was addictive, fat, and beautiful. When niggas discussed pussies looking like a work of fucking art, they were referencing Daylin Conrad.
I bounced her slowly, feeling her nails press into my skin as she held onto my neck, doing her best to focus on the way I was sucking her lips in order to reciprocate.
“Rah,” she cooed, pussy becoming wetter with every stroke, yanking a groan from me.
She came, so I bounced her faster, causing her to call out loudly while biting her plump bottom lip.
“Fuck,” I grumbled, realizing I was closer to my nut than I wanted to be.
Tossing Daylin onto all fours, I got behind her, shoving her panties down but not off, and slipping back inside, making us both expel throaty moans. Gripping a handful of her hair, I pounded her pussy, watching the way her ass jiggled against me.
Her hands clawed at the bedding as I fucked her mercilessly, bending down for a moment to suck on her neck without slowing up. Daylin’s mouth was open, but no sound came out for a long while as I pulverized her shit, getting all my aggression out.
“Mmm.” She finally made a sound, body quivering from releasing, but I gave her no time to recoup from it.
I continued to beat her pussy up, spanking her hard enough to leave a mark.
“Don’t ever tell me you won’t fuck me because of another nigga,” I growled, meaning every word. “This my pussy. I’m the only nigga you need to be worried about.” I slammed into her, feeling the way she was drenching the bed and me.
“Y-yes! Okay!” Daylin sniveled, covering me in her sap again.
Letting her hair go, I gripped her plump ass cheeks in my hand, parted them, and pounded her even harder into silence until I was nearing my peak.
“Turn over.” I slipped out, and Daylin listened, opening her mouth wide as she caught on so I could decorate her mouth with my nut.
Once I finished, she licked my head clean before falling back, out of breath and with her panties still stretched around her sexy thighs.
Hovering above her, I pecked her gently a few times before moving down to her neck.
We stayed there kissing for a bit before we went into the bathroom, her urinating while I got the shower started. After cleaning up together, we flossed, brushed, and rinsed with night mouthwash before carrying ourselves upstairs and climbing into my bed.
“I want you to know that if I hadn’t planned on breaking up with Shaun already, I wouldn’t have fucked you.” She lay on my chest.
“I wouldn’t have fucked you if that were the case,” I admitted.
Experiencing what I had, wifing a woman that would throw her box to any nigga paying her attention would be stupid of me. Daylin, though, I knew she was loyal, and to a nigga who didn’t deserve it, so I could only imagine how loyal she’d be to me.
“I’m sore, Rah.” She nudged me when I took one of her nipples into my mouth.
“Just a snack, then I’m done.” I laid her on her back, kissing my way down until I was face to face with her pussy. “Just relax, baby.” I spoke softly, watching her body melt into the bedding as soon as my tongue lapped at her clit.
* * *
Standing on my pops’ doorstep, I became impatient as I waited for him to come to the door.
“Oh, hey.” Some bitch young enough to be my baby sister answered the door, cheesing.
“Sup. Where he at?” I stepped in, ignoring the way she was eyeing me and tackling her appearance a bit in order to spruce herself up for me.
“He should—”
“Rah. What you need?” My father descended the stairs, lighting a cigar. “Go upstairs.” He instructed the girl that was standing beside me for some odd ass reason.
“We need to talk.” I frowned, waving for him to follow me to his den just in case his bitch didn’t take instructions well.
“Aight.” He stood before me, inhaling on the cigar and blowing smoke off to the side.
“Zaire didn’t make it,” I informed. I’d been waiting to see if this nigga would hit me or Josias for an update, but the shit never came.
“Damn.” He huffed, shaking his head, and you’d think I was telling him my homie died and not his son.
“You even give a fuck?” I tried to abate my anger because I was ready to deck this nigga.
My father and I had gotten into plenty of fights when I was coming up, and I could admit, I didn’t always come out on top.
In fact, I got my ass beat religiously, losing badly, but he hated to go against me in combat because I was the type of nigga who never gave up.
So even though the six-foot-eight-inch, 380-pound Nate Godfrey’s punches felt like bricks to the face, it didn’t stop a nigga.
By saying that, when I fought other muthafuckas, it was no competition.
He sensed my aggression and tried to soften his tone. My pops wasn’t afraid of me in the least bit, but I knew he lacked the energy to scrap with me like he used to. The last time was shortly after I got out of jail, and that shit ended in somewhat of a tie.
Walking over to his couch to plop down, he replied, “Truthfully, I stopped giving a damn when Zaire wouldn’t pull it together. I mean, what did he think would happen? Nigga didn’t even buy from you all.”
“I don’t sell pills.”
“Well.” He shrugged, puffing on his cigar some more.
“I need to find out who Zaire got that shit from,” I said.
“I will not and never have indulged in street politics and games, so I won’t start now. However, do whatever you need to do to avenge your brother’s death, Rakim.”
For a moment, I just stared at this nigga, wondering why I expected for a muthafucka who sat stoically in the front row at his own mother’s funeral to give a damn about his son.
I wasn’t sure what Nate showed us growing up, but it wasn’t love.
The only time that nigga began showing any interest in me outside of punishing me was when I showed some promise in boxing.
And since Josias and Zaire never boxed, he never paid them any mind.
Now that Ayan was the only boxer, he was Nate Godfrey’s golden boy.
At a loss for words, I exited the den and then the house altogether, feeling fucking stupid for even trying.