Page 39 of Gotta Jones For Ya
“I… Keon, no…” she moaned, tryna twist from under me.
I gripped her hips harder. “Stop runnin’. You knew what this was.”
“Shit! Fuuucckkk!!!” she yelped as I hit her spot and her walls clenched around me as she came hard as fuck.
Growlin’, I plunged deep in that pussy, spillin’ every drop in her. “Ain’t no plan B’s ‘round this muthafucka,” I groaned in her ear. “Try to kill my seed, and it’s a wrap. On everything.”
She covered her face. “You’re crazy! What the hell?!”
I held her close, feelin’ her chest rise and fall under mine. I kissed her forehead, holdin’ back a laugh. “I gotchu, baby. Relax. Go to sleep.” I was never comin’ up off Nyomi’s ass. Not now. Not ever. She was it.
Epilogue
“Yooo, this food hittin’!” Knuck’s cousin, Wayne, hollered from the corner, mouth full of mac and cheese and barbecue-glazed rib meat as he held up his plate like a trophy. “Who made these damn greens? They taste like Jesus blessed the pot.”
“Of course it is, fool!” Keema popped off from the buffet table, loading her paper plate like the food was about to vanish. “You think my brother was gon’ let his son’s shower have gas station wings and bagged salad?” She smacked her lips, reaching for another deviled egg like it owed her money.
I still couldn’t believe I was somebody’s baby mama. And not just anybody’s. Knuck bulldozed his way into my life, and at eight months pregnant, I wouldn’t have it any other way. He watched me fall asleep with one hand on my stomach every night now, like he was guarding his legacy.
A blur of cravings and chaos. Arguments and forehead kisses. Swollen feet, swollen emotions, and swollen pride every time I caught Knuck talking to my belly like he was raising a little prince through the womb. We didn’t have a blueprint. Just us. Just vibes and hormones, thug passion, trial and error. But we were figuring it out.
Finding out I was pregnant wasn’t magical or cute or anything like the TikToks made it look. I had just finished a full set on one of my regulars when the smell of her damn seafood boil leftovers had my stomach somersaulting out of nowhere. I barely made it to the bathroom before I was bent over next to the toilet, throwing up so hard I saw stars.
“Girl, you okay?” my client called from the door, blinking fast because her lashes were still setting.
I waved her off, swiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and whispered, “I’m good,” even though I knew I wasn’t.
After I finished up her lashes, I drove to Walgreens on autopilot and bought a pregnancy test. Three bold ass lines stared back at me likeyou knew what you was doing when you let that man nut in you every damn day, now look.
I sat on the toilet, crying. I didn’t even realize I was calling Knuck until the phone was already ringing, my hand shaking so bad I damn near dropped it. picked up FaceTime quickly.
“Aye, baby. You good?” I could hear voices in the background and see papers shuffling. His tone dropped low and serious, like he was already halfway out of the building. “Ny, what’s wrong? Why you cryin’?”
My throat closed. The words wouldn’t come.
“Nyomi.” His voice sharpened. “Who the fuck made you cry? Say the word and I’m on my way.”
I gasped for breath. “It’s not—it’s not that. I just…”
“Where you at? At the studio?”
“Yeah… just… give me a minute.” I pressed a shaky hand to my forehead, pacing the bathroom in the salon with my heart slamming. “I took a test.”
He went quiet. “A test?” he repeated, like he needed clarification before he spiraled into some assumption.
I sank to the floor, hand still clutching the phone, the other wrapped around my belly. “I’m pregnant.”
Dead silence.
Not even his breath.
More silence.
And then, low, like he needed to hear it again to believe it, he said, “Say that shit again.”
Tears welled up all over again. “Keon… I’m pregnant.”
“You serious?” His voice dropped into something thick and heavy, like it was filled with awe and disbelief and every emotion in between.
