Page 7 of Ghetto Heartstrings
Kema shifted her weight from one leg to the other, as C2 watched her ass jiggle again. “I know you better had cried, shit. A nigga give me a 7-carat rock, I’d cry too.”
Both girls fell out in laughter, having no idea that C2 was even in the room. Kema didn’t know until she felt a rod of hard dick pressed up against her ass cheeks, causing her to instantly start creaming on herself. Licking her lips, she breathed slowly and threw her head back, feeling him pulling her tights down over her hips, past her ankles, and onto the floor. He wasted no time grabbing a condom from the dresser drawer and sliding it on. He lightly spit on the tip of his dick and made his way to her awaiting entrance, filling her warm walls up.
“Ummmm,” she let a moan escape from her lips as her eyes rolled in the back of her head.
C2 used one hand to grip her waist, and he placed the other hand on her shoulder, so he could get her in the position he wanted her.
“Hello!” Brook’Lynn yelled in the phone. “Helloooo?! Kema!”
They both had completely forgotten all about her ass that quickly as C2 rammed into her, making sure to connect with that G-spot as she threw that ass back in a circle while meeting his rhythm. “Ohhhh shiiiit daddy! Yes! Yes!” she yelled in pleasure, feeling the juices running down her thighs.
Brook’Lynn finally figured out that her girl cut their conversation short for some dick, but she couldn’t even hate on her. “Ya’ll some rude, nasty, and disrespectful motherfuckers!” she laughed. “Kema, you sound like a struggling cat… bitch, woman up and put a little bass in that shit!”
“Ohhhh, ohhh, ohhhh,” Kema moaned louder. “Do that shit daddy!” she yelled again. “And fuck… fu… fuck you, Brook’Lynn.” She tried to talk shit, but it was no use though. Brook’Lynn was already gone.
“Bend that ass all the way over Kema.” C2 grunted, watching as the curve of his dick went in and out of the pussy. His 8-pack on his stomach was in full motion as he worked his muscles. One thing about C2, all the bitches knew about his pipe game; that’s why he was stingy with his dick. If he fucked a bitch and gave her the golden rod, she was definitely in there. “Shit baby, I’m about to bust!” He stood in place as the volcanic rupture ripped through his dick, exploding into the condom.
“Ahhh shit! Me too, baby! Unnnnnnn!” Kema slammed her ass back harder as her walls contracted, taking the soul up out of her. Her knees were so weak she could no longer stand up. C2 was quick when he caught her and scooped her in his arms, walking her to the bed. Normally, he would wash her up and shit, but today, he had to go.
Kissing her lips, he rushed into the bathroom and took a quick shower. When he walked out, Kema was dead sleep and balled up under the covers. He chuckled, satisfied with himself, and rushed to the closet to grab something to wear. When he was finished, he grabbed both his guns and made his way to the living room. He was right on time because Perfect was outside, sitting on the horn.
Perfect and C2 pulled in front of Rasta’s house and had to go through the entire search process, just to be let inside theirown father’s house. Rasta lived in Sunny Isles and preferred to be secluded in his own sanctuary. The brothers looked at the dudes that Rasta had been down with for as long as they could remember. The fact that they were still searching them every time they came around kind of pissed them off a little, but they let it go every single time.
“Where’s he at?” Perfect asked Rasta’s right-hand man.
He pointed to the back and then led the way. They were escorted to the pool area, where Rasta was laid out next to the pool smoking a joint with a pool full of naked bitches surrounding him. Perfect and C2 had never seen so many beautiful women in one place in their entire life. It bothered them when he’d bring women around in the beginning because of their respect for their mother, Shelly. When she came up missing, Perfect was 12 and C2 was 11; they heard she ran off and went back to Jamaica to do her own thing but, since they’d never been, they really didn’t know and didn’t ask questions.
The sun shined down on both of their handsome faces, as the women gave them both seductive eyes. Rasta sat up to greet his children, as his long thick dreads hung down his back. That’s how he even got his name. He wasn’t even Jamaican, Shelly was, but his long unruly locs got him that name. His shit wasn’t neat like C2’s; his shit grew wild, and he left it that way. He let it do whatever it was gonna do, but it didn’t take away from the fact that he was still a handsome ass nigga, even with age.
Smiling at his boys, he looked from them to the women. “You like my little boys, huh?” he asked with his king chain hanging from his neck. “Ya’ll looking for a good time while you’re here?” he asked them with a serious face. Rasta was fifty-two but looked all of thirty-two, and the women loved him. The fact that his sons were a replica of him, the women loved them too.
Perfect shook his head and waved him off. “Fuck all that bullshit Rasta, you been trying to get us here the past few days. Now, we’re here, so what’s up?”
“Yeah,” C2 agreed. “Fuck them hoes Rasta. Let’s talk.”
Rasta grabbed a towel from over the chair and tossed it over his shoulder. “Maybe another day.” He shrugged. “Follow me.”
Rasta led them into the conference room of his house, where he usually had people to sit around the round table when he wanted to talk business. “This is gonna be quick.” He told his boys, as he grabbed three Coronas from the personal fridge and passed them to the each of them. “Drink up.”
“Nah, I’m good.” C2 pushed the drink away, getting irritated.
Perfect knew how impatient his brother was. He swiped his hands over his waves and stroked his goatee, before placing one hand on C2’s shoulder. “Chill bro.”
Rasta really didn’t understand his boys. He tried his best to give them a good life and teach them the game, but now that they were older and doing their own thing, they kept their distance most of the time.
C2 jerked his shoulder away from him with his face balled up. “Fuck that, Perfect.” He then confronted Rasta. “What I really want to know is… how the fuck do you know Brody? I pulled up on the nigga ready to handle business, and just my luck, yo ass is right there in Atlanta with him. I thought he hustled for the other side back in the day? The fuck business do ya’ll have?” he asked his father.
Rasta couldn’t be mad at C2 nor Perfect. Where their mother was humble and sweet, they got their temper and attitude from him. He crossed his bulky arms across his chest and leaned back in the chair to explain. “Brody and I go way back, and I don’t even know why you would want to do anything to him. Don’t be a fool over a girl.” He grilled them both. “Brook’Lynn is hisdaughter, and he has every right to not want her with a hood nigga.”
Perfect sat up in his seat now. “Obviously, the nigga forgot where he came from.”
“Never mind that shit.” Rasta frowned, waving his son off. “There’s a more important issue at hand.” He cleared his throat. “As you know, I’m well connected. My face is good with a lot of important people and Brody is one. Now, listen, you niggas have gotten sloppy out here. Now, you gotta leave town like ASAP, unless your black asses want to be indicted and never see the streets again.” He was now raising his voice a little, watching the confusion on his son’s faces. “Ya’ll out here splurging, ya’ll are taking flights, buying all kind of shit, cars, homes, fancy ass dinners, etc., and just a bunch of other unnecessary shit. You niggas aren’t even investing; you pay cash for everything, with no fucking legitimate source of where the money is coming from. Are you fucking crazy?”
Perfect knew damn well Rasta didn’t call them there to dictate to them how they should be spending their fucking money; he lost his damn mind. “Man, my crib is in my girl’s name and so is everything the fuck else. She always had legitimate income, and if anything ever happened to me, then her ass gets it all.”
“My shit is in my girl’s name too. I could spend my money however I want.” C2 shrugged.
Rasta looked at his boys and shook his fucking head. “What about your other houses? You know… the one neither one of your girlfriends know shit about? What about the matching Rovers ya’ll have sitting in that storage unit in Florida City?” he questioned. “What about those safety deposit boxes in your names? Fucking idiots, I swear,” Rasta scolded them both.
