Aria moved her body as if she were putting together eight counts, and the friction of his fingers in the right places made her called out his name. “Isa, baby!”

“All on that dick like a good girl, Ali,” he groaned.

She came first. It was one fight Isa didn’t mind losing. He took his time, picking her up again and then bending her over the sink, snickering as he looked in the mirror at his red face. He slapped her ass again. Payback for the clown shit. He was putting dick in Aria so good his name was bouncing off the walls. Her cries took him all the way, and he didn’t even care to pull out. She was his. She said no babies. He said fuck it.

“Isaaa!” she protested, standing and spinning to punch him.

“Got to know you up real good. Put a baby in you and that’s mine forever,” he stated, laughing because he knew she was pissed.

He pecked her lips and then made his way to the shower as Aria sat down on the toilet to pee. She shook her head in distress, reminding herself to get on birth control as soon as possible because otherwise, messing around with Isa, she’d be somebody’s baby mama in the near future.

“Boy, if you don’t get your ass up and clean this mess up, you better. I don’t care if you bought this loft; you know better than this,” Marilyn fussed as she made her way from the front door to the kitchen. Ahmeek groaned as he rubbed a hand down his face. He had just gone to bed two hours ago. A night of fucking his feelings away with a girl he hardly cared for, he had forgotten all about Sunday breakfast. Marilyn frowned as she turned to the refrigerator and found the pair of thong panties clipped to the magnet. “Now I know damn well these ain’t Morgan’s.”

Her voice was so loud. Like nails on a chalkboard. He hadn’t drunk like this in years. A hangover plagued him as he stood from the couch where he had given in to sleep.

“Morgan isn’t a thing no more, Ma,” Ahmeek said.

“Morgan is the thing that led to these empty bottles, these tacky panties, and that sad look on your face, boy,” Marilyn said. “Come get rid of these trifling thangs and clean this mess up so I can cook.”

Ahmeek didn’t protest. He scratched the top of his head in irritation, but he knew better than to vocalize it. Ms. Marilyn was the real gangster between them. “Let me hit a shower and get myself together first. I’ll be right back,” he said.

He dressed quickly, showering and brushing his teeth before emerging.