He was so thick.

  So heavy.

  So good.

  So, so, so delicious.

  And she was so fucking wet.

  “That’s right, baby,” Roselle said in a husky voice as he bent and sucked her nipple between his teeth. He gave it a sharp nip and then slid his hand down over her quivering belly and then to her engorged clit.

  Brenda gasped, and the flush of pleasure radiated over her skin.

  “Yeah, he’s fucking my sweet baby’s pussy,” Roselle murmured as he stroked her clit as Beer Can Dick held her legs open, his palms flat on the inside of her thighs, as his dick scraped over her walls, causing heat to curl in her veins and dart through her body.

  Brenda moaned. And then she cried out when Roselle pinched the wet nub.

  “Is her pussy good, man?” Roselle asked low and husky.

  Beer Can Dick moaned appreciatively. “Shit, yeah.”

  “You got her shit so wet. Fuck her hard, man.”

  “Oh, God, yes. Fuck me, fuck me,” Brenda panted helplessly.

  Roselle’s eyes darkened as he watched the wet glide of Beer Can Dick’s shaft go in and out of Brenda’s cunt.

  He probed deep, not necessarily scraping the mouth of her cervix, but deep enough to send a spasm of ecstasy ricocheting through Brenda’s body. Brenda furrowed the back of her head deeper into the pillow as she arched her body up into the heat, absorbing the weight of each thrust, melting, melting, melting . . .

  “You like that, baby?” Roselle rasped, looking down at Brenda through a lust-lidded gaze that sent shivers through her. He stared at Brenda with stark approval in his eyes as her eyes rolled up in the back of her head in response to the rhythmic pounding in and out of her body. And just when she was on the cusp of another orgasm, Beer Can Dick pulled from her body, causing her to whimper in protest as her pussy clutched around the emptiness.

  Roselle grinned as he finally pulled his dick out of his boxers, holding it in his hand. “You ready for this dick in your mouth, baby?” he murmured. “Me and my man gonna fuck the shit outta you. You want that, baby?”

  Brenda nodded wordlessly, winding her hips into the mattress, thrusting her pelvis upward in greedy need.

  The plum-sized head of Beer Can’s dick nudged her opening just as Roselle cupped her jaw in his hands. Brenda cried out as Beer Can Dick surged forward, spearing her open in one wide stroke. But her cries were quickly silenced as Roselle forced her mouth open and slid his dick to the back of her throat.

  Beer Can Dick stretched and plundered her cunt as Roselle stretched open her mouth, fucking into her throat, both men matching the other’s thrusts, bringing her to tears, to orgasm, to indescribable pleasure.

  Oh, God, yes . . .

  Brenda croaked out another moan. Her lids fluttered before her gaze locked with Roselle’s. She loved him.

  “You ready for this cream?” Roselle rasped. “Uh, uh . . . you want this nut on your face?”

  Brenda moaned over his dick, and her wet mouth splashed out drool and spit.

  She yelled hoarsely as Roselle tore his dick from her throat and began fisting his shaft in long, rapid strokes. As the first splatter hit her face, she felt the hot spurt of cum splash onto her breasts as Roselle swung his dick side to side, like a watering hose.

  Beer Can Dick groaned as he freed himself from Brenda’s wet clutch, tearing off his condom, and then quickly stroking himself.

  Roselle groaned. He shot more of his hot cream onto her burning flesh, just as Beer Can’s nut shot out from his dick, his release spurting out onto her stomach and then over her swollen sex. It ran down into the seam of her pussy and slithered down into the crack of her ass.

  Roselle leaned down and planted a long, passionate kiss on her lips. Then whispered, “Happy Anniversary, baby.”

  Brenda smiled and then murmured, “Happy Anniversary. I love you.”

  Roselle leaned over her body and slid his hand over cum-soaked pussy. “I love you, too, baby.” He smeared Beer Can Dick’s cum over her clit and then dipped two fingers into her wet, juicy hole.

  Brenda gasped.

  Passion Island had brought her and Roselle closer, made their connection much deeper. No, they weren’t perfect. But they were perfect for each other. She’d decided that she didn’t need to know if their eight-year-old daughter was his or not. Roselle thought he was and he loved her in a way that only a father could. So, yes, he was her father. And Brenda’s heart told her so.

  Roselle’s curled fingers found her spot.

  “Oh, oh, oh, oh . . .” Brenda slid her hands up her belly and to her breasts. She plumped them up and out with her palms and then flicked her tongue out, licking over her skin for Roselle’s nut. Her body shuddered. Her cunt clutched Roselle’s working fingers.

  “That’s right, baby . . . come for me,” he whispered.

  Surprisingly, he hadn’t been caught cheating since they’d returned home from the retreat. In fact, he’d told her he no longer had the desire to cheat, especially now.

  And she wanted to believe him. For the first time in a long time, maybe she finally would.

  Brenda closed her eyes.

  And mewled, clawing at the sheets.

  Oh God, she was coming and coming and coming. And falling in love with Roselle all over again in a way she hadn’t known possible. This was what Passion Island had taught her, this was what she’d desired, needed—unfurled sinfully dark, forbidden desires.

  * * *

  “Heeeey, baby fahver. Isaiah told me you finally left that ole goat-faced bit—”

  Isaiah frowned, swerving his car into the nearest parking space.

  “Yo, what the fuck I tell you about your mouth, huh, Cass?”

  Yeah, it was true. Isaiah had left LaQuandra. Well, sort of. He’d moved out at least. But he was over there nearly every other day at her request, moving something, painting something, or putting something together because she was too cheap to hire someone else to do it.

  Nevertheless, the night before leaving Passion Island, he’d decided that they both needed space. Him to sort through everything she’d told him. And her to—well, shit, work on her attitude and self-esteem. He refused to stay in a marriage with a nagging, insecure, loud-mouthed-ass woman. Period.

  Cassandra sucked her teeth. “Nigga-coon, boom! Eat the inside of my ass, Isaiah. I do what I want with this mouth. Bring that ole big juicy dingaling over here ‘n’ let me remind you of what it do.”

  He sighed, glancing at his watch. Nearly three p.m. He only had ten minutes to get inside the building. “Fuck outta here, Cass, with that dumb shit. I told you I’m good on that.” And he meant it. He hadn’t sexed Cassandra since he returned from the couple’s retreat.

  He knew he needed to keep the peace with her to keep her spiteful-ass from trying to drag him back into court for more child support. But he was no longer going to do it with his dick. Fucking her only fueled more drama. And Isaiah was officially done with the bullshit.

  Cassandra grunted. “Mmph. I’m just glad you realized exactly how trifling that bit—LaQuandra is. I don’t know why you ever stuck your dingdong in that rotted troll doll anyway.”

  Isaiah sighed again. “The same reason you let me stick my shit in yours—because it was good.”

  He heard her pop her lips. “Uh-huh. But I bet that wildebeest can’t make it pop on that dingaling the way I do. She never deserved you, sugah-boo.” And then she grunted. “All that dingaling gone to waste inside that nasty nut-trap.”

  Isaiah shut off the engine. “Yo, I ain’t tryna hear all that shit right now, Cass. Why can’t I get ahold of Isaiah?”

  “Because I took his phone,” she said nastily. “That lil’ fucker wanna be up all night on the phone talkin’ to them nasty lil’ bitches he got suckin’ on his wee-wee, then come up in here bringing home Cs and Ds on his report card. No sir. Not up in here. So, no gawtdamn phone and no more late-night ho-patrols lookin’ for nasty-ass tricks to pump his dingaling in, until he gets them grades up.”

  Isaiah shook his head. “I’ll talk to him.”

  Cassandra grunted. “Mm-hmm. You better. And you better tell him that the only two holes he better be sticking his dingaling in, is an ass or a mouth. And he better be double wrapping, too. I don’t want his horny-ass bringin’ no gawtdamn babies up in here or no diseases ’cause if he do, I’ma stomp on his balls. It’s bad enough Day’Asia got another nasty-ass drip leaking from that sewer tank.”

  Isaiah cringed and then glanced at the time again. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll be there around six to pick lil’ Isaiah up. Tell him to be ready.”

  “I mean it, Isaiah, you better talk—”

  He disconnected the call. He’d heard enough. He had more important things to do rather than listen to the ratchet-ass ramblings of Cassandra Simms.

  He removed his keys and quickly hopped out the car, slamming the door shut and then activating the alarm.

  LaQuandra rolled her eyes the minute she saw him trotting across the parking lot toward the building. She was annoyed that he couldn’t pick her up and drive her to the appointment. Driving two cars made no goddamn sense. And then he’d had her sitting in the waiting room for over twenty minutes, feeling abandoned and alone.

  He was probably on the phone talking to that—

  She stopped herself. Nope. She wasn’t going to let that trashy-ass whore’s name roll out of her mouth. Not today. Hell—not most days.

  She was getting better at not doing it, especially now. In the grand scheme of things, Cassandra was a very insignificant thing, because that’s what she was—a thing.

  She had a lot to look forward to. The best thing she’d ever done was to confess her past to Isaiah. Yeah, she’d hurt him—he was still hurt. But she knew at some point he’d have to get over it. She was wrong. She’d already admitted that. And she’d apologized over and over again. And she’d keep apologizing and trying to make it up to him until he found it in his heart to forgive her, or not.

  LaQuandra swallowed. She loved him. And she didn’t want to let go. But she’d promised herself that she’d give him three more months to be angry with her. And then he would need to either shit or get off the proverbial pot.

  She absent-mindedly twisted her wedding band around her finger, pulling it up to her swollen knuckle, then pushing it back down.

  And then she nibbled on a fingernail. Her nerves were rattled and she was starving.

  God, she could eat a horse. All she did these days was graze. And right now she had a taste for sardines and olives.

  LaQuandra’s mouth watered, but her stomach clenched.

  Isaiah walked in frowning, but then he looked over in her direction and his lips curved upward, giving a hint of a smile that resembled more of a smirk than anything else.

  Within minutes, they were being called to the back.

  LaQuandra assumed her regular position, while Isaiah sat in a chair beside her.

  “How are you feeling?” the thirtysomething woman asked.

  LaQuandra shrugged, then rubbed her grumbling stomach. “Okay, I guess. I don’t sleep much. And I’m constantly hungry.”

  She felt her eyes prick with tears. “And I’m so emotional.”

  The woman smiled.

  And Isaiah shook his head. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to move back in with her moody, bitchy-ass. But he knew he didn’t want to live with regrets, either. There was a part of him that knew he didn’t want to throw in the towel on his marriage unless he was absolutely sure he’d done his part.

  And he hadn’t.

  Yeah, she lied to him—in the worst way. But . . .

  “Would you like to hear the baby’s heartbeat?”

  LaQuandra bit back a sob as she nodded her head. “Yes.”

  “No doubt.”

  The obstetrician smiled and then applied a cool gel to her abdomen. LaQuandra’s chest tightened. And she held her breath. Every appointment for the last five months had been like this, her holding her breath. Now she was nearing her third trimester and she was still a ball of nerves.

  This life inside of her was a miracle—her miracle. One she’d conceived on Passion Island, the night she’d confessed to Isaiah. Though it was a blessing, she was so afraid of anything happening to her unborn child. She’d lied so many times about being pregnant and had feigned countless miscarriages that she was afraid she’d reap what she sowed for deceiving Isaiah and for spreading those horrible lies out into the universe.

  She didn’t want her deception to somehow manifest itself into a curse.

  The doctor moved the wand over LaQuandra’s swollen belly and . . .

  Whoosh, whoosh . . . whoosh, whoosh . . .

  There it was. Her son’s little beating heart. The sound of love and hope and second chances filled the room.

  “His heartbeat is very strong and healthy,” the doctor said.

  More tears filled LaQuandra’s eyes.

  It was only then that her lungs expanded and she was able to breathe in, then exhale.

  Isaiah reached for her hand, and stared at her with those dark-chocolate orbs of his that seemingly sparkled with the promise of, perhaps, forgiveness.

  Something he knew he needed to do before his son was born. He didn’t want to witness the birth of his seed coming into the world harboring ill feelings toward LaQuandra.

  She’d hurt him with the truth, but somehow he saw this pregnancy as redemption.

  Isaiah heard Dr. Dangerfield’s voice, “Even in our darkest moments, miracles happen . . .”

  A smile eased over his lips. Dr. Dangerfield had been right. Hope truly did bloom.

  Isaiah squeezed LaQuandra’s hand even tighter. And then he cupped her cheek and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, and then he pulled away, taking his lips with him, the kiss over almost as soon as it started.

  But it was a start.

  Baby steps.

  * * *

  A blisteringly gush of wind whipped around Krista’s legs and blew up her coat as she bit into her bottom lip pensively.

  “If you want your husband back, then go to him. Fight for him . . .”

  Those were the words that swirled around in her head as her foot landed on the last step of Kendall’s new townhome. The door swung open just as she reached out to press the doorbell. A blast of warm air greeting her along with . . .

  “Krista?”

  “Hell—oh.” Krista looked from Kendall to the five-foot, eight-inch woman with the cocoa-brown skin and cute spiked haircut, then back at Kendall, this time with questioning eyes.

  Kendall drank in the sight of her. She looked different. Thinner. Despite so many months slipping by, he . . . she—

  “Persia, Krista—my soon to be ex-wife.”

  Ouch. Krista felt the sting of those words and cringed.

  “Oh,” Persia said. She and Kendall had been seeing more of each other, more openly, over the last several months. “Hi.”

  Krista forced a smile.

  Kendall leaned in and kissed Persia on the cheek. “Thanks for stopping by. Talk, soon?”

  A surge of jealous anger jolted her. And yet Krista knew she had no right to her feelings. After all, she’d pushed him out. Hadn’t she? And, obviously, straight into another woman’s arms.

  Persia smiled, reaching for his hand. “Of course.” And then she flicked a glance at Krista. “Nice meeting you.”

  With a raised brow, Krista sent her a cold stare and stepped back, allowing her to walk by. Krista waited for the disgustingly pretty, doe-eyed bitch to flounce her bouncy-ass to her Jaguar and then slide behind the wheel, before bringing her attention back to Kendall.

  “I guess I should have called, first?”

  Kendall shrugged his left shoulder. “Probably,” he said, as he leaned against the doorframe, blocking the doorway. “What brings you by?”

  God, Krista missed him so much. She’d say anything—do anything, just to have him one last time.

  Persia blew her horn, and Kendall smiled. And Krista saw something strangely unfamiliar flicker in his eyes, something . . . primitive. Or maybe she was simply imagining it.

  Still, she had to know, “Is she one of your ass lickers?”

  Kendall resisted the urge to laugh hysterically. But he frowned instead. “Look, Krista. What does that—?”

  “I’m sorry,” she quickly said. “I’m not here to fight. Can I come in? Please?”

  “For what?”

  “Please.” Krista heard the pleading in her voice, and wondered if Kendall had heard it too. “Please,” she said again, now unconcerned about how it sounded.

  He sighed, then stepped back, allowing her enough space between them to get through the door, her body mere inches from his as she crossed over the threshold.

  She stepped inside the living room, glancing around the place. It was tastefully decorated in a masculine yet modern kind of way. Several candles sat on a tray burned on top of a large rectangular, leather ottoman.

  Kendall closed the door. “So what brings you by?”

  “I-I-I wanted to see you—you know, before our divorce hearing.”

  Kendall’s brow rose. “For?”

  “To say I’m sorry, Kendall.” She fidgeted with the ends of her coat’s belt, wrapped tightly around her waist. She choked back a sob. And then cursed inwardly. She’d promised herself on the ride over that she wouldn’t break down. That she wouldn’t come off broken and needy—although she was.

  Broken.

  Needy.

  She’d thought the separation and pending divorce would be easy; that she could walk away from her marriage and move on with her life, without him. But it wasn’t and she couldn’t.

  “Look, Kris—”

  “I’m in therapy,” she blurted out. “Working on my, um, issues. Dr. Dangerfield referred me to a—”

  Kendall blinked, somewhat shocked by this revelation. “I thought you didn’t like her.”

  “I didn’t.” Krista shook her head. “I mean. I thought I didn’t. But I swallowed my pride and broke down and asked her for help. It wasn’t her I disliked. I realized it was me I detested. I blamed her and that whole trip for what happened between us, when all the while she was right, you were right. I—my thinking—was the problem. And I came here to thank you.”