Page 18 of It’s The Dawg In Him For Me

Shorty was sloppy with it. Spitting all ova my dick, jacking it with her hand while she swallowed it. She was good—made me take my attention off my work a time or two. It took longer than I felt like giving her to make my dick spit.

When she was done, she sat up and licked her lips with a smile on her face.

I smirked at her. “You proud of yourself?” I asked her.

“Don’t do me like that,” she responded. “I told you I didn’t have the money.”

“You did,” I said as I was gathering my shit. I was done bagging everything up.

She got up off her knees and stepped back, watching me gather my stuff, and I checked my phone and saw my nigga wanted to pick up a gun.

“Damn,” I said to myself. “I need to slide to Queens.”

I was letting my people know I was on the way when she cleared her throat.

“Ugh, excuse me...” she said, trying to sound soft, but she was really irritated. “What about my weed?”

I laughed as I hit the door. “Girl, I said if it was worth it. Your head was not worth it.”

I walked outta the room and to the kitchen for something to drink.

“What the fuck you mean my head wasn’t worth it?”

I took a sip of my water. “What don't you understand? It was iight, mid at best.”

She tried to hit me.

“Fuck you, Rosama! I told you I didn’t have the money for it.”

I nodded. “You did, shorty. I understand that. I told you if it was worth it, I would slide you the Vick. It wasn’t worth it.”

I walked outta the house with my niggas on the game laughing.

“So what the fuck am I supposed to do for my weed?” she yelled out, asking me.

The whole stoop looked at me.

“Bitch, how the fuck am I supposed to tell you? I don’t know what the fuck you gonna do. Ya pussy might be worth some crack if you want to try that.”

My niggas laughed.

“Damn, Ro,” Dre blurted out. “You a damn fool for that one.”

I laughed. “I’ll be back, nigga.”

I hopped in my car and pulled off with the same shorty trying to get at one of my niggas on the stoop.

As I drove, I hit my people and told them I was on the way when DON’T ANSWER called again. This time, I picked up.

“STOP CALLIN’ MY FUCKIN’ PHONE!” I yelled, then hung up before they could even respond.

My plate stayed full, and I was in motion all day; the last thing I had time for was some bird bitch that didn’t want to listen.

After a few other licks, when I pulled around Queens, it was dark out. I hit my nigga’s phone and told him where I was.

While I waited for him to get to me, I sent Nylah a text. Nothing special, just wanted to feel her out a lil’ bit.

Me: Friday, I want you dressed in somethin’ sexy. I want niggas’ eyes glued on you.