Page 57 of Anything Necessary for Her (Crenshaw Kings #9)

Our mouths fused together as his free hand slipped under my skirt and between my thighs.

Laying me back as we refused to unlatch our mouths, he tugged my thong down my thighs before pocketing it and unbuckling his jeans.

He freed his dick before wedging himself between my thighs and pushing at my opening. We hadn’t stopped kissing once.

“Fuck,” he groaned at the same time that I gasped from the pleasure and pain I felt.

Low’s hands cupped my ass as he used his body to spread my legs wider, pushing himself as deeply inside me as he could go. He withdrew slowly before rushing back in, causing me to yelp softly as I dug my nails into his shirt covered back.

“Low.” I whimpered as he sucked on my lips, grinding inside of me.

“Who this pussy belong to, Peep?” he asked, speeding up some, digging his fingers into my ass. “Shit,” he called out as I came, clamping down on his shaft.

“It’s yours,” I cried.

“This pussy be so fucking wet. Fuck.” He pounded me. “You got my fucking head gone, Peep.” His deep voice vibrated against my ear.

“Stop fucking in my house! Nigga getting more pussy in my crib than me!” Free barked nearby before his voice began to trail off as he receded.

I wanted to laugh, but with the way Low was assaulting my walls, I could only moan loudly.

“You fuck somebody else and I’m gon’ kill him.” Low grunted, hand bracing around my neck while fucking me roughly. “Swear to God I will.” He peered down into my eyes seriously, teeth holding his bottom lip captive just before he moaned himself.

I wondered where he was even getting the idea from because he was very firm at the moment, making sure I understood he wasn’t joking—almost like a warning.

Again, I could only snivel and cum in reply.

Sweat built up over my eyebrow as I went through the routine under Carolyn’s watchful eye. Low being here had helped, however, and like always when he was present, I had yet to falter on one move.

Carolyn attempted to get Low to leave, but he’d told her no and that he was simply here to watch. I wasn’t sure if his reasoning was convincing or if it was the dangerous look in his eyes that made Carolyn relent, but I was happy either way. I needed him here.

Calvin and I had done the pas de deux perfectly, and now I was showing her my solo. By the time I landed in the final pose, my chest was heaving rapidly as I did my best not to smile at my success.

Once Carolyn began clapping while saying, “Perfect, Banks. Perfect,” I relaxed my posture and smiled brightly first at Low then at Nikita, who was watching me with a disdain filled expression. “Nikita, Dante. Let’s go.”

Calvin and I stood off to the side as Dante performed as perfectly as he could, while Nikita stumbled over several moves.

She was messing up more than usual for someone with her skill and expertise, making me wonder if she was drunk or something.

That was until I realized her eyes kept flitting to Low then away, just before she would stumble or totter.

Carolyn finally made them stop, admonishing Nikita embarrassingly before making her and Dante start over and telling Calvin and me we could go.

Making my way over to Low after telling Calvin goodbye, I whispered, “She’s nervous because of you, so maybe us leaving will help her.” I shook my head.

Low had come to practices before, and it was no problem, so I wondered what the fuck was different now.

Opening the door for me after grabbing my dance duffel bag, Low replied, “Yeah, she somewhat tried to proposition me, and I shut it down. Maybe that’s why she on edge or some shit.” He shrugged.

“Glad you said that because I was starting to think y’all messed around from when she first pressed you.” I raised a brow as he shook his head, amused by my accusations as he opened his passenger side door for me. “Didn’t wanna have to kill her ass.”

“You gon’ wanna kill every woman I don’ fucked?” He hesitated on closing the car door, looking down at me.

“Maybe.” I wiggled my brows before he shut the door, rounding the car with his fine, tall ass while peeping his surroundings.

“Read the texts that nigga sent you out loud,” he demanded as soon as he got into the car.

“Huh?” I frowned, utterly confused.

“Trayvon texted you and probably still is. Open the shit up and read it to me, starting from the night I had dinner with ya parents.” I stared at him until he sternly said, “Right now, Banks.”

Nodding, I reached into my bag for my phone, so nervous that I couldn’t exactly remember which pocket it was in.

I suddenly remembered his words from the night we had sex in the sunroom, and it all made sense. Trayvon had been texting, but I had yet to respond, having nothing to say. I never told Low because Trayvon was harmless and Low . . . wasn’t.

He pulled out of the lot, glancing over at me and nodding woodenly at my phone, non-verbally telling me to start reading.

“He just?—”

“I don’t want no summary. I want the date, time, and word for word. And Peep, I hope to God you ain’t respond.”

I did as I was told, telling him the dates and times, plus the texts of Trayvon telling me he missed me, that he knew I didn’t wanna be with Low, that he pressed him outside of Prolific Pointe, and other stuff he hoped would cajole me into coming back to him.

I showed Low at a red light that I had yet to reply.

“He just does that, Low. I’m not gonna fall for it. I didn’t fall for it when you weren’t in the picture.”

“You hungry?” he quizzed, letting me know the conversation was over.

“Don’t kill him, Low.”

“I won’t. Answer the question.”

“Yes, I am.” I sighed after looking him over, and he smirked, so I was able to calm down.

“Block him though.”

I nodded, doing it immediately before running down a list of places I could indulge in.

One week later . . .

“Do you like this one with the glitter or this one that’s just plain but pink?” Waverley held up each tutu as she talked. “I love glitter, but I also love pink. Why didn’t they put the glitter on the pink?” She frowned.

Low had some work to do but said I could kick it here if I wanted. And since Wyatt would be at the women’s center today and Waverley would be here, I did just that.

“Yeah, that’s a hard choice.” I inspected each as they lay splayed on the couch.

The front door burst open, startling us both, before a chocolate woman with dark, shoulder-length hair entered. She immediately sized me up, a plastic bag dangling from her fingers.

“Mom!” Waverley darted around me and rushed her mother as I turned to face her fully, plastering on a smile.

I expected a sober, more poised woman to come back from rehab, but I could tell by the absent-minded way she greeted her daughter and how she kept looking me up and down that that wasn’t the case.

“Hi, I’m Banks?—”

“Who the fuck are you? I hope Willow didn’t hire me no got damn nurse!” she snapped, slamming the door behind her and starting to walk, making Waverley release her and stumble back some.

I hurriedly snatched up Waverley’s tutus just before Low’s mother plopped her ass onto the couch, either unaware of them or just not giving a fuck.

“No, Mom, Banks is Low’s girlfriend,” Waverley said before I could, just as her mother retrieved a cigarette from her bag.

At the announcement of who I was, she shoved the cigarette back into the box while keeping her eyes on me, lips parted.

“Girlfriend?” Her eyebrow heightened as she took me in more. “You’re very pretty.”

“Thank you.” I simpered, not expecting to hear that, judging by the look on her face.

“I’m Whitney, Willow’s mother.” She turned a bit and patted the couch for me to sit.

I did so.

“Nice to meet you, Whitney,” I said.

“Wave, give us some room.”

“Why? I?—”

“Do what the fuck I just said! Go see what’s to cook for dinner or something!” she hollered, a little bit of spittle flying from her mouth.

Whitney was decent, but I could tell the liquor and other bad habits had damaged her looks. Even through all of that, though, I could envision that she used to be pretty. She had her kids’ same deep brown complexion, round nose, and dark hair.

“Okay.” Waverley sullenly rose to her feet from her seat on the carpeted floor, before walking toward the kitchen. As much as I wanted to intervene, I knew it wasn’t my place.

Turning back to me once making sure Waverley had gone into the kitchen, Whitney said, “Low’s girlfriend, huh?” Her eyes drifted from my hair down to my toes before hiking a skeptical brow. “What is a girl like you doing with Low? He ain’t even about shit.”

I felt my eyes widen at her declaration.

“Who isn’t about shit?” I couldn’t have heard her correctly.

“Willow.” She bucked her eyes. “My son. Your boyfriend,” she added, condescendingly. “He’s a typical drug dealer who is only gonna end up dead or in jail. Seems you could find someone better and more suitable.”

“You can’t possibly be talking about that drug dealer that has been taking care of you and your kids since he was a child himself, right? Has to be someone else you’re speaking poorly of.” I hiked my own brow, trying to keep it as respectful as possible, but I was wading in unfamiliar territory.

The few moms I had met—ones of niggas who saw a future with me that would never come to fruition—were polite, welcoming, and had sense. I’d never met a mother like this and of a man I loved. Why couldn’t she have been Trayvon’s mama?

“Oh please. He should be caring for us with his sad, pathetic ass.” She scoffed, waving me off as she dug into her carton of cigarettes.

This was gonna be difficult.

“And what exactly are you , Whitney?” I gave her a fake smile when she whipped her head in my direction.

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t try to help you when you become his neglected baby mother, sitting up all night waiting for his prison calls or having to show your child photos of him ’cause he’s dead.” She laughed morbidly.

She laughed at the thought of her own child being dead or in prison.