“What the fuck is this thing?” I ask Bish, holding up a piece of metal wrapped in some pink and blue fabric, a star on a string dangling from it.
This shit’s beyond confusing.
Lifting a shoulder, he looks down at the instruction book. “Fuck if I know. How the fuck did I get roped into this shit anyway?”
It’s taken some time, more than a few cases of beer and a couple busted lips, but some of my brothers are coming back around, letting me back in. It’s not easy, my pride fucking shredded, but it is what it is. I love Samantha, so here I am, trying like fucking hell to smooth shit out.
“Poncho’s too goddamn stupid to help, so here you are.”
He chuckles. “Dumb motherfucker.”
“Here,” Samantha says, setting down another pastel colored box with a smiling bitch and a baby on it. She doesn’t set it down as much as she drops it at my feet, smirking, but she gets it on the floor for me. “It’s a mamaRoo,” she tells me when I stare at the box, hoping the fucker bursts into flames.
“A what? The fuck is that?” This baby shit’s too much. I understand very fucking little of it, and what I do get is basic at best. As far as I’m concerned, all the baby needs are some diapers, a couple outfits, Samantha’s tit, and a place to sleep. Other than that, the rest is bullshit, but Samantha wants it, so she gets it. I’ll buy her whatever she wants.
“It’s like a bouncer and swing in one.”
Scratching at my beard, I just nod, not one to argue with my eight months pregnant baby mama. “Cool.”
“You think it’s stupid, right?” she claims, her hands on her hips.
“You don’t wanna know what I think about this shit,” I tell her, picking up my beer and taking a pull.
“You won’t think it’s bullshit when the baby’s crying at two in the morning,” the Princess fires back, her eyebrows raised. She’s begging me to argue, but I won’t. I’ve learned that Samantha’s always right while pregnant. If she tells me the Earth is flat while she’s got my baby in her, then the Earth is fucking flat and I just shut the hell up and smile. Learned that shit the hard way.
“I’m sure I will,” I tell her, watching her walk away. Jesus, from the back she still looks like my girl. Can’t tell she’s pregnant, that’s for fucking sure.
Bish chuckles. “Glad I’m not the only motherfucker with his nuts in some bitch’s pocket.”
“What are you tryin’ to say, brother?” I grunt, knowing damn well what he’s getting at.
“The bitch owns you.”
He’s not wrong. Because here I am, on a Saturday, in her garage, putting together baby shit. She either owns me or I love her. Probably a bit of both.
“Please,” Samantha moans, riding my dick like it’s her fucking job.
She won’t let me back in her life, but she lets me in her body. Guess some things never change.
Straddling my waist, riding my cock, Samantha moans when I lean up and suck a tit into my mouth. Her head thrown back, her hair hits my hand that’s gripping her waist.
Swear to fucking God, the bitch is somethin’ else. Even pregnant.
“Harder,” she groans, biting my shoulder.
Little shit. Grabbing a fistful of hair, I tip her head back and inform her, “We do this shit my way.” Only fucking thing I’ve got control over right now, and I’ll be damned if I let go of that shit.
Samantha nods, her lip sucked between her teeth. “Okay,” she breathes, sliding down my dick slowly, taking me deep. It takes everything in me not to nut when she bottoms out, grinding down. She’s tight, squeezing me death. Swear to fuck, my eyes go crossed.
Thought sex with her being pregnant would be weird. It’s not. That’s my baby, my girl. She could be missing a couple of limbs and nothing would change it, I’d still want her just as fucking much.
I know I’ve got about a half hour left with her. The princess will let me fuck her six ways to Sunday, but as soon as I pull out, she’s done. She’s out of the bed, getting dressed, and I’m on my bike, heading back to my place. And I’m about done with that shit. I’ve given her space. Fucking miles of it. Time? Given that shit to her in spades. And proof. That motherfucking proof? I bought a goddamn house. Put shit in that house. My shit. Space, time, and proof? She’s got it, and I’m done waiting.