Memphis Streets 2 (Urban)

Chapter 32- Momma Peaches

"Right there, baby. Right there. Momma's coming. Momma ... ahhhh."

I clutch the back of Cedric's head and smash his face into my pool of pussy juice. Even then, his tongue doesn't stop flicking and rotating. When I think I can't take any more, this nasty muthafucka thrusts two fingers into my ass, and I shoot off back-to-back orgasms and make sure that everybody on Shotgun Row hears. The aftershocks of that shit have me panting and trembling so hard that the entire bed shakes.

"You like that, baby?" Cedric mumbles around my pulsing clit.

A lazy smile eases across my lips while my eyes grow heavier than a muthafucka.

"What have I told you about talking with your mouth full?"

"My bad." He laughs as he climbs up my body, peppering kisses along the way.

For a brief moment, I think my ass is about to get a small break. Silly me. My ass should know by now that when it comes to pussy, Cedric is a fiend. Fuck. I'm starting to wonder if the muthafucka got batteries shoved up his ass. Some time later, I pass the fuck out. Hell, I don't even know if he was finished or not. I'm just gone, dreaming about getting used to this shit for the rest of my life. Then in the dead of night, my eyes fly open. What was that? Glancing to my right, I verify that Cedric is passed out next to me, snoring. A small creaking sounds begins. I bolt up in bed and instantly go for my .38 that I keep in the nightstand drawer next to the bed.

"Cedric," I hiss. When this nigga doesn't move, I rock his shoulder.

"Cedric, wake up. I think there's someone in the house."

Creak.

"Huh? Hmm?"

"I said-Fuck it."

I peel the sheets off of my sweaty and sex-funked body and grab my prosthetic leg. The floorboards in the front of the house are creaking like a muthafucka by the time I slip into my robe and creep my way out of the bedroom.

"These niggas gonna get tired of fucking around with me," I threaten under my breath as I work my way toward the living room.

Whoever these kids are in my house, I'm going to shoot first and ask questions later. Muthafuckas out here know that I don't play this jacking bullshit. I've worked too hard for my shit. Something clangs in the kitchen, and then a second later my refrigerator door pops open. I take aim at the big nigga who's headlong into my fridge and then hit the light switch.

"What the fuck?" Snake stands up, shoving the last of my pecan pie into his mouth.

"Nigga ..." I roll my eyes and lower the gun.

"Do you know how close you came to having a bullet in your ass?" He cocks a grin.

"I missed you, too," he mumbles, and resumes chomping on that piece of pie.

I frown and shove my gun into my robe pocket.

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, dropping crumbs all over my floor.

"Boy, sit your ass down."

I pull out a chair, and while he pops a squat, I grab plates and silverware and then pour two glasses of milk. "I don't know why you insist on acting like I didn't raise you with some home training.

"I snatch a few sheets of paper towels while I'm at it. "I take it that you're still mad?"

"Just because I'm still thinking about shooting your ass doesn't mean that I'm still mad." Snake reaches for his glass of milk.