Story & Syn: Can We Go Back to Bed

CHAPTER ONE: SYN STREETER

Chapter One: Syn Streeter

"REALLY, SYN? ON MY MOTHAFUCKIN' BIRTHDAY?" Story barked from the other side of the door. I turned the faucet water up as high as it could go, trying to tune her out as I continued to brush my pearly white teeth. It was a little after ten at night and I was getting ready to go to Saints and Synners, my popular nightclub right in the heart of Houston, Texas. Story's shouting quickly turned into her pounding on the door.

As much as I wanted to take a "hoe bath" as the ladies called it, ain't no way in hell I would be able to survive Story's antics for another minute. Luckily, I had showered when I first got up this morning. I flung the door open, nearly knocking Story into my chest. "Look atcha. Acting like we have two first graders in the house instead of one. Really, Syn? Nah, really Story?" I mocked her as I stared at her in disgust.

"Are you really about to leave this house on my birthday?" she asked in disbelief, nearly on the verge of tears. Even with a pretty face like hers, it still didn't move me. Well, it no longer moved me.

"It's after ten at night. A new day is in less than two hours which means your birthday will be over. You can't be that oblivious to what's going on around you." Yeah, today was my wife's 28th birthday, but it was just another day to me. We hadn't celebrated any birthdays within our household in years except our daughter's birthday. Truth be told, I was content with that.

"I'm fully aware as to what's going on behind these mansion walls. That's exactly why I'm looking for solutions day in and day out. Unlike you, I'm not running away from our problems." I grabbed my blazer fit off the clothes rack and began stripping out of my leisurewear. "I'm not running away from our problems either. That ain't even in my character. More like walking away from them but never running from anything. I'm not even trying to ruin what's left of your birthday, so just let me get dressed and get out of here."

"Where are you going? Why can't you just stay until midnight? At least then I would feel a little bit better," she continued, crawling over to the side of the bed I was on. Story got off our California King-size bed and got down on her knees. She didn't utter a single word as she meticulously licked the center of my briefs until it got hard just the way she liked it before proceeding to pull them down using her teeth. She licked the head in a circular motion like a serpent causing me to dig my toes in the plush carpet. I had hit plenty of bitches in my 30 years of living but no one could give head like Story. No one.

"You...like...that?" she asked in between suckling. She didn't even give a nigga time to answer because she took me whole and began sucking like she had something to prove. "Fuckkkkk, Story," I moaned out like a little bitch, grabbing the back of her head to make her deep throat. Not even two minutes later, I bust down her throat. She purposely opened her mouth to show me my nut before swallowing.

"Are you going out now?"

"You think you slick, huh? Listen, there is money to be made. I can't be laid up on some sucka shit. I will tell you this though, with the way you just sucked that dick, you just earned yourself a belated birthday gift."

Story was so taken aback, she didn't utter a word as a single tear drop rolled down her face. Not in the mood for any more of her dramatic antics, I grabbed my clothes and went inside the spare bedroom to finish getting ready. About ten minutes later, I was out the door without Story on my trail. Thirty minutes later, I pulled up to my club Saints and Synners. I named my club after my sister and I.

Her name was LaSaint which we both equally hated the fuck out that name, so she went by Saint. Though she was only 18, I made sure to put her name on all legal paperwork to get her own paper trail started. While I had it, I wanted to make sure my little sister had it too. She was practically a millionaire and only a Freshman at Texas Southern University. Around the block, they called her the black Kylie Jenner. Anyway, my club was unique because not only was it a regular nightclub but it also had a full operating restaurant and bar on one floor and also a strip club on the other floor. My mom wanted me to name it Levels, but I was more of a legacy type of nigga. Yeah, it had a total of four levels but that didn't resonate with me. Just being honest, it sounded like someone of my caliber – a hood nigga with money – would name a club. My mom came from a generation where our folks with money bought the Cadillacs with the different color suits to match and the personalized tags and shit. Don't get me wrong, I loved my luxuries too, but I loved my investments more.