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“I really hate you.”
“But you love this dick, don’t you?”
“Shut up. Anyway, I feel bad that my father thinks he needs to introduce my stepmoms to you when you probably already know their social security numbers.”
“And do, but it’s all right. I’m intrigued by the whole polyamory thing.”
“Yeah, he claims it takes a million woman to make up for the loss of my mom but says three is a good start.”
“If you and your mom are really that much alike, I can see where he’s coming from, but I wouldn’t try to replace you. I’d just say fuck it and be alone or off myself or something.”
She frowned, her eyes on my face for a moment before she spoke again. “You…you really like me?”
Leaning in to kiss her, I said, “It’s a little more than like, Lilith. Maybe a lot more.”
“Oh, they’re so cute together! Hi, I’m Pauline, the first wife,” said a woman who looked to be a little younger than the birthday boy’s seventy years. She was tall and slender and had obviously taken good care of herself over the years. She was also pretty, very pretty. She looked like an older version of the actress Jodie Turner-Smith.
I took her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ray,” I replied.
The process was repeated with the other two wives—Candy and Denita. Denita looked to be in her fifties and was very pretty if rather plain. She didn’t seem as polished as Pauline who wore a sequined dress and heavy makeup, but she was warm and friendly. Candy was probably younger than all three King sisters, who I knew were in their forties, a quiet woman with big eyes and a tentative smile. That quickly, I could see the power structure of this quad. While it seemed all three women yielded to Mr. King, the top dog among the wives was Pauline. Dude definitely had a type because wives two and three were also tall, slim, and attractive. All three were much darker skinned than him, really striking women. Damn, Papa King was a pimp!
The ballroom at Parkton’s Royale Hotel was packed. Franklin “Fat Frankie” King was a blues legend, and folks were happy to celebrate him. The damn mayor was even there.
Memphis, her date, and a solo Umber hung with us for most of the event, and I learned more about the dynamic between the sisters. They were all mean as hell, no-nonsense women. I already knew Memphis, who was three years older than Lilith, wasn’t shit to play with, and it appeared that Umber, two years younger than Lilith, was the most mild-mannered of the three. Lilith was somewhere in the middle of their temperaments. I liked all of their energies.
I didn’t drink any liquor, determined to keep my head clear, but Lilith did. She drank like a fish, and that liquor had her tongue loose as hell, which had me on edge.
At our table, she was uncharacteristically tactile with me, her hand gripping my thigh or my arm. At one point, she actually climbed in my lap. I liked all of that. Hell, I loved it, but she was throwing my concentration off.
Straddling me in that red dress that made her look like a queen, she kissed me, sharing the taste of dry wine with me. Then she buried her face in my neck and slurred, “Let’s find somewhere to fuck.”
Rubbing my hand down her back to her ass, I asked, “Right now, baby?”
“Right fucking now. You so damn fine. You know that?”
“Not finer than you.”
“I love it when you fuck me.”
“And I love fucking you.”
“What am I hearing? Y’all do know there are others at the table with you, right?” Memphis fussed. “Lilith and her drunk confessions. Got damn!”
“It’s cute. Nasty as hell, but cute,” Umber said.
Memphis’s date, a guy named Jerryn, didn’t bother to comment.
Lilith sat up, addressing our table mates. “This man got a dick you wouldn’t believe. It’s so thick and long. I think he done displaced my uterus.”
Memphis glared at me.
Umber laughed.
Jerryn said, “Damn.”
“Uh, I think it’s time for us to go home,” I said to my woman, kissing her cheek. “You think you can walk?”
“Uh-huh! My ankle is a lot better. I’m wearing heels, remember?” Lilith chirped.
