Page 22 of The Don’s Virgin Obsession

He laughed. “Oh, well, never mind.”

I started tickling him. “Lil scary boy. I’m going to make you watch Jason.”

I spent a moment with my son, then my mother came and got him for bed. I kissed his forehead and promised my mother I’d be back in a few hours. She never asked questions, just told me to be safe.

I put my overnight bag in the trunk of my Porsche truck and hit the LA streets downtown.

When I made it to the Ritz, I saw V Saint standing by the valet. He was wearing all black, fresh fade, beard lined up, and I was hoping he would let me put my pussy on it. I pulled up and rolled the window down.

“Get yo’ fine ass out, valet gon’ take your car.”

I blushed. I liked how he thought I was fine, even though I knew. I got out. “Should I grab my things?”

“Yeah, you with me for the night.”

He gave me a look, seductive but serious.

“Sounds like a one-night stand,” I smirked.

“It’s gon’ be whatever you make it to be.”

Yeah, he ’bout to fuck me through the mattress, I thought. I thought he was going to take me inside, but we walked over to a midnight blue Challenger, clean as hell.

“You overdressed, ma. We ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he said as he opened the door for me.

“I don’t know how to underdress. It’s just a dress and some heels.”

I slid in, and he closed the door.

He got in. “I forgot I have a car club meeting. Gotta pay my dues.”

He lit his blunt and started the car. The music came on loud as hell, startling me.

“Damn, nigga, turn that down,” I laughed, covering my ears.

“You wanna be wifey, you gotta get used to loud music. Hope you smoke weed. It’s part of the process.”

I laughed. “Whatever, boy. And yes, I smoke.”

He turned up the music, playing “Stacey Adams” by Snoop Dogg. He drove out of the hotel and hit the freeway, but we didn’t stay on long.

Before I knew it, we were in a whole street takeover. V Saint pulled up fast, through the crowd. We ended up in a crowd of Mustangs, Hellcats, Trackhawks, sport Benzes, the works. Luxury star car, Phantom League. I was so caught up in his professional side and forgot this was a hood nigga by night.

“You can stand in them heels for a minute?”

I laughed. “Always.”

“Well, get out with me.”

I stepped out the car and the energy was live. V-Saint kept me close like the Glock he kept in his waist. He was leaned against the car, me in front of him while he smoked and drank with his crew. He had his hand around my waist, and I couldn’t lie, I was enjoying the vibe.

“This too ghetto for you?” he asked lowly in my ear.

“No, it’s just been a min.”

At that moment, a midnight blue Mustang pulled up and the hottest producer in LA pulled up, tires screeching, loud as music, energy on ten. He stepped out loud and cocky.

“What’s the deal, bro? I see you flesh them out like an IV.”