Free Hustlin' Divas by De'nesha Diamond

there?” I whap him on the back of the head and then help cram him under the bed with my dust bunnies.
    â€œTa’Shara?”
    â€œI’m coming.” I jump up and grab my T-shirt from the other side of the bed. Clutching it against my chest, I jerk open the door. “Hey!”
    Tracee jumps back and then runs her gaze over me. “What are you doing?” she asks suspiciously.
    â€œN-nothing. I was just getting ready for bed.”
    â€œWhat was that noise?” Tracee glances over my head and peeks into the room. “I thought I heard you laughing with someone.”
    â€œI, um, was on my cell phone talking to Essence,” I say, thinking quickly. “We were just laughing about something that happened today at school.”
    â€œOh.” Tracee’s gaze returns to my open and honest-looking face. “Well, try to keep it down in here. Reggie has a migraine.”
    â€œYes, ma’am. ’Nite.”
    Pop! Pop! Pop!
    Tracee and I jump, but then share an awkward smile. The sporadic gunfire usually starts around nine o’clock and is like a soundtrack to the gang violence that’s creeping toward midtown.
    â€œWell, you better get to bed,” Tracee says after taking a breath. “Good night.” Tracee smiles but casts a final look back into the room before I shut the door in her face—and lock it.
    Pop! Pop! Pop!
    â€œYo, Ma. Your moms be bugging,” Profit says, crawling out from under the bed with a goofy grin.
    â€œKeep it down,” I say, tossing my T-shirt and hitting him on the head with it. “Trust me, you don’t want Reggie to find you in here.”
    Profit jumps to his feet and quickly draws me back into his arms. “I’ll be quiet if you’ll be quiet.” He unhooks my bra and peels the straps from my shoulders.
    Once upon a time, I vowed that I would wait until I was married before I had sex, but that shit flew out the window when I met Profit. Hell, I didn’t even make his ass wait. On our first date, he flashed those diamond-sized dimples one too many times, and the next thing I knew, I was screaming for Jesus and my pink Wednesday panties were hanging from his car rearview mirror. I don’t have anyone to compare him to, but as far as I’m concerned, our bodies were made for each other.
    We click. We flow. We are soul mates. I know this as well as I know that I need air to breathe. Profit completes me—and this small life I’ve managed to carve out with the Douglases. Now I just need to figure out some way to hold it all together, at least until I can roll the hell up out of Memphis.
    Pop! Pop! Pop!
    Profit enters me with one smooth stroke and stares lovingly into my eyes while I try to control the volume on my moans. He doesn’t make it easy for me either. He hooks my legs over his shoulders and tears up my G-spot, my T-Spot, and my Z-spot.
    â€œOh…Profit…”
    Pop! Pop! Pop!
    â€œShhh. Shara…baby,” he hisses, trying to handle how hard I’m throwing my pussy back at him. We go at it until our bodies are slick with sweat and words of love are whispered back and forth.
    Pop! Pop! Pop!
    I roam my hands around my man’s waist and then lower to grip his tight ass. The feel of his muscles flexing and relaxing and the intensity of his caramel-colored eyes keep me wetter than a waterfall. Outside my door, I swear I can hear my foster parents climbing the stairs and heading to their bedroom for the night.
    Pop! Pop! Pop!
    â€œOh…Oh…”
    â€œGood night, Ta’Shara,” Reggie and Tracee call from outside my bedroom.
    â€œOh!” Pop! “Oh!” Pop! “Oh!” Pop!
    In order to keep me quiet, Profit smothers my mouth with kisses and at the right moment swallows my orgasmic cry while my foster parents close the door to their bedroom.
    I drift down from my cloud and start giggling.
    â€œYou think that shit is funny?” Profit