31. Yolani

Today, I was doing the music video for the soundtrack song I'd recorded for the film I was starring in. They wanted to have it done early before I started to show to the point where it couldn't be concealed.

As I sat in my dressing room, I read Cemone's text saying he was outside of my trailer door, so I hopped up to open it, seeing him with my Louisiana Chicken and the banana foster dessert from Eddie V's.

No matter what I asked for, even if from two different places, Cemone would always come through for me. And if he couldn't do it, he would make sure someone else got it to me.

"Thank you." I felt like crying as he ducked through the small doorway, kissing my lips before straightening.

"This shit legit." He shut the door as I happily skipped off with my food and started spreading it across my makeup vanity. "Slow down, baby, shaking my son up and shit." He sat near me.

"He or she is not being shaken up." I rolled my eyes playfully, biting into some of the fried fish. "This batter is heavenly." I held it up.

"Shit is good." He continued to eye my decked-out trailer. "Where yo' trail mix?"

"Over there." I pointed. "You can stop pretending you don't like it now, babe."

"Never." He went to eat a few pieces. "Real niggas don't eat trail mix."

"Since when?"

"Since forever," he replied, eating some.

"So you're not a real nigga?"

"I am. I only eat this shit when I visit you while working. Now if I go buy it from the store, then I ain't a real nigga."

I just stared at him, pondering his logic before laughing.

"Do your brothers eat trail mix?"

"Hell nah, and you bet not ask them next time you see 'em, or they gon' know I been eating it. Because why the fuck would you ask that shit otherwise?"

"So you're a down low trail mix eater."

"Nah, don't say that. My real pops is DL. I don't fuck with that term. And this one is mostly fruit, not too many nuts. That's probably why I fuck with it." He lifted the bowl slightly, examining it.

"Got it." I giggled, thinking back to how the ladies explained to me about the hot dogs not being eaten whole by the brothers. Now this.

I finished up my food, so Cemone trashed it for me before getting down on his knees in front of me.

"My turn."

"No, Cemone. I have ten minutes before hair, makeup, and wardrobe come in here."

"I don't need that much time." He pushed up my thigh-length Skims dress to reveal my panties.

Sinking down into the chair, I relented as soon as I felt his lips kiss my inner thigh while pulling on the waistband of my panties. Once off, he tugged me closer and kissed between my hips, making me moan.

He lapped and laved at my clit, before sucking it slowly but with pressure. As I whimpered, he pushed my thighs back, keeping them apart for the ultimate access, dipping his tongue inside of me every so often.

"Mmm, baby." I gripped the arm of the chair as my legs began to quiver from cumming.

Cemone licked it up, before tapping my bud with his tongue lovingly as if he was enjoying the hell out of himself. I watched him, that handsome face between my legs, sucking on my clit and making me form a puddle in the chair beneath me.

"Mmm, shit," he moaned when I tightened around his tongue.

He came back up, applying pressure to my clit by sucking and lapping at it repeatedly until the back of my head pressed to the chair and my body jerked. I cried out louder than I'd intended, seemingly releasing everywhere.

Biting down on my lip, I breathed deeply, massaging the back of his head as he licked and slurped me clean, before letting my legs down.

"Shit," I commented, Cemone's hands keeping my thighs apart as he looked up at me, planting a kiss below.

Standing upright on his knees, he asked, "Let me hit real quick."

"Cemone, no. I told you I don't have time." I laughed but was serious. I hated when I did that. "And you won't be quicker than two minutes. I don't want jelly legs."

He was kissing on my neck and toying with my sopping wet clit.

"When you done?"

"Yes, after the whole shoot is over," I promised when he pulled back, regarding me with those pretty eyes.

"Aight."

"You love me?" I asked as he kissed on my neck.

"I do. Told you I'm obsessed with yo' ass and how you better outlive a nigga."

"I love you too."

We started kissing passionately, so I nudged him back because I knew where it would lead.

He finally moved away from me and went to the sink to use one of the toothbrushes in plastic to clean his mouth while I cleaned myself up.

A knock sounded off just as I was washing my hands, and Cemone was using the tiny travel size of Listerine.

"Hi, Yolani. We just wanted to give Lorenzo a chance to meet you," the PA said, gesturing to the man who would be starring in the video with me.

"Hi, nice to meet you," I said, feeling when Cemone came behind me because both the PA, Sara, and Lorenzo looked like they'd seen a ghost… no, a monster. "This is my husband?—"

"I know Cemone Compton." Lorenzo stepped up to shake his hand.

When he tried to pull back, Cemone wouldn't let go and instead came down the three steps.

"Cemone—"

"Let me chop it up with you." He waved for Lorenzo to follow him, and though with much trepidation, he did.

"Should I follow?" Sara quizzed.

"No, they will be back," I said just as my hair and makeup team plus Nelly hit the corner and headed my way.

I tried to wait for Cemone to return, but we needed sunlight for one of the scenes in the beginning, so I had to get in the chair.

Ten minutes into my styling, he finally came back, grinning and with Lorenzo.

"I just explained to homie that I ain't fond of other niggas touching and caressing on my wife, even when it's for shit like this. And you know what he said? He said he understands and that he gon' bow out," Cemone explained.

Lorenzo nodded uncomfortably, and I knew Cemone well enough to know this man hadn't said that. They were gone too long, so most likely Cemone had threatened him, scared the shit out of him because he looked as if he'd been to a haunted house, body language stiff as a board.

"Lorenzo, no, it's fine," I said as Nelly snickered.

"Nah, I'm good. I think he's right, and the video really only needs you." Lorenzo nodded, smiling over at Cemone momentarily.

"Aight, cuz. You have a good day." Cemone opened the door to the trailer and waved for him to leave as I stared at him.

Janet turned my face back toward her so she could finish beating my face.

"I need a person for my video, Cemone!" I spat.

"Nah, you heard him, and you done made plenty of videos by ya self. I know 'cause I seen 'em all." He sat down, watching me like he always did when I was in wardrobe and styling.

"Aww," Nelly cooed, something she always did. After, she'd asked me how I got Cemone to be the way he was when everyone knew he was or used to be the worst nigga. "Why don't you just be in it? That would be cute."

"Nah." Cemone shook his head, grabbing my trail mix and depleting it some more.

"Why not? You don't want anyone else to be in it, so that means you have to come through. Saves me money, too, because you not getting paid."

Janet and Nelly laughed.

"It's five hunnit grand to book me, love, sorry."

"Not for me." I then said to Nelly, "Tell the crew to prepare my husband to be in the video with me, please."

"Got it." Nelly rose, snickering along with Janet as Cemone frowned.

Half an hour later, both Cemone and I were ready to do the scene in which Lorenzo was supposed to star in.

As I climbed in the bed with him, once removing my robe, Cemone's brows dipped, gripping my hips since I was straddling him.

"You was about to be in the bed with that nigga like this? You don' lost yo' fucking mind, Yolani."

"No, I wasn't, but since it's you, it's fine."

The scene only called for me to be across the bedroom, singing, as Lorenzo watched me from the bed, but now that it was Cemone, I thought it would be fun to do more.

Everyone else got in place, and once the music started, we began the scene. I noticed the whole time, Cemone's mind seemed to be elsewhere, but eventually, his dick hardened under me to the point where I felt like it would poke a hole in the panties of my lingerie.

"Cut!" the director, Pomelo, called out. "That was perfect, Yolani. I think having Cemone was a good change." He nodded, eyeing the footage.

I sucked my teeth playfully at my husband but noticed he was wearing a serious expression.

"You okay?" I quizzed.

"I need like ten minutes, love. My dick is hard as fuck. I was trying to think about possums, Tilsa, anything to keep my dick soft."

"We don't have ten minutes. We have to move on to another scene." I was giggling at him saying Tilsa.

"Unless you wanna risk me cracking that muthafuckin' camera lens with this shit, I suggest you tell them niggas I need ten."

"Can we get like ten minutes alone really quickly!"

Without protest, Pomelo and the rest of the crew nodded, the former letting me know they needed to set up in the next room anyway.

"Won't be long, I can promise that shit," Cemone said.

Once Cemone and I were alone, I felt him move my panties to the side after removing himself.

Lifting up off of him some, I said, "You are ridiculous."

" I'm ridiculous? You the one straddling me in no fucking clothes, singing about fucking. I could barely concentrate thinking about how I just tasted that shit in the trailer, you carrying my baby, yo' moans, and everything else." He aligned me with the head of him, and I could only moan in response as he penetrated me.

I stood next to my mother and father with Yailey on the other side of me, gripping my hand as the preacher spoke over Avery's casket. It was hovering the plot my father had purchased for him, as Avery's family stood around it, some weeping.

I didn't understand it since none of them gave a fuck when he lost his parents, only my dad. I didn't even know who the hell these people were until my mom explained that these were his aunts, uncles, cousins, and a few childhood friends he'd made prior to his parents' death.

My mother squeezed my hand, and when I looked at her, she half smiled, silently thanking me for coming. I didn't want to, for good reason, but I did anyway for my parents and for Yailey, who didn't know the bad side of Avery. And he and I did have good times when we were younger.

The preacher finished up, then let a few people place roses on top of his casket. I noticed a few niggas come up at the last minute, and they looked familiar. It was only when one zoned in on my bodyguard and then my eyes, did I remember him from that park brawl with Cemone and his brothers.

Ten minutes later, it was time to go to the repast and eat, which I wouldn't be participating in. While Avery had been my brother essentially, it was hard for me to separate the bad shit he'd done from the good, enough to celebrate him over food. Saying goodbye at his funeral was one thing, but I wasn't about to let this shit take up my whole damn day.

"Aye, Lani!" a man called out, and I could tell from his LA hood nigga accent that he was Avery's friend who'd kept eyeing me.

I was thankful that Cemone had convinced me to have security with me, since he, himself, was out of town. I would've much rather have been with him, which I would be later tonight, but I chose to do this for my family.

"Yes?" I turned around to face him.

My father, mother, and Yailey stopped as well, wondering what he had to say as Avery's family crossed the grass, heading to their vehicles.

"I was just wondering if you know what happened to him?" he quizzed.

"He was shot in the face. You know that." I frowned.

"I mean, yeah, but nobody even knew where he and Tilsa were, except maybe you." He stepped up, making my dad get in front of me before even the bodyguard could.

"Hey, I don't know what you're trying to imply, but don't address my daughter again."

"Not trying to imply anything, blood, just asking." He threw his hands up in mock surrender.

I could tell by his demeanor he was personally offended by Avery's death, so I made sure to take the time to commit his face to memory. This wouldn't be the last time he'd try to reach out. Things just didn't work like that in the streets, unfortunately. Not to mention, some of these niggas were jealous, and they wouldn't like the fact that Cemone Compton, the NBA player, had taken their boy out with no repercussions.

"Well don't ask her shit else," my father replied, watching Avery's friend closely as he tread past us, looking me in the eyes.

We filed into the car, and since my luggage was already in the back, my parents took me straight to the private airport where Cemone had sent a jet for me.

I said my goodbyes to them, and then got on, heading to see my man. I tried to take a nap, but with my growing discomfort and Avery's friend swirling my mind, it was difficult and essentially impossible.

Cemone had a car pick me up since he was still at the arena, and it took me to the hotel Cemone booked, which of course was a top-of-the-line suite. In it was a cute card from him, telling me to order some food to enjoy along with some shopping bags.

I did just that, and by the time I began opening my gifts, he was coming through the door.

"Baby!" I hopped up and rushed him. Like always, he picked me up, grinning as we kissed.

"I need to shower, but you can come too." He hit me on the ass once I was to my feet.

Slipping my hand into his, I let him lead me to the bathroom where we cleaned up in the shower, amongst other things, then lay in the bed, ordered his food, then surfed the TV to see what movie we could watch.

"I love looking at you," I said, playing with his beard, leg thrown across him.

"I know." He winked when I rolled my eyes. "How the funeral go?"

"Okay until the end, when one of Avery's friends tried to ask questions about what happened to him. He's gonna try to retaliate, Cemone."

"We'll see."

"He is. He's the one who had the braids. The one Asif and Khari stomped out."

"The big, puffy nigga?" he asked like he was recalling him.

"Yep. So you need to have security too," I replied, and before I could finish, Cemone chuckled.

"I don't need it. Nigga better kill me if he pull up on me, though, 'cause if he don't, he gon' have a reunion with his boyfriend sooner than he fucking think."

I was going to say something to convince him to listen to me, but when room service rang the doorbell, I decided against it. I knew it would be ineffective anyway.

As I said to my mama, boys would be boys or, in this case, gangstas would be gangstas.

So instead of replying, I let him get his food and then watched the movie with him as he ate, while massaging his back.

" H ello, Mrs. Compton. I'm Dr. Kelly. How are you?" A pretty dark-skinned woman who appeared to be about my mother's age walked into the room.

"I'm fine, thank you. Nice to meet you." I shook her hand.

"Same." She simpered then turned to Cemone. "Cemone, nice to see you again." She shook his hand as he stood next to the examination table that I sat on.

"Likewise." He nodded, serious expression.

I chuckled at him.

"Okay," Dr. Kelly sat down, clipboard in hand, "I see that you are pregnant. Any complications?"

"No. Everything is going well, surprisingly," I replied.

"Good. Okay, so tell me a little bit about what's going on. Your husband gave me the quick summary, but I'd like more detail."

I started from the beginning, telling Dr. Kelly everything from the first symptom when I was in my late teens and how we went to several doctors, but only Dr. McCall came up with some type of solution.

"Then Cemone suggested I use someone from his stepfather's network, so that's why I'm here with you."

"Alright." She wrote down more stuff like she'd been doing, all while I talked. "When you had stomach issues, did you ever try a gluten free diet?"

"I did, but it did nothing for my limb pain."

"Okay." She nodded, writing again. "So the medicine Dr. McCall gave does what mainly? Dull the pain in your limbs?"

"It does, but then I get debilitating headaches and spotted vision hours later. I still take it, though, because when I have to perform or do an appearance, I can't without it. She told me I had to stop taking it, though, now that I'm pregnant."

"Alright. Well our OB is going to take a look at you, if that is alright, just to check on the baby." She got up. "I promise, though, that we will figure something out. You were right to listen to your husband and use Mr. St. Thomas's network. We have the best of the best here." She gripped my arm, and for some reason, I believed her.