Mister Musician

Mister Musician B. LOVE PROLIFIC PEN PUSHER Copyright © 2022 by B. Love All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Contents Preface Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Epilogue BLP Meet and Greet About the Author Also by B. Love Preface If Love is a Death Sentence, epilogue poem, written and performed by Jasmine Sims. Please note: Abortion is mentioned in chapter 30. Chapter One Saint October When Saint pulled his still hard dick out of Whitney, she whimpered. Out of all the women he fucked with, Whitney was the one. The only one he spent quality time with… the only one he fucked raw… the only one he had feelings for that went beyond lust. If he wasn’t in such a messed-up situation with Tristan, Saint would have married Whitney. She accepted him with all his flaws and gave him the grace to make them better. While his grandmother told him no woman could change him, she made it clear one day, he’d find one worth changing for. Whitney was that woman—there was no doubt about that. “Why you poutin’?” Saint asked, already knowing the answer. “I want you to stay inside me.” He grinned as he sat on the edge of her bed. “You got me all day, bae. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” “You promise?” Saint nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I promise.” That was enough to make her smile. It… him… his presence… always was. Saint’s money nor fame ever swayed Whitney. She only wanted him. “Okay. Well, I’m about to order us some food. I didn’t know you were coming through, so I didn’t take anything out.” “That’s cool. Meet me in the shower when you get done. I got two more nuts left before my shit goes down.” Whitney’s glowing face lit up even more as she nodded and grabbed her phone off the nightstand. Making his way through her bedroom, Saint smiled and shook his head. He could fit ten of her apartments in his home, yet he always felt happiest and most at peace in her small, one-bedroom abode. Once he had the water in the shower going, he looked himself over in the mirror. She’d scratched up his neck, chest, and probably his back too… but that was to be expected. Whitney loved his rough, nasty dick. Saint couldn’t help but think about how differently his life would have been if he’d chosen love over fame years ago. Choosing love over fame would have meant choosing Whitney over Tristan. Would the outcome have been the same, or were they getting along so well now because of time and how much they’d changed? As he showered, Saint tried to remind himself that the little pockets of peace and happiness he felt with Whitney made all the other bullshit worth it. In due time, he’d be free of Tristan and able to be with Whitney all the way. That thought was the only hope he had to make going home without her bearable. His eyes were closed when he heard the door open. As soon as cool air filled the foggy shower, his skin felt like it was being sliced open by leather. Saint’s eyes popped open at the exact moment Whitney hit him with a belt again. “Aye!” he yelled, reaching for the belt unsuccessfully. The shit stung like crazy, throwing off his reflexes. She was able to hit him twice more before Saint had a good hold on the belt and was using it to pull her into his chest. “Have you lost your fucking mind, Whitney?” “You dirty dick ass motherfucker!” she yelled with tears in her eyes, fighting to break free from his grip. “What the hell are you talking about?” Carrying her out of the shower, Saint didn’t even bother cutting the water off. Between his burning skin and her fighting in his arms, he had bigger things to worry about. “What was the only thing I asked of you, Saint?” His head tilted and brows wrinkled in confusion. “That I be loyal and protect you.” “Exactly! I didn’t give a fuck about you sleeping with other bitches because I knew you would do that anyway. All I asked was that you be loyal and protect me, and you couldn’t even do that.” “Whitney, I don’t know what you’re talking about, bae. I’m going to need you to tell me what you think I did wrong.” She laughed as he placed her on the edge of her bed, holding her down by her arms. “Oh, I don’t think you did anything wrong; I know you did.” Nostrils flaring, Saint felt himself beginning to lose his patience. “Spit it out, woman. I’m tired of talking in circles with your ass.” She huffed, finally giving up the fight. “When I went to order the food, I noticed I had a voicemail from my doctor. She told me she couldn’t treat me because my STD results show I have syphilis.” Whitney inhaled a deep breath. “You’re the only man I’m having sex with, so who else could have given it to me?” Saint’s hands dropped from her arms. “I didn’t give you that shit. We get tested together every six months.” She chuckled. “Then you need to go ahead and get tested because I’m sure you have it too. Now which one of your whores gave it to you?” Licking the corner of his mouth, Saint