Married on Mondays (4 page)

Sundays consisted of going to sunrise church service with her sisters, then to the spa with her sisters, shopping with her
sisters in the afternoon, then having a late lunch with her sisters. Monday evenings Foxy had a standing appointment to share
quality time with Winton, if that was what one could call having dinner. She hadn’t been vaginally penetrated by her husband
in three years.

“Have a good day, honey,” Foxy told her husband, kissing his lips. “Think you’ll be home by midnight?” she asked, hoping to
encourage him.

Shaking his head, Winton answered, “Not tonight, sweetheart. The new client, remember? You know her case is going to be all
over the news today, so I have to get on top of this one early. Don’t wait up.” He gestured for another kiss. “Oh, and I need
to call your cousin Dallas about his DUI. Figured out a way to get the charges dropped.”

“I appreciate you so much, baby,” she said, giving him a lingering kiss.

Why couldn’t she be honest with her husband? In a man’s world, a man having sex with multiple women wasn’t perceived the same
as a woman sexing multiple men. Winton’s coming home after midnight meant she’d cook, have dinner, fuck her ex-fiancé Dallas,
make it home before midnight, bathe, then fall asleep before Winton eased into bed beside her.

Winton put on his eyeglasses, snapped open his
Crème City Times
newspaper, lowered it to his lap, then said, “I love you, woman,” staring at her ass.

Foxy swayed her booty. The attitude in her butt should’ve conveyed to him that she was getting dicked-down really good by
some man. Her husband was either too blind to notice, didn’t want to see the truth, or like most foolish husbands, he assumed
she’d never cheat on him. She turned her head, gave her husband a wink, and smiled before strutting out the door of their
lake view home on South Shoreline Drive for a morning quickie with the man she could’ve married.

H
is wife wasn’t out the door two seconds before he’d started getting prepared for Nova. Winton was excited and nervous to meet
face-to-face for the first time the woman men all around the world fantasized about fucking. Nova had graced the cover of
sports magazines with swimsuits the width of shoelaces. He was anxious to find out if her perky breasts were real. One lingering,
tight embrace and he’d know.

He retrieved the warming gel from his medicine cabinet, turned on the shower, saturated his left hand, then stroked his dick.
He was proud to have a dick the size of a ten-inch-long salami. He had no idea how Foxy swallowed his entire billystick, but
she was the only woman that had.

The heated sensation of his dick got hotter with each stroke. “I bet Nova’s pussy is hot like this,” he said, stroking faster.
“Open your mouth.” He visualized his dick waxing her lips. “Ah, yes. Suck the head, baby. Harder. Harder.” He grunted. “You
ready for this hot cum. Hold your titties together. I’m getting ready to… ah, yes.” He imagined cumming on her nipples, then
watching her lick his creamy cum, as his seeds washed down the drain. “Damn, that bitch was good, and she doesn’t even know
it.”

He shaved extra close. In case she initiated a hug, he didn’t want his mustache to scratch her multimillion-dollar face. His
Sexualé cologne was usually reserved for after work but not today. He brushed his teeth twice, rinsed three times, and shoved
a handful of peppermints in the inside jacket pocket of his five-thousand-dollar suit before getting in his luxury sedan.

The second he started his engine, the Bluetooth connected. He dialed the office from his cell.

“Brown, Cooper, and Dawson, how may we represent you?”

“Hey, this is Winton. I’m on my way. I should make it there before my client, but if I don’t, call me immediately when Ms.
Nova Scotia arrives,” he told his assistant.

“Sure thing, Mr. Brown. Anything else?”

“That’ll be all,” he said, pressing the end button on his steering wheel. His standard commute time was thirty minutes.

Six-thirty Tuesday morning there was moderate traffic on the freeway into the city. Another hour and cars would be bumper-to-bumper
the way he wanted his dick on Nova’s ass.

The golden pyramid landmark, owned by his firm, occupied one square block and marked the center of Crème City. Winton parked
in the garage, rode the express elevator to the fiftieth floor. The top floor was exclusively his. Its peak marked the highest
point of all the downtown structures. His partners shared the floor below. The forty-eighth floor was their courtroom, the
place where they conducted mock trials prior to
going to court.

Winton fully extended his office windows six inches, then inhaled the fresh air. He had the most amazing 360-degree panoramic
view and was the only man that could look down on every business and residence in the city whenever he wanted. He gloated
at being the envy of all his counterparts. Winton refused modesty. He’d worked exceptionally hard to become the best lawyer
in the country, taking on cases others believed impossible to win. His ethics and consistency earned him first right of refusal
on the majority of big cases like Nova’s.

His intercom buzzed, then he heard, “Ms. Scotia has arrived.”

Spraying air freshener, he pressed the button, then replied, “Great, send her in.”

The strong air-conditioned breeze blowing through his office floor vent blew Nova’s sheer white skirt above her hips as she
entered. He struggled to keep his focus on her and off her hot body. The exposure hadn’t fazed her, but her super-protruding
nipples made him feel like a deer caught in her headlights.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing toward the two chairs across from him.

Nova slid her chair from the opposite side of his desk. She sat diagonal, facing him. If she extended her leg, she’d touch
his. Normally he’d tell his clients not to move either of his chairs, but he was glad she’d taken the initiative to come closer.

His eyes scanned from her lap, up to her lips, and back to her nipples. If he were ordering from an à la carte menu as he’d
done countless times, he wouldn’t know what delicacy to choose first. He felt the gleam in his eyes shining from her light.

Lord, why me? Yield not to temptation again, man,
he thought, then said, “Excuse me.” He inhaled long and slow, lowered his eyes, stared at the V that had gathered between
her thighs, scratched his brow, tapped his pen on the desk, then pushed back his chair. Her headlights commanded his attention.
The wheels glided along the plastic mat giving him, giving them, three feet of space. His eyes lost contact with her nipples,
but the image was etched in his mind.

The morning sunrays beamed through the windows, over his shoulders, and onto his computer screen making it difficult for him
to enter data into her file. Bypassing the thermostat that registered sixty-seven degrees, he closed his office door, considered
locking it, but didn’t. That wasn’t a good idea. He twirled the rod until the interior blinds closed. Didn’t want his staff
or counterparts walking up observing his interaction with Nova. He pressed a button. The wooden horizontal blinds covering
the exterior windows tilted upward, redirecting the sunshine toward the ceiling, away from his computer.

Winton glanced at Nova’s silky legs. Her French pedicure, long thin legs, and slender feet exemplified…
sexxxy.
If he were fortunate, he’d have them wrapped around his waist soon. He didn’t believe in luck.

Her crushed diamond slip-on stiletto dangled across toes he’d dreamed about kissing, sucking, stuffing in his mouth while
fucking the shit out of her missionary style, so he could admire her beauty and observe her distorted facial expressions as
she came for him. The lace straps of her glittery candy-
apple red thong stretched over the elastic waistband of her skirt, shaping her butt cheeks into an incredible heart. He’d
love to bury his face in her butt and lick her asshole.

Damn.
Winton wasn’t sure if he should thank Nova’s man or curse him. His timing sitting back in his chair was impeccable as she
uncrossed her thighs, fanned her skirt above her knees, then crossed her ankles. He got a whiff of her sweetness and almost
got a view of her crotch. Was her pussy fat, flat, cameltoed? Did she have a landing strip? Was her pussy bald?

Smoothing his hand over his mustache to shield his parting lips and hard tongue, Winton exhaled into his palm, then said,
“Start from the beginning, end with telling me how you became so mad with your boyfriend that you ran into him with your car.”

W
hat attracted a married man to a woman other than his wife?

During his twelve years of practicing law, he’d represented many gorgeous women. Short. Tall. Plus size. Bald. Long hair.
Average looking. Thin. He’d sex a woman less attractive than his wife without reservation, knowing he had a better-looking
wife at home. If he ever divorced or separated from his wife, if only to make his wife jealous, he had
to have a woman more gorgeous and more successful than his wife.

A few times he’d slipped into the arms of his clients for comfort, three women to be exact. An attractive woman could do many
things for a married man—make him feel good about himself, remind him he was worthy of praise and pussy for his hard work,
or let him know the grass wasn’t always greener (on her side), giving him good cause to redirect the generosity he exhibited
toward her toward his wife.

Nova’s succulent lips, the lips his wife obviously envied, parted just enough for him to see her sparkling Lumineers. Did
she taste minty, fruity, or like sugar in the raw? The red rouge on her upper lip blended into a vibrant pink tease on her
lower lip. Her mouth was surrounded by a hint of chocolate liner. He imagined her inner and outer pussy lips and her shaft
were the same, a blend of red, pink, and chocolate.

“My boyfriend is hot. The tabloids just announced he was voted the sexiest man in America. You know that? Of course, you do.
Everybody knows he’s the hottest man alive. But I can’t control these groupies. He has women in heat all over him, all the
time. I mean, I have my share of men flirting with me, but the difference between how fans respond to a male
celebrity versus a female celebrity is women are bitches. And desperate bitches in heat will do anything to get a man. Those
bitches make me
soooo
mad,” she said, making fists. “I want to”—right, left, right she punched the air—“beat their asses to the ground.”

She inhaled, then continued, “But I refuse to be their financial ticket out of poverty because most of them don’t have anything
to offer my man except their broke-ass pussy. Those bitches have no respect for my man. They have no respect for themselves.
And they damn sure nuff don’t have respect for me.”

Nova stood, stepped to him, then said, “Let me show you what I mean. One woman tried breast-feeding him in front of my face.
Can you believe this?”

She raised her skirt, straddled his chair, shoved her irresistible 100 percent authentic titties in his face, grabbed her
blouse, lowered her top, then rubbed her super nipples across his mouth.

Fuck!
It took every ounce of fortitude to keep his hands off her. He recalled squirting cum on her nipples while he masturbated
in the shower earlier. He nibbled before leaning back. Squeezing her biceps, his dick hardened against her thong. He felt
her engorged shaft grinding against his billystick.

“Ou, you’ve got a nice big one,” she said, retreating to her seat. “But you see what I mean. Men don’t disrespect me that
way in front of him, so why do these bitches keep testing me?”

Precum oozed from Winton’s dick. He’d done nothing wrong this time. How was he to know she’d show him her tits and tell him
things that made him want to fuck the shit out of her sexy ass right now? He loved her edginess. Her fire was what he desired.

The growl of Nova’s voice when she said, “One way or another this will come to an end,” turned him on.