Married on Mondays (5 page)

He visualized her ripping off his shirt, pushing him on his desk, yanking his dick out of his pants, and wildly slopping those
hot juicy lips over his head, slobbering his precum in her mouth, then smearing it on like lipstick.

Bitch, you are so fucking fantastic you can have any man you want including me, and you are sitting here tripping over this
one guy who obviously doesn’t deserve you. Why?

Lifting her skirt, she’d push her thong aside, then mount him, this time squatting on the big-ass dick his wife loved to suck
but hadn’t fucked in years. Nova would sit there and let her pussy muscles work his dick out until he exploded inside her.

“Hello! Are you paying attention? I said… why do these bitches keep testing me?”

O
h-damn
. Massaging his erection underneath his desk, Winton regained focus, then asked, “Is this really about the other women, your
strained relationship with your man, or do you have anger management and control issues?”

“Pick one. Hell, pick ’em all!” Nova yelled, leaping from her seat.

Her titties bounced. He picked up his pen, tapped it on the desk. Her nipples were still hard as his dick. She probably never
needed nipple suction cups like his mistress. Isis had worn the cups so much she’d trained her small introverted nipples to
protrude. Inputting insignificant data, he tapped on his keyboard. He’d get the facts during her deposition.

Nova was taking client confidentiality to a new level. What if one of his partners Acer or Naomi had walked in his office
while Nova was straddling him? She knew what she was doing to him. Or did she? Did he? Was his assumption that she wanted
to fuck him conclusive? Struggling to maintain professionalism, Winton eased his hand from his computer midway down his thigh
and choked his dick, forcing his erection to subside.

“Now what really pisses me off is when he flirts back at women in front of my face. That’s blatant disrespect. And why is
his fucking ex-girlfriend always showing up at every one of his concerts? I hate that trifling bitch. She sits in the front
row and she makes her way backstage, and he fucking talks to her like I’m not there. I hate her ass! If she was so fucking
hot, why did he leave her for me?” Nova shouted, flopping in her seat.

The answer was standard. Men were dumb, nah, make that stupid, when it came to dealing with women. And men acted a damn fool
when they dealt with supermodels.

Men who mistreated fine women made it easy for other men to slide their dick into home plate. Winton hadn’t been attracted
to a woman other than Foxy during the first year of their marriage. Shortly after their first anniversary, he started spending
less time at home. Why bother exerting energy to make love to a woman who refused to have his baby until she was ready?

Cumming in his wife’s mouth allowed him to stop praying for the son he desperately wanted to carry on his name and inherit
his empire. Until Foxy was ready to have their baby, he’d deny her the pleasure of having his dick make her cum. And he’d
keep wrapping his dick up while fucking his mistress.

His first affair lasted longer than he’d anticipated, an entire year. His subsequent affairs were back-to-back and each also
lasted a year. And while he hated ending each relationship, he had to. Soon he’d have to end his affair with Isis. Perhaps
he could replace Isis with Nova. New pussy excited him.

None of the women he bedded was worth leaving his wife for. He’d told them that. Not the “not worth” part. He’d told them
he wasn’t leaving his wife no matter what. No way would Foxy walk away with half his assets. Being with a woman that he’d
never leave his wife for evoked emotional pain for those women, but not for him. The more he sexed them, the more attached
they’d become. The better he had sexed them, learned their bodies, discovered their erogenous zones, made them cum hard, the
more possessive they’d become.

Better for him to let them go before any of his women showed up at his front door, or worse, in the courtroom during one of
his trials. He’d stopped answering their calls. Stopped responding to their messages, knowing if he’d let go, eventually they’d
let go too. The advantage to living in the largest populated city in America was that he could easily avoid the places he
used to take his ex-mistresses and start over. Find a new mistress and take her to new places.

Isis claimed, like his previous, she understood he was married. He tried to train Isis to keep her mouth shut by telling her,
“You have to keep this between us. I’m a private man. Everyone knows me, so you can’t go around telling my business. What
happens between us is our thing. It’s special. If you tell your friends, they’ll mess it up for us and I’ll have to let you
go.”

Lately Isis had told her family and friends that he was close to popping the question. That was a lie. She’d asked, “Baby,
do you think we’ll ever get married?” And he’d replied, “The way my wife is acting, we should.” How she interpreted that to
be a semiproposal was beyond him. A few more hits on Isis’s pussy and she’d be history.

Winton wondered if Nova’s concern was losing her man to another woman or that, if his ex won him back, she’d single-handedly
make Nova a paparazzi disaster. Would he become a public failure if Foxy left him for another man? Nonsense. His wife would
never cheat on him. Foxy was faithful to him, and she deserved a little of the extra time she’d pleaded for this morning.

Why did he have to take Nova on as a client? Acer had passed. Naomi too. Maybe he should try to convince Acer to reconsider
representing Nova. Acer was the only serial monogamous man Winton knew that hadn’t cheated on his wife.

“You hate your ex so you hit him with your car? Did he hit you first? Assault you? Has he ever hit you? Were you in fear of
your life so you were trying to get away from him and
accidentally
hit him? Maybe you didn’t see him standing on the sidewalk, thought you were hitting your brakes but
accidentally
pressed your foot on the gas?”

Nova frowned. Her mouth pouted into a sexy O as her lips exposed her teeth. Winton imagined pressing his dick head into her
mouth, parting her lips and teeth wide enough to slide his dick inside. Fair exchange was amicable. If he covered her ass,
she should polish his trophy with those humongous lips.

For a moment, he thought about his wife. Winton wasn’t bored with Foxy. He hadn’t sexed her in so long the desire to penetrate
his wife was gone but his reason wasn’t. Foxy was stunning. Any man would be proud to have such a great-looking wife. Part
of the reason for his divided attention was sitting across from him; the other part, his latest mistress, was waiting for
him to get off from work and come to her place. Maybe he was prewired like most men who enjoyed fresh pussy.

“Accidentally?” she said, first smiling, then frowning at him.

Winton wanted to grab Nova’s breasts, bury his face in her cleavage. His tongue stiffened longing for a lick of her clit,
her shaft. Did she taste like vanilla rock candy, sticky honey, or coconut milk? Were her vaginal juices thick like homogenized
milk, whipped cream, slick like olive oil, slushy like applesauce, or watery? Was she hot like
fi-ya
or lukewarm? Was she tight or loose? Praying he was smarter than his dick and glad his erection had subsided, Winton said,
“Let’s continue this conversation over breakfast at a restaurant.”

Without trying, beautiful women had a way of making men do foolish things. Winton Brown was many things, but he was no woman’s
fool.

T
he second she slipped the key into his lock, opened his front door, she was at home away from her home. Foxy locked the door
behind her. The first time she hadn’t secured the lock, Dallas complained, “Always lock my door, woman. I shoot first and
ask questions later. Never know what ignoramus is bold enough to invade my house.”

Breaking and entering on Shoreline Drive was less than 2 percent, but Dallas believed the low rate placed all of them at a
higher risk. She understood his point. People who were comfortable or oblivious to their surroundings made easier targets.

That day when she hadn’t locked his door, she’d had a lot on her mind. That day was the first time she’d used his key since
she’d given back his engagement ring. She had no intention of using the key after she’d gotten married until Winton had pissed
her off. She’d found another woman’s red lace thong deep inside the inner pocket of her husband’s suit jacket.

Foxy decided to leave the thong there and not confront Winton. That morning, three years ago, marked her reunion with Dallas.
Dallas wasn’t better or worse than Winton; they were different.

Dallas insisted she keep the key to his home. He gave her the attention and time she deserved to get from her husband. She
was welcomed anytime and never had to call first. Dallas made her feel like a woman in and out of bed. The problem was, Dallas
was a lot like her father, Mason Montgomery. With each of her engagements to Dallas came a baby by some woman she had no idea
he was fucking. Foxy had accepted his ring. She refused to accept his children.

She tried convincing herself that Dallas’s children and their moms wouldn’t put a strain on her relationship with him. To
some extent that was true. Dallas never asked her to do anything for or with his children. Told her, “You have an open invitation
to join me when I have my girls.” But Foxy couldn’t imagine sharing her husband with four females who at some point would
take priority over her. Maybe that was the real reason she didn’t want a child. Having a child meant Foxy would have to put
the child’s needs before her own.

That day when Foxy showed up at Dallas’s place, he consoled her. Comforted her. Reminded her, “I should’ve been your husband
in your wedding photos. Not the man you introduced as your cousin. You should’ve married me.” He told her she was where she
belonged. With him. That he didn’t understand why she kept running away from him when she was the only woman he wanted to
marry. Nothing Dallas had said that day made her want to divorce Winton. Her cheating husband made her cheat too.

Foxy had to be equally yoked and equally stroked. Her position was non-negotiable. There was no reason for a debate or confrontation
with Winton. She’d serviced enough married and single men to know that men knew the truth, but they’d never admit: pussy overruled
dick. He’d made his decision to fuck around and so had she. But fucking around was getting old; thirty-one was knocking on
her door, and she was finally ready to have a baby. She didn’t want to be sixty years old sitting at a high school graduation.

“In here!” Dallas yelled from the kitchen. “Breakfast will be ready in a minute.”

Entering the kitchen, Foxy bit her bottom lip, then smiled at Dallas. She removed her red skirt, handed it to him. “Morning,
baby. I’ll finish this,” she said, taking the eggbeater from him. She stood at the counter scrambling eggs in her purple thong
and cream stilettos.

Dallas’s green eyes glistened. He tucked his tongue behind his upper lip, slapped her ass with her skirt, then shook his head.
“Beyoncé, Maxwell, or you want me to surprise you? Think about it. I’ll be in the bedroom.”

Definitely no surprises again this Saturday.
She watched him. His sunken spine separated his back. Firm shoulders narrowed to his slender waist. His hard ass with dimples
on each side sat high as he swaggered. He glanced over his shoulder, winked. His lips curved to one side. She jerked. He smiled,
nodded upward, blew her pussy a kiss. She raked the eggs on a platter. Tossed a few sausages and croissants on top.

As she entered the bedroom, he was stretched atop the
comforter naked with his dick resting on his stomach. Six foot five inches of muscle lay before her. His brown curly pubic
hairs trailed from his navel to his nuts. The hairs on his chest spread shoulder to shoulder. After all the years she’d known
him, Dallas still excited her each time she saw him. Should her marital obligations rank above her womanly needs?