Sexual Healing (11 page)

Mmph.

Of course she took the ring. She always took the jewels. She wasn't born a fool. Still, Wellson could keep his baldheaded wife. And she'd keep giving him pussy as long as he kept her allowance coming, and showering her with gifts.

She glanced down at her diamond ring and marveled at the glittering gem.

Hell. She deserved it.

“A promise of what's to come, baby,” he'd told her, before scooping her up in his arms, laying her on the bed, kneeling before her
and spreading open her thighs, then sliding his tongue along the slit of her pussy until she melted all over his mouth and tongue.

For a man in his mid-fifties, sans the gray in his beard, he had a very youthful body and appearance thanks to his obsessive need to be in the gym and that God-awful dye and Murray's pomade he used in his short-cropped hair that spun around his head in thick ropes of waves.

Arabia had to admit. His deep waves were beautiful.

Still . . .

She reached over and turned on the lamp on her nightstand, then pulled the blanket back and stared at Wellson's six-foot frame. She gave him a disgusted look, taking in his flaccid dick. It lay limp like a long, brown noodle across his right hip. Her eyes flitted up to his head lying on her pillow. She cringed. He'd leave a nasty stain in her pillowcase, for sure.

She rolled her eyes.

How damn inconsiderate!

I need to start making him wrap his big-ass, greasy head in a plastic bag.

She sighed.

Another pillowcase ruined.

Wellson groaned and stretched, pulling Arabia from her thoughts. Aside from a muscled body, his meaty dick was an impressive nine inches when—with the help of Viagra—fully hard. And when it wasn't at its full potential, his long tongue worked wonders on her clit and all over her pussy lips. However, floppy dick or not, Wellson's tongue and six-figure salary made up for his occasional erectile disappointments.

She slid her fingers through her silky shoulder-length wrap, then gave him another long stare. Her hard gaze skimmed back down to his dick. She blinked, then a smile eased over her lips. His cock had come alive. He was rock-hard. And ready.

Never one to let a hard dick go to waste, Arabia contemplated taking it into her mouth and swallowing it whole. But there was something more pressing that had to be done first. So she eased her body up over his and grabbed the headboard with both hands.

“Rise ‘n' shine, Sleepy Head,” she prompted, shaking the bed. “Momma's got a treat for you.”

Wellson slowly opened his eyes, blinked, and finally looked up at the sight before him. He groaned, then smiled. “Mmm. What a beautiful view, baby.”

“Good morning to you, boo,” she cooed. “Are you ready for your early morning feeding?”

No words were necessary. He lolled his tongue out as Arabia pulled open the swelling folds of her cunt, and slowly lowered herself onto his face. He grasped her waist. And then thrust his tongue inside her, his tongue fucking her swiftly, urgently. The frenzied licking drove her quickly toward an orgasm. He pulled her harder on to his mouth. He licked over her pussy, repeatedly, his tongue flat and firm; licking and licking and licking right over her juicy hole. Then came the sucking and slurping. He tasted her sweat heat and wanted more of it—all of it, so he opened her up with his mouth and lapped at every part of her outer and inner lips while she gasped and moaned on top of him. He captured her clit in his mouth and sucked on it. Then growled, and the vibrations sent shivers through her. Ooh, what a greedy pussy eater he was.

Her cunt juices pooled out of her and coated his lips and chin, and Wellson greedily drank her in. Dragging her nails over her headboard, Arabia looked down at him and decided not to let his dyed, greasy-ass hair irk her.

After all, it was only a pillowcase.

She threw her head back, and let out the softest sigh of pleasure. Then drowned him in her juices.

Eleven

O
ne of the conveniences of living in an upscale condo was the on-site fitness center. At five in the morning, Cruze had the facility to himself and he appreciated the privacy. Working on his chest and triceps, he started off with barbell bench presses. He wasn't motivated at first, but by the time he was midway into his routine, working on his second set of standing dumbbell flys, he'd finally gotten into a zone—a Zen-like-state where his mind was trouble free. For Cruze, working out was therapy. An outlet for all the toxic emotions that had been building up over the past year.

Pushing himself past his limit, he became so focused on the movement of the exercises, he didn't notice the gym door opening, or realize he wasn't alone until he heard the voices of a man and a woman.

A distinctive scent permeated the air, and without having to turn his head, he knew that the Hamiltons had entered the gym.

“Good morning, young fella,” greeted Morris. “You're up bright and early.”

“Buongiorno,”
Valentina said, speaking in Italian. Cruze had no idea what the bitch had said and didn't care. “Good morning,” she interpreted, giving him a sly smile.

Valentina looked flawless early in the morning. Wearing fashionable workout gear and with her hair in a high bun that was
accentuated with an intricately knotted leopard-print scarf, she looked like a model for women's athletic wear.

Cruze hadn't come to the gym to socialize, and so he offered the couple only a curt head nod and continued his grueling workout.

“Come along, dearest. We have less than an hour to get in our ten thousand steps,” Morris said, looking down at the activity tracker on his wrist. Taking the hint that Cruze didn't want to be bothered, Morris ushered his wife toward the row of treadmills, leaving Cruze in peace.

He tried to get his momentum going again, but with the annoying couple chatting away as they fast-walked on the treadmill, he was having a hard time getting back into the zone. It wasn't solely their chatter that he found bothersome. Valentina's sensuous accent and the sexy perfume of hers was fucking with his concentration.

Irked by the intrusion, he gripped the set of dumbbells so hard his knuckles paled. Gritting his teeth and grunting, he completed the sets. When he finished working out with the dumbbells, he headed over to the chest pullover machine and positioned himself in the seat. Refusing to rest between repetitions, he switched to supersets, emitting loud grunts as he punished his body.

Seated with his eyes squeezed shut, he didn't see Valentina sidling up to him, but he smelled her, her floral scent tantalizing his senses and alerting him of her presence. He pushed himself harder, refused to open his eyes and give the perky-tit bitch the satisfaction of knowing she was disrupting his flow. However, every muscle and cell in his body reacted to her body heat and her bold intrusion of his personal space. Cruze's nostrils flared and his eyes snapped open just as Valentina eyed her husband, and then slyly dropped the towel that hung around her neck.

Cruze eyed her as she slowly, deliberately bent over—as if she were retrieving her towel—and slyly slithered her hand to his
crotch, stroking him, and then brazenly gathering his balls in her hand.

Heat instantly blazed through his body. Reflexively, he smacked Valentina's hand away—but not before his dick had hardened into a piece of concrete.

Valentina licked her lips and lifted herself upward with her towel in hand, then sauntered back over toward her husband as if she hadn't just fondled his goddamn dick. Livid, Cruze snatched his towel from the back of the equipment, got up, and stormed toward the door.

“Have a good day,” Morris called out cheerfully.

With his dick throbbing in his shorts, Cruze rushed out of the gym without as much as a backward glance at Morris or his out-of-control wife.

Back in his apartment, he headed straight for the shower to cool off and contemplate. His reaction to Valentina confused him. He'd never felt such conflicted emotions before. He couldn't stand the uppity bitch, yet he was fiercely attracted to her. And that nut-ass husband of hers . . . Cruze shook his head. Dude seemed clueless to the fact that his wife was shamelessly chasing dick right in his face.

Fuck both those assholes. If I expect to get a good, uninterrupted work
out, then I'll have to go to a public gym.

Standing beneath the rainfall showerhead enjoying the sensation of warm water cascading over his head and shoulders and running down his back, he lathered soap onto his rock-solid, cut forearms and biceps, while the scene from the gym flashed in his mind: Valentina making her desires crystal-clear as she ran her palm across his crotch and squeezed his nuts. He wasn't sure what kind of games she was playing, but he wasn't interested in getting caught up in any of her bullshit.

Obviously, the bitch was accustomed to getting what she wanted and the memory made him angry and horny at the same time. Cruze didn't understand how he could feel violated, and so turned on at the same time. It caused his dick to bob up and down in an attention-seeking manner. Breathing hard, he clamped a soapy hand around his lengthening cock, and began to pacify it with gentle strokes. With his long fingers closed around his shaft, he thrust upward, slowly pumping dick in and out, and letting his cock meat glide smoothly across his slippery palm.

His entire body throbbed as his hand twisted around the crown of his dick, collecting a gooey mixture of soap and pre-cum. His muscular thighs flexed and his balls clenched with need, but he didn't want to cum too quickly. Prolonging the pleasure, he gripped the base of his throbbing cock and held it tightly. Then, switching to a lazier pace, he slid his palm up and down his straining cock. Feeling the blood surging up his shaft, his hips jerked forward as he picked up speed, his cock jumping in his hand as he jerked eagerly, hungrily. Need clawed its way up from his balls. Ready for the rush of release, he groaned and violently drove his turgid flesh into his tightly closed fist, imagining it was that Italian bitch's cunt he was pounding. Fuck yeah—he'd fuck her until her ovaries shook loose, fuck her until she passed out.

In his head, he heard her begging him to fuck her. Heard her telling him how badly she needed his dick. Chest heaving, pleasure soared as he fucked his fist. His face twisted in a grimace. His heart knocked against his ribcage, he was almost there. Almost, almost . . .
unh, shit—

The sound of the door chime interrupted him, mid-thrust.

Fuck!
He ignored the chime and continued with quickened strokes that were angry and forceful, his rhythm and hold almost brutal.

The bell rang again, followed by frantic pounding.

Who da fuck?!
Cruze brusquely turned off the water and yanked open the shower door. He snatched a towel off the rack and tied it around his waist. As he stalked to the living room with soap suds and water beads speckling his brawny chest, there was a clear imprint of his long, hard dick beneath the towel.

Looking through the peephole, a part of him wasn't surprised to see Valentina standing on the other side of the door. She stood there holding the handle of a large gift basket and wearing a trench coat and red fuck-me heels.
This arrogant, persistent bitch!

He swung open the door, intending to curse Valentina out, but when her coat parted, revealing bare, cinnamon-colored thighs, Cruze's dick began to thump.

Noticing the anaconda that writhed agitatedly beneath the towel, Valentina blinked and moistened her lips. “Hello, darling. I come bearing gifts.” She held up the basket, her coat splitting open wider.

His baser instincts taking over, Cruze was no longer able to remotely resemble a civilized man. “Yo, why you keep fuckin' with me?” he growled. Lapsing into caveman mode, he jerked her toward him forcibly—surprise and shock registering on her face.

“Oh, my,” she uttered, the basket slipping from her grasp, and its contents spilling out and rolling in various directions across the floor. Not giving a damn about the gift basket, Cruze kicked it out of his way. Grabbing Valentina by the collar, he ripped off the coat, popping off buttons and revealing her radiant nakedness. As he pressed Valentina against the wall, he flung her coat to the other side of the room.

“I'm sick of your disrespectful ass! You keep tryna tempt a muhfucka,” he growled. “Maybe if I fuck that pussy 'til it's raw, you'll get me out of your system and leave me the fuck alone!”

“Yes, I want you to fuck me until my pussy is raw and bleeding,”
Valentina cried out in unadulterated passion. The sound of her exotic voice affected Cruze like the slow-burning caress of a wet tongue flicking against his groin.

“Unh!” he groaned as a rush of desire swept through him with a dizzying force. He tried desperately to hold on to his sanity, but the dangerous beast inside was struggling to break free.

Infuriated by the effect she had on him, he grabbed her by the neck and choked her, uttering obscenities as he unknotted his towel and allowed it to drop to the floor.

Valentina's eyes instantly darted downward at his protruding hardness. “Oh, your cock is perfection—a large and a marvelous dark beauty.”

“Shut the fuck up and open up your goddamn legs, bitch.” Something wild and uninhibited that he could barely contain, raged within him and Cruze yanked her down to the rug on the floor and entered her roughly in one swift plunge, intending to inflict pain. But her hot pussy opened up welcomingly, accepting his thick, elongated cock with ease.

As he thrust inside her, he grunted like an animal. The primitive sounds he made were foreign to his own ears. Sweat and heat poured off of him. His blood surged hotly in his veins, and his dick stretched deeper and deeper, tunneling into the hot slickness between Valentina's velvety thighs.

This fucking bitch! Wet-ass pussy . . .

His dick was cocooned inside her tight, contracting walls, and Valentina ran her hands down his muscular back, and caressed his ripped arms.
“Mmm
 . . . Oh God, yes! So g-good.
Mmm
. Fuck me, you magnificent stallion!”

“Yo, shut the fuck up!” Cruze growled, grabbing her legs and bending them back, holding them steady at the back of her knees, opening her wider to him as she grew wetter around him. Crazed
with lust, Cruze fucked her like a wild beast, ravaging her cunt until it clutched wildly, weeping out in delight as the powerful, piston-like thrust sent heated chills through her body. Valentina clawed at the Persian rug, her eyes rolling wildly up in her head.

“Yeah, I see you ain't talking shit now, muhfucka,” he hissed as he slammed into her so hard, her fake boobs bounced and jiggled. Eyes flaring open, Valentina's climax grew as her nails grasped at Cruze's sweat-slicked back, feeling the muscles flex; the rhythmic blows of his pelvis brushing relentlessly into her clit. Cruze grunted. “Sneaky-ass bitch! Is this what you wanted, huh? This hard-ass dick fucking the shit out of you?”

Valentina opened her mouth to speak, but no words came; just gurgling moans of pleasure. Her tongue knotted in the back of her throat. Valentina felt the ache inside her sizzle and spread like a wildfire. Oh God—yes! His dick was excruciatingly delicious; the exploding rush of pleasure caused her back to arch, and tears to spurt from her eyes. She'd never been fucked so damn good before, until now.

Cruze groaned. Sweat dripped from his face, slid down his chest, then dropped onto Valentina's bobbing breasts. He was getting there, and he let out a harsh moan as the familiar blast of heat ignited in his balls. He accelerated his strokes.

“Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes . . . give it to me,” Valentina purred. “Fill me up with your seed; fill my pussy with your beautiful black babies.” Her words struck a chord and Cruze exploded, bellowing in lust and anguish, his mind slipping from the present.

“Chancellor was yours,” Ramona had tearfully confided after the children's double funeral.

Misunderstanding her meaning, Cruze had tried to comfort her by
saying, “Yes, Chance was my little man. My godson will always be in my
heart. Niyah, too.”

“No, Cruze. I can't keep the secret any longer.” She cupped his face and forced him to look into her eyes. “Chancellor was your son.”

Still not believing what he'd heard, Cruze frowned, realization bloom
ing in her words. “What? Chance was my what?”

Ramona swallowed, fresh tears filling her eyes. “Chance was your son
, Cruze.”

Cruze gazed at her wild-eyed and frantic. “And you never fuckin' told me?!”

Looking terrified, Ramona shook her head. Before she could say another word, Cruze wrapped both of his big hands around her throat, and shook her. “I should kill you, you fuckin' bitch! Why didn't you tell me that Chance was my son?” Frothing at the mouth, he tried to choke the life out of her.

“Ahh!”
Valentina screamed. “Let me go! Get off of me! I'm not into that kind of kinky shit.” Valentina gasped as she tried to break free of Cruze's vise-like grip. Desperate, she clawed his face and his hands.

Brought back to reality, Cruze suddenly released Valentina's throat. With confusion in his eyes, he looked at his hands as if they were unrecognizable weapons. He looked from his hands to Valentina's troubled face. “Get out,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“What?” Valentina asked.

“Get. Your. Shit. And. Get. The. Fuck. Out,” he said, enunciating each word clearly. Valentina gave him an incredulous look. “What the fuck? I said fuckin' bounce, yo! Now!”

Shocked by the sudden change in his demeanor, Valentina gasped, brown eyes flashing up at him with a mixture of fury and hurt. How dare he speak to her in that manner! Impatiently, Cruze took three long strides and grabbed her arm with one hand and snatched up her coat with the other. Valentina tried to wrench her arm from his grip to no avail, cursing him in her native tongue
as he hauled her to the door, opened it, and tossed her and her trench coat out into the hall. He slammed the door.