Authors: Risqué
Quinton didn’t respond and Payton could tell that a million thoughts were running through his mind as he looked down at how her pussy dripped. She knew he hated that he was attracted to how much of a bitch she was, but she also knew that it kept his dick hard.
“This shit is going to be the death of me.” He slid to knees.
“I knew you couldn’t resist.” Payton moaned, throwing her legs over his shoulders.
D
ominique sipped her third glass of wine and held a lit cigarette between her fingertips. She sat on the edge of her bed and fought like hell not to stare at her reflection in her vanity’s mirror. Yet, no matter which way she turned there she was, beneath the crystal chandelier, looking into the reflection of her eyes and wondering how despair, bankrupt feelings, and fucked-up thoughts had etched their way onto her brow.
She was supposed to be fly at all times, high on life, not wearing misery on her face. After all, she was never content with being a plain Jane from New Orleans. She always knew she was destined to have more, which is why she couldn’t contend with her first boyfriend, Harry Johns. Hell, she didn’t even like his name. He was too boring, too safe, had never been outside of Louisiana, and yeah, he had a big dick and a mouth filled with tongue tricks, but nothing about him satisfied her fantasy.
Then there was Sheldon Lewis, the assistant pastor she dated. But after six months she’d had enough. All he wanted to do, in between screwing her, was keep her in church all day, preparing her to become his first lady. There was no way in hell that she wanted such a responsibility. She believed in God, but being the head of a church was a whole other level. And she didn’t want to settle, because ever since she was a little girl she
knew exactly what she wanted in a man: wealth, power, a ruler of men, Super Man … Obama’esque. A real man, who, when she strolled her size-fourteen hips down the street with him on her arm, every bitch in her path hated and salivated because they weren’t Dominique, the baddest bitch of them all.
Dominique knew that sluts may have had more fun, but meek and mild women always won, because men chose them to be their wives, to have their babies, and to stay by their sides. So she placed herself in a position to quietly be noticed. She moved from Louisiana to Hollywood, where she became a real estate agent. Worked her way up the ranks until she finally landed the right client—the Chief Investment Officer of Anderson Global.
She’d sold him his house and on the day of his closing he asked her on a date. She accepted and six months later they were married. Finally her fantasy had come true; she rubbed elbows with the stars, befriended all the Hollywood wives, and quickly became pregnant; striking gold the first go-round: twin boys.
She had only one problem: Quinton’s affairs.
He’d gone from late nights, to overnights, to two and three nights out of the house. He treated her as if she were at the top of his shit list and he barely interacted with their now four-year-old twins.
Dominique knew that the only thing left for Quinton to do was pack his shit and never come back again … but there was no way she could let that happen. Not when she’d wasted the last five years of her life loving this man; and she’d done everything to keep him, from searching through his things, to hooking up a surveillance camera to see what he was doing when she wasn’t around. She was desperate for anything she could find that would give her a clue of what she needed to do to get her husband back where she needed him to be.
Dominique heard Quinton’s keys jingling in the front door and she quickly mashed her cigarette in the ashtray, stood in front of the mirror, and ran her hands along the sides of her
white lace negligee. She hoped Quinton would find it appealing, since in the last year he hadn’t touched her much.
She heard his footsteps coming closer to the bedroom door. She hurried and lay across the center of their oval king-size bed.
Once Quinton entered the room Dominique pushed thoughts of where he’d been out of her mind and pressed forward. “Quinton.” She did her best to give him a full smile. “I’ve been waiting for you, baby.”
Quinton stared at her lying across the bed and she could tell by the look in his eyes that she drained him. “I’ve had a long day.” He sighed.
“I know, baby.” She forced herself to smile, her eyes tracing the redness of his neck. She wanted to ask him what had happened, but she didn’t want to give him any excuse to turn away. “And it’s okay,” she rose from the bed, “because I know exactly what’ll make you feel better.” She walked over to him and began kissing him. “I just want you to know that I love you so much. And no matter what, I will always love you.” She placed her hand on his crotch and began to rub his dick through his pants.
“Not tonight, Dominique.”
She ignored him and led him by the hand to the bed. Though he was obviously reluctant, he allowed her to undress him.
“Quinton,” Dominique whispered in his ear as they now lay on the bed and she straddled his lap, “I just want us to work this out … please.”
He looked at Dominique and she knew he was turned off. Tears of desperation streamed down her face. She felt like she was having sex alone. Quinton’s hands were folded behind his neck, as he watched her bounce up and down on his dick.
Dominique placed his hands around her waist and they simply rested against her skin. There was no gentle guide of “Go ’head baby, work that pussy,” or “Whose pussy is this?” Just the sound of her desperately climbing up and down on his erotic log, and for a moment she wondered if it was even hard.
She knew that continuing to make love like this was useless, so she slid off of him and he immediately rose from the bed. She watched his defined back as he walked out the bedroom door, and in between bouts of shock and a flooding of tears, the faint scent of perfume oozed from the heap of Quinton’s clothes that lay on the floor.
L
yfe worked Arri’s last fuckin’ nerve. And she didn’t give a damn about how fine he was, how much she found herself attracted to him, or daydreamed about him; all she knew was that he was a demanding and arrogant motherfucker that she wished, sooner than later, would take his black ass back to California.
“What he needs,” Khris whispered to her, as they stood at the copy machine, “is some pussy.”
“I don’t know what the fuck his miserable ass needs,” Arri snapped, “but in a minute he will need a secretary.”
“Why?” Lyfe walked over and handed Arri a file. “You plan on quitting?”
Arri looked at Khris—they were shocked and surprised. “I hear everything.” Lyfe looked Arri over and glanced at Khris. “So the next time you wanna talk about what my miserable ass needs you may wanna make sure I’m not in earshot.” He nodded his head for emphasis. “Understand?” He paused and they each faked a smile. “I need you to copy this,” he said as he walked away.
“Damyum!” Khris whispered.
“What?” Arri said. “He’s nerve-racking as hell, right?”
“Nope, that’s not it.” Khris picked up the papers she’d copied. “He wants to fuck the shit outta you.”
“Puleeze.”
“You act as if you’re getting some. Those little freaks on your website don’t count.”
“It doesn’t mean I have to give it to my goddamn boss!” Arri placed the papers from the file into the copy machine.
“Live a little.”
“Oh, please.”
“You didn’t die with Ian.”
Immediately Arri felt frozen in her spot. “The conversation is finished, Khris.”
“Arri—”
“What did I say?” She snatched her papers from the machine and walked away. She placed the copied file into Lyfe’s in-basket and walked out of his office before he could say anything.
For the next hour Arri busied herself with as much work as she could to avoid thinking about the remark Khris had made. She knew that Khris meant well, but there was no way in hell that she was dealing with somebody else’s husband, no matter how fine he was.
Arri could see into Lyfe’s office from the locker-size mirror that hung in her cubicle and Lyfe’s massiveness filled her cubicle, causing her clit to disregard her mind and palpitate. Despite what her mind said, Arri’s eyes knew that Lyfe exceeded eye candy. From his deep and sensually brown skin to his strapping body … She could only imagine rocking against him as he sat her on his dick and made her ride it.
She knew by looking at him that his unending inches would initially hurt going in, but that would be okay, because she knew he would be gentle. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he would be rough, and sweat would pour from both of them like an Amazon rainstorm as he whispered to her, “Take this dick and get used to it!” Perhaps instead of sensual sucks she would welcome hungry tugs, pulls, and pops from between his lips as his tongue fucked her nipples. And maybe he’d suck her clit as she sat on his face and filled his mouth with erotic taffy.
“Arri,” Lyfe called her name and snatched her attention away from her daydream. She looked up and realized that his reflection filled her mirror because he’d been standing directly behind her all this time, staring at the reflection of her hard nipples.
This motherfucker.
“Yes,” she said, turning around and standing up, where Lyfe stood so close to her that air struggled to get in between them.
“I um …” Lyfe paused and for the first time in two weeks, since he’d been at the office and established that he was serious about his business, he fumbled over his words. “Umm.” He cleared his throat and Arri boldly took her index finger and lifted his chin, bringing his gaze from her hard nipples to her face.
“Yes?” she said.
“Damn.” He looked slightly embarrassed. “I was … ummm …” He stepped back and collected himself, straightening his tie. “Listen, I hate to do this to you, and I know it’s close to five o’clock, but I need to prepare for an internal audit. So this is going to be a late night. I’ll need you and accounting to stay behind.”
“Stay?” she said, taken aback as visions of Zion and her Smooth Operator clients ran through her mind.
“I don’t mean to impose, but I really need you to pull some hard copy files, scan them into the computer, and take some notes for me. If that’s okay?”
Arri knew what he’d said may have come across as a question, but she also knew he was far from asking. “Sure.” She forced her lips to form a crescent moon. “No problem.”
“Thanks.” Lyfe turned and walked toward the accounting department and Arri overheard him telling them about staying late. She walked over to Khris’s cubicle, where Khris was putting her coat on, and leaned against her desk. “I need a favor,” Arri said as Khris placed her purse on her shoulder.
“Gurl,” Khris frowned, “it’s five o’clock and you know my boo is coming over to rock da spot. So ask me the favor on the way to the train.”
“You just a nasty freak,” Mare-Hellen interjected into their conversation, never leaving her cubicle. “Where you need to be is on your way to church.” She shook her tambourine.
“I really am not in the mood for this.” Arri rolled her eyes, and looked at Khris. “Listen, I have to work late and could you please, please get Zion from aftercare for me?”
“It’s cool, gurl,” Khris assured her. “Plus, he can play Wii with Tyree while my boo and I cook dinner.”
“Thanks,” Arri said with a sigh of relief and headed back toward Lyfe’s office, where he sat behind his desk, writing out the list of files he needed her to copy and scan. His usually cuff-linked sleeves were flipped at the wrists, his tie no longer hung around his neck and now lay at the side of the desk, while the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, giving her eyes quickies as she fucked him with her gaze.
Thankful that he couldn’t see her wet panties, she rapped lightly on the door frame. A look of frustration lingered on his face as he stroked his beard and looked up.
“Whatever it is,” Arri said, “you’ll work it out.”
His eyes smiled. “What are you talking about?”
“You. Whenever you stroke your beard you’re upset about something.”
Lyfe gave a sexy chuckle and half a grin. “And how do you know that?” His eyes drifted down over her hips and back up to her face again.
“Because I noticed it … I guess,” Arri said, her eyes settling upon his wedding band. “Is that the list you’re preparing for me?”
“Yes,” he said, walking over and handing it to her. “There will be a few others tomorrow, but this is it for now.”
“Okay,” Arri said as she took a step back and he took a step
forward. “Umm … you said this is it?” she nervously asked again.
“For now.” He nodded, as they continued her step back and his step forward dance, until the door frame halted Arri in her spot and they stood there, with her pussy creaming and his dick dreaming of connecting them. He brushed her hair behind her shoulders and she warred like hell not to kiss his hand.
Arri spoke softly, her lips a breath away from his, “A Mr. Glenn Peters called wanting to discuss his portfolio. I placed his message on top,” she pointed to a mountain of handwritten messages she’d placed on Lyfe’s desk earlier that day.
For a moment Lyfe looked at Arri slightly confused and then he walked back toward his desk. He sorted through the messages and said, “You should’ve forwarded these, including Peters’s call, to California and had him speak with Quinton King—that’s his department.”
“I did,” Arri said, standing up straight, “but Mr. King hasn’t been in all week.”
“Yeah,” Lyfe said as if he were speaking to himself, “I haven’t been able to reach him either.”
“And most of the clients,” Arri pointed back to the stack of messages, “are calling here.”
Lyfe paused. “All right, I’ll reach out to them in the morning.” He picked up his legal pad and pen and said, “I’m going into the conference room with the accounting team; when you’re done, join us. I’ll need you to jot a few things down.”
As Lyfe stepped out of his office, Arri let out a loud sigh and closed her eyes.
Once she collected herself she went to the file room, pulled what she needed, scanned, copied, and put the information back in its place. Afterward, she joined Lyfe and the accountants in the conference room, where he stood before them, explaining what he’d found, and what he expected them to do.