Every Woman Needs a Wife (30 page)

Brandi didn’t tense when he lifted her skirt and slowly pulled the powder blue satin panties down and off, only to drape his tongue across the soft velvet of her thighs. Then he trailed a hot path to softly nestle in the curls at the delta. He parted her lips with his moist tongue, but teased along the outside, relishing each moan as he began a soft, gentle rhythm.

“Vernon,” she gasped, not loosening the grip she had on his head.

He shook his head quickly, loosened her hold a bit, and placed his tongue directly in line with her pearl, which stood at Army attention, begging for
his touch. Gently he flicked his tongue across the small pink membrane, grazing it with light strokes.

She rewarded him instantly with the slight buckling of her knees and the sway of her hips as she began to move with him, meeting the soft pressure of his lips. Nectar, hot and salty-sweet, poured forth and spilled out over his tongue.

He stayed within the moist heat, gently coaxing away painful memories he knew had become an integral part of her existence. He wanted her hot for his touch, unafraid to let him take her to a higher level of pleasure.

Maybe starting this way would be the right thing. He wanted her all to himself—no matter how much Michael Cobb stepped up his game.

As her body trembled almost violently in the throes of her first orgasm, he felt jubilant—almost elated.

She slowly allowed her thighs to part a little wider, giving him access to earthbound heaven. Tingling warmth spread from his loins, as a rush of blood gathered low in his body. Soon the heavy warmth of arousal growing beneath his stomach became too much, and he stood, hesitating only a moment to look in her eyes. All the months of waiting, of loving her, of holding her and bringing her out of that shell, could all go back to square one if she wasn’t truly ready.

She reached down, unleashing his throbbing erection, running her delicate fingers across the veins. It throbbed in response and she smiled. She looked at him, taking in all of his face, slowly and honestly. “I’m sure, honey. I want you. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.” The gentle caress of her words cut through the sweet music of the Lake Michigan waves rolling behind them.

And they called this hot, writhing woman in his hands a Fudgsicle? How wrong they were!

With tortured intensity, he inched inside her moist heat as he locked his gaze on hers, checking for any sign that he should stop. The heat spilled around him like the steamy waters of an Arizona hot spring, as her walls gripped and welcomed him at the same time. Something like tiny pinpoints of light exploded in his mind as a river of blood pounded at his temples.
Her eyes fluttered and closed as he stayed within her—not moving, not breathing—just relishing the smooth velvety feel of her. Enjoying her arms wrapped securely around his neck, and her thighs locked around his waist in a loving embrace that every man dreamed of, but only few took time to appreciate.

She moaned again and he took that to be significant and moved more of himself inside her. He stayed there for what seemed an eternity, but was actually only a minute as he allowed her to adjust to his size and gave her the opportunity to pull away. She didn’t move at first, until she favored him with a long, searing kiss—every moment she became more daring, more open to him.

Then he slid deeper into the moist depths of her and pulled away only to have Brandi welcome him back in once again.

♥♥♥

“I want my wife back,” he said, shaking his head, clearing the memories away and pulling his attention back to the heated activity at Thighs High. He shifted in his seat—his dick had started to reach for the sky with the thought of that wonderful time with his wife. He tried to clear his mind and focus on the stage. Watching the fleshy light brown woman quivering her cheeks on stage as though someone had put an electric prod to her did less for him than the memory of his first time with Brandi. The stripper looked like Brandi. And come to think of it, his wife had slowly overcome her apprehensions and could do a striptease that could put every woman in the place to shame. And he could make love to her all night, every night, or every day, all day, without having to worry about catching anything that could make his dick pack up and leave him. The thought of starting over was not appealing. “I’m getting my wife back!”

The atmosphere in Thighs High suddenly become more humid as a few extra bodies lined the stage. Vernon unbuttoned his shirt and struggled for air. He needed to get out. He wanted his life back. Right now!

“Just leave Brandi alone, man,” Jeremy said, watching as another nearly
naked angel dipped around the pole twice, undulating in a way that made every man in the place sit up and pant like rabid dogs, “before she puts a real hurtin’ on your ass.”

Strippers with the bodies of goddesses and the dexterity of trapeze artists quickly scooped up the money, which rained down on the stage from all directions. But to Vernon, none could compare to who he had at home. Normally, watching the show would uplift him (in more ways the one). Tonight all he could think about was his wife.

“You got busted, that’s all there is to it,” Craig said, interrupting his direct eye contact with a stripper the DJ said was named Sunshine. “Be happy you escaped with ass intact. If you’d been married to Avie, you wouldn’t be so lucky.”

All three men shivered at the thought.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Vernon said, loosening his shirt a little. “It’s getting too tight around here.”

Craig lifted his glass, touching it to Jeremy’s. “Most men would consider it a blessing to have both of their ladies in one house, accepting—”

“And can you believe that shit!” Vernon snapped, reality settling in. “Both of them heifers laid up in
my
house, with
my
money. And part of it’s going to Tanya’s house and I still can’t stay there. I’m sleeping at my Mama’s house and I still have to pay maintenance
and
child support. Ain’t that a bitch?”

“And they’re probably sleeping together, too,” Craig said, bellowing with laughter, as Jeremy joined him, falling in step as they reluctantly left their coveted seats near the stage and took the stairs leading to the pool hall and sports bar.

“Boy, I’ll wrap this bottle around your head,” Vernon snapped.

Craig held up his hand in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t get mad at me ’cause you couldn’t keep your women in check, player. Brandi knows how to play the game.”

Jeremy draped an arm over Vernon’s shoulder as they settled around a pool table. “Looks like Brandi made you a pawn in the game ’cause she’s the master of the game.”

Craig chimed in, “Not pawn—
peon
.”

The two men busted up laughing. Vernon didn’t find a damn thing funny.

In the left corner, a large television carried Fox News, which seemed to have ended the serious stories and started on the fluff. “And now for an interesting divorce case happening right here in Chicago,” the strawberry-blond newscaster read. “In a surprise move, the wife asked for custody of…” He paused, read the sheet in front of him again, then looked up into the camera. “Get this! The
mistress
. And the judge granted her request!”

His female co-host chuckled. “Is that a true story, Bob?”

“Afraid so, Cheryl.”

“Some unlucky soon-to-be ex-husband is probably out drinking his sorrows away.”

“Boy, I’ll say,” Bob replied with a hearty laugh. “Hope there’s not much more of this—um—wives pairing up with the mistresses or America will be in serious trouble.”

Chuckles erupted from behind the three men.

A few heads turned to Vernon, as a sudden tension filled the air.

They were all laughing. At
him!

Vernon slammed his drink down on the table. “Come on, fellas, let’s blow this joint.”

Jeremy gripped Vernon’s arm, holding him in place. “With a thirty-dollar cover charge to get in here? You must be out of your cotton-pickin’, chicken-pluckin’, motherfuckin’ mind.” Then his light brown eyes narrowed. “Unless you can reimburse me for my loss.”

Vernon stared at his angry friend.

Jeremy cocked his head. “No? Then we’re in for the night, my brother.”

Craig took a swig of his Miller. “Be a man, Vernon—you didn’t have a problem enjoying the good parts of all this.”

Jeremy took aim at the center of the racked balls. “It’s colder than Brandi’s plans out there. Suck it up and deal with it.”

Vernon leaned against the wood-paneled wall. “Fuck y’all.”

“If that’s the way you want it,” Craig said, laughing. “Might have to take that request seriously. Looks like that’s the only ass you’ll be getting for a while anyway.”

Craig and Jeremy doubled over with laughter again.

“The judge granted her
custody
of the mistress. They had a contract and everything! Ain’t that some unbelievable shit? And you fools are laughing.” Vernon took a swig of beer. “Y’all just don’t understand.”

“Sure I do,” Jeremy replied. “You miss your wife. You miss your mistress.”

“I don’t miss Tanya,” Vernon shot back, realizing that sleeping with that woman had started his troubles. Troubles that didn’t look like they would end anytime soon.

Craig had bent over the pool table to make a shot. Instead, he turned to Vernon. “Then what was the point? She’s costing you a thirteen-year marriage and she’s not even worth missing?”

Jeremy pushed Craig out of the way and hit a red-striped ball into the corner pocket. “If I was gonna pull the stunt that you did, I would never let my wife and my mistress meet.”

Vernon took a swig of the cold brew. “You don’t have a mistress.”

“And that’s the point.” Jeremy set up to make another shot. “You get married, you’re off the market. Bottom line.”

“There’s too many single women out there for that,” Vernon shot back with a line his father considered a trademark.

Jeremy froze for a second, and didn’t even try to make an obvious sure shot as he faced Vernon, glaring at him. “Then you’ve got a problem, Negro.”

Vernon stepped back. Something ugly had come into his friend’s voice just then.

“And it’s gonna take more than what Brandi did to wake you up. Those vows mean something.”

“Let me get this straight,” Craig chimed in, standing at the opposite end of the table. “You still feel like you’re entitled to a little piece on the side even though you just swore up and down you missed your wife?” He shook his head. “Something’s wrong with that, man. And you’re too stupid to see it.”

Jeremy stood up straight, holding the pool cue in front of him. “So all that talk of trying to win her back is trophy time? Something that says to the world that you’ve won.” He didn’t take his gaze off the table. “Grow
up, man. It’s not about winning,” Jeremy said scornfully, his voice dripping with contempt. “It’s not about right or wrong. It’s about fairness. I don’t know how you could’ve changed so much from when you first married her. You were all into her to the point you stopped doing things with the frat. Do you realize we had to cover for your ass to keep you in?” Jeremy shrugged as a small grin slid on to his lips. “You’re just pissed that Brandi got the upper hand.”

Craig missed a shot and stood looking at the table. “And she’s handling her business better than you ever have. You’ve gotta admire her for that. You didn’t marry no punk bitch.”

“That’s for sure,” Jeremy said, but his lips had lengthened into a long line.

Didn’t his boys understand how the world was run? Vernon wondered. Didn’t they know that men had the right to make the rules?

Jeremy was thoughtful for a moment, then said, “You know, if you were smart, Vernon, you’d quit being the victim and actually try to make things right with your wife. It’s obvious you still love her. Especially since none of the ass onstage caught your attention tonight. I still don’t know why we’re up here playing pool.”

“Making good on your lie.” Vernon looked from Craig to Jeremy, asking, “Now about my wife, got any good ideas?”

Jeremy only winked and grinned.

“And I’m keeping your
ex
-wife as far away from my wife as the city allows,” Craig said, finishing his shot. “I don’t want her giving my old girl any ideas.”

“She’s not my ex!”

Jeremy ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair. “Too late,” he said to his friends. “Mine already put in her request for a wife.”

Craig craned his neck in Jeremy’s direction. “You giving in?”

“Hell no! She can have a maid, but none of that other stuff. When that chick’s finished the dishes and the laundry, her ass goes home,” he said, pointing to the exit for effect.

“Mine tried to pull that shit, too,” Craig said, with a wide grin. Jeremy and Vernon looked at him. “I told her that unless the new girl was giving up some ass, I’m not having it.”

“What did Alanna say?” Vernon asked with a laugh.

He shrugged. “Fine, but she wants hers off the top.”

“Really?” Jeremy said. “And what did you say to that?”

“I don’t really remember—,” Craig scratched his head—“but I’ve been sleeping on the couch all week.”

This time Vernon and Jeremy laughed.

V
ernon sat across from his wife at Banderas, a jazz diner in the heart of Chicago’s Gold Coast. Black leather booths with dark wood tables lined the walls; barstools were made of cowhide; and a huge rotisserie oven roasted several dozen chickens at a time—right out in the open.

The restaurant was usually jammed with locals instead of the tourists who hit the area like swarms of locusts. The window tables had a great view of the Magnificent Mile’s eclectic and upscale stores; but for a more intimate ambience, he requested a booth. When Brandi kept gazing toward the window, he asked, “Do you want to get a table by the window?”

She simply nodded.

He immediately signaled the hostess and requested a change.

The winter season had kicked in and the white Christmas lights draped along the trees lining the sidewalks were awesome. Six inches of snow bunched up around the concrete embankments that held flowers in the spring and summer. The city crews cleared the streets in the Mag area as soon as the frosty white stuff hit the ground.