Single Husbands (4 page)

Patting her neck, Nikki gasped for air.

Falling into a Z shape, Herschel grabbed his nuts; then his bald head fell onto the mattress. Shifting his eyes to the corners,
he stared at Nikki as she got out of the bed. Orange tiger-striped imprints of his hands remained embedded in his wife’s flesh.
He saw his fingerprints spiral her neck like a choker necklace tattoo. Damn, he didn’t mean to do that. Herschel witnessed
the bruises darkening to a deep red.
Fuck.
The taping for Nikki’s prime-time television sex-talk show was tomorrow. It was the middle of spring, and if the bruises
hadn’t disappeared by then, she’d have to wear a scarf around her neck to cover up what she’d made him do.

All his wife had to do to keep peace with him was give him some time, undivided attention, and genuine affection every now
and then. “Baby, baby,” Herschel repeated, then said, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what got into me. It wasn’t me. It was some
demon inside of me that unleashed. Please forgive me. Nikki, don’t you see how much I need you.” Stumbling toward her, his
lips pressed softly against hers. His mouth circled hers, trying to pry her thick, luscious lips apart with his tongue.

Honestly, if Nikki had contracted to do a normal talk show or a cook show even, he would’ve been okay with that. But why did
his wife have to be the acclaimed Sexpert for Sexcipes? Why did Nikki have to interview good-looking, wealthy men about how
her natural aphrodisiac, high-protein appetizers and entrees would ignite their sex drive without the aid of penile-enhancement
drugs? Wasn’t like she cooked at home anymore or catered to his dick. Herschel was a man, and he knew how other men viewed
women. The thought of his wife laughing and giggling with men who also wanted to fuck her drove Herschel insane. How many
times had his wife succumbed to being a tramp, then come home offering him her sloppy secondhand pussy?

“Umph, umph,” Nikki groaned, placing her hand in the center of the chiseled chest she used to drizzle her edible heated wax
on, then lick it off. “No, not this time, Herschel.”
Smack!
Nikki’s palm landed against his face. “You need to go be with that bitch you had up in my bed when I got home! All we have
left between us is great sex once a month and you’ve managed to fuck that up too! You can’t even fuck me right. Unleash this!”
Reaching behind her, Nikki kept her eyes on him as he walked away from her.

Fuck.
It was a good thing he had quick reflexes. Herschel ducked just in time to dodge the hand-sized crystal ball that came zooming
toward his head like she was a professional shot-putter.
Crash!
The sparkling ball stuck into the Sheetrock, looking like an intentional creation.

“You are so fucking crazy, Nikki! Stop this shit. Baby,” he said. Racing toward her and snatching her biceps, Herschel rattled
Nikki’s body, trying to shake common sense into her. Couldn’t she look into his dejected eyes and see his aching heart crying
out to her? Probably not.

Swiftly turning her shoulders side to side, Nikki couldn’t break free unless he wanted her to. Herschel didn’t believe in
hitting women, but Nikki was pushing him to do the unthinkable… kill her.

“Herschel, please,” she pleaded. “I just want you to take your things and get out of my house. Let me be. We’re both miserable.
Why can’t you just let me be?”

Oh, now that she’d made it, she didn’t need him anymore? Was that it? If she really wanted him out, Nikki would have to buy
him out. “Baby,” Herschel said, wrapping his chocolate muscular arms around Nikki’s long, shapely torso, “listen to me.” He
glided his hand over her short hair, which was neatly tapered around her mocha face. “That bitch that was here don’t mean
shit to me. I was lonely. I miss you. I mean, like, fuck, you’re pissed off at me and it’s like you’re the one who’s never
home. I miss my wife. Damn, Nikki, you’re gone
all
the time. You’re never here to fall asleep in my arms at night. You’re never here to let me make love to you. Coming once
a fuckin’ month is all I get and you’re the one pissed off. A nut a month is all I’m worth? Let’s work on rekindling our marriage.
I need you, Nikki. Baby, please, let me make love to you right now like we’re on our second honeymoon.”

Staring at him, Nikki frowned.

The woman who was in their bed six nights ago honestly didn’t mean anything to Herschel. But
he
meant everything to Ivory Henderson. Truth was, Ivory wasn’t legally his wife, but he’d given her the title “wife” and unofficially
he’d given Ivory his last name. It was a mind-control game to keep Ivory faithful to him. He wasn’t serious about leaving
Nikki for Ivory. But if Ivory had had half the money and assets Nikki had, Herschel would’ve never married Nikki, because
while he did love his wife, Nikki had become too mannish for him.

In spite of her callous ways, Nikki had gotten what she’d paid for: companionship, a fine-ass man to escort her to public
events, and a damn good lover. Those were the things Herschel still wanted to offer his wife. He hadn’t changed at all. Nikki
had done a one-eighty, turning her back toward him.

Backing Nikki onto the bed, he knew his wife wasn’t finished coming. This time, Herschel climbed on top of Nikki missionary-style.
His muscular thighs parted her legs nice and wide, pressing her legs against the mattress. The head of his dick slithered
over her pussy hairs and along her shaft. He held his hard dick against Nikki’s clit until he felt her pussy pulsating.

Feverishly Nikki kissed him, panting with her mouth covering his. The heat in her breath was the passion that had drawn him
to her on their first date. Maybe if he got himself together, he could make things right between them again.

Mindful not to place his hands anywhere close to Nikki’s mouth or neck, he cupped her ass while roaming his lips all over
hers. He eased his dick inside his wife, slowly penetrating her the way she liked.

“Deeper, damn it,” Nikki moaned, grabbing his ass, pulling him into her. “Fuck me harder. Fuck me harder, I said.”

The day Herschel proposed to Nikki, he promised Ivory he’d never leave her—no matter what. He wasn’t serious about Ivory.
In case things didn’t work out with Nikki, he wanted to make sure he could hit his backup pussy anytime he wanted. Having
two lovers assured Herschel he’d never be alone.

The day Herschel stood at the altar with Nikki, he’d recited the same vows later that night at the hospital for Ivory. Role-playing
had gotten him into more trouble than he’d imagined possible. Sex with Ivory had gotten better than sexing his wife. Herschel
laughed with Ivory, cried with Ivory. They dreamt aloud together. Unlike Nikki, Ivory believed in him. Every man needed a
woman who believed in him. But there was one thing he’d regret the rest of his life, and that was missing the delivery of
his son with Ivory while he stood at that altar with Nikki.

Why couldn’t Herschel respond when the pastor said, “If anyone has cause why this man and this woman should not be joined
in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace”?

Herschel slid his entire body up and down over Nikki’s, trying to figure out how to emotionally reconnect with her. His lips
began to glide from hers down to her chin. Was his once-a-month rationing sympathy sex? If so, he’d take whatever he could
get. Gently he kissed her neck, noticing his fingerprints had slightly faded. He traced her collarbone with his tongue. Positioning
his mouth over one of her breasts, then squeezing her other nipple, he suctioned her nipple between his teeth. Firmly he drew
her areola into his mouth, while twisting her other nipple back and forth.

“That feels so good.” Nikki moaned, loosely wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Slowly his mouth trailed down to his wife’s navel, to her pussy hairs, and onto her shaft. He cupped his mouth over her clit,
pausing for a moment to inhale the sweet aroma of her juices mixed with his. The taste of pineapple-honey-coconut swarmed
all around his mouth. Nikki knew all the right foods to eat to taste sweet. She knew which foods heightened a woman’s libido.

Nikki’s culinary skills started out being for the palate at the dinner table; now his wife was a sexpert: a cunnilingus culinary
chef one day and a fellatio cuisine queen the next, and in unbelievably high demand by singles and couples—straight, lesbian,
and gay people—all around the world. Nikki’s clients didn’t hesitate to meet her demands of fifty grand a day, plus travel
expenses. She was booked for the next two years and had already banked $10 million in nonrefundable deposits.

Licking his wife’s pussy, Herschel thought,
Maybe I should learn how to do the same thing. Bet if I made more money than her, she’d love and sex me crazy.
He’d have to find another way to get rich quick. Nikki’s niche was secure—she refused to give anyone her sex recipes, including
him.

Standing at the altar on their wedding day, Herschel should’ve looked Nikki in her eyes and said, “Baby, I don’t love you
enough to marry you.” But that would’ve meant no all-expense-paid vacations for him with his boys, Brian and Lexington. No
single-family three-bedroom home for Ivory and his son. And Ivory would’ve had to stop lounging around the house all day and
get a nine-to-five job like him. As long as Herschel kept their agreement and lived off Nikki’s interest, Nikki never missed
the monthly mortgage payments from their joint bank account.

Swallowing every drop, Herschel savored the juices oozing from Nikki’s clit. Easing his finger inside his wife’s pussy made
her hotter and wetter. His dick leaked precum onto the sheet. Frantically strumming her G-spot, Herschel felt Nikki’s back
arch. His mouth took in her entire shaft. He suctioned her shaft as if he were drinking one of those mouthwatering piña coladas
at Deco Blue in South Beach. Nikki’s legs started trembling uncontrollably. Swiftly he probed her G-spot… deeper . .
. and deeper… until he tapped her squirt zone. Nikki’s fluids showered his face, pissing clear fluids all over him.

Hell yeah!
That shit turned Herschel the fuck on! No matter how hard he’d tried, he never could make Ivory squirt. Few men could make
a woman squirt and most women didn’t know much, if anything, about female ejaculation. Until Herschel had met Ivory, he’d
thought every woman at least knew she could ejaculate.

Nikki collapsed against the bed. Herschel lay beside Nikki. With all the money they had, he didn’t know how to keep Nikki
happy anymore. Eventually the inevitable would happen. Divorce. Then he’d find out how much he truly loved Ivory.

Nikki whispered, “Herschel, don’t ever fuck some bitch in my house, in my bed. If it happens again, don’t say a word. I’ll
personally pack your shit and put your ass out.”

Correction—now that they’d been married ten years, it was their house and their bed. A divorce was the least of his worries.
Keeping his love affair with Anthony a secret was Herschel’s biggest challenge.

Herschel wasn’t stupid. If it weren’t for what she’d have to pay, Nikki would have divorced him a long time ago. The longer
she stayed in the marriage, the harder it had become for her to force him out. And the other woman in their bed wasn’t some
bitch. She was a one-night stand he’d met at the gym, and Herschel couldn’t remember her name.

Just in case Nikki was serious, Herschel softened his voice. “Baby, I’m sorry, and I mean that,” he lied again. “Please forgive
me.” Raising his right hand, he continued, “I swear on my mother’s grave, you are the finest, the sexiest, the most beautiful
black woman in the world, and I am so fucking proud of you.”

Herschel
was
proud of Nikki, but he also despised that she didn’t need him. He knew that shit. Nikki could have any man she wanted. Why
she’d married him? Herschel knew the answer to that too. He’d spoken all the words Nikki and every other successful, single,
sexy woman wanted to hear. There were a lot of lonely women in the world. So lonely that they’d marry down just to have a
man in their bed, in their life, on their arms, and to have bragging rights over their single girlfriends. A woman like his
wife would stay in a fucked-up relationship to avoid being alone. Nikki wouldn’t admit it, but he knew he filled a void in
her life. He was like her favorite shoes. She didn’t wear them often, but she’d have a fit if anyone threw them out.

“Herschel, hush. Your mother is not dead,” Nikki said, getting out of bed.

“Well, she will be one day,” he said, rolling over and pulling the covers up to his chin.

L
exington Lewis lived for the weekends. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. And occasionally Monday. Saturday night, singles
night, was his favorite night out. Dancing in the shower, he flossed twice between all twenty-eight teeth, including the gap
in his two front upper teeth, then brushed for four minutes, one minute per quadrant. Roaming the bristles between his upper
lip and gums, then doing the same at the bottom, he swiped under his tongue, then back and forth across the roof of his mouth.
Filling his mouth, he swished the warm water between his teeth, then spat the water into the circular drain centered between
his fourteen-inch-long-feet. He thoroughly rinsed his toothbrush, placed it inside the holder, then tossed it on the shower
rack, picking up the bottle of citrus mouthwash. He filled the cap, poured the tingling tangy contents into his mouth, swished
it around, and began lathering up his face towel.

Lexington bobbed his head as he scrubbed the inside of his ears. He intensely washed behind his earlobes and around his neck.
He cleansed his broad shoulders, his slightly hairy chest, and rotated the towel six times under each armpit, singing, “Meet
me at the club, I’m going down . . .”

“Humph. You gon’ mess around with some bitch and catch something you can’t get rid of. And you want to know why I won’t give
you any pussy or suck your dick,” his wife, Donna, said, entering the bathroom. She hiked up her thin cotton robe, sat on
the toilet, then began pissing.