Power Couple

by Allison Hobbs

  I called the suite and crossed my fingers, hoping Michelangelo would pick up.

  “Yello!” said a man with a Southern drawl.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. It was the fucking preacher!

  Though disappointed, I didn’t miss a beat. I instantly went to my backup plan. “Hey there, Yancy. It’s Cori Brown. How are you?”

  “I’m fine as of now, but I won’t be for long if you’re calling to give us some bad news. I hope you’re not gonna tell me that our leisure time is over and you have some kind of atrocious challenge for us to do,” Yancy said with a groan.

  “No, not at all. I was only calling to remind you guys to study and to wish you all luck. Are you all together in the suite?”

  “Becca and I are playing cards and losing our minds from boredom. Michelangelo hasn’t come out of his room today.”

  “He’s probably studying. A word to the wise…your time would be best spent if you were studying, too. The competition is going to get even more difficult, Yancy.”

  “I’m sure the three of us have studied your recipes so much, we know them up and down, in and out, and sideways.” He laughed loud and heartily at his corny joke. I chuckled politely.

  “Okay, well, congrats on making it to the final three. Good luck on Monday. Now, I’d like to speak to Becca, please.” I didn’t actually want to speak to Becca, but I had to make it look good.

  He put Becca on the phone and I repeated the spiel about studying. Her slurred responses let me know that she had been drinking—and it was only a little after ten in the morning. I’d heard from LaTasha that Becca was a lush, but now I realized it with certainty. It was a good thing she didn’t stand a prayer of winning. We couldn’t send an unreliable drunkard on a press junket, nor could she be trusted to represent my brand.

  I pretended not to notice that Becca was tipsy. After wishing her luck, I told her that I needed Yancy to get Michelangelo.

  “I’ll get him,” she offered.

  I considered her offer, but declined. “No, Yancy can do it.”

  “Okay.” She sounded disappointed.

  I didn’t give a fuck about her disappointment. She struck me as the kind of drunk who became flirtatious and sexually uninhibited. I didn’t want to risk her going to Michelangelo’s room and then worming her way into his bed while I was waiting on the phone.

  Becca relayed my message to Yancy, and I heard the preacher say, “Okay, be right back.”

  Nervousness set in as I waited to speak with Michelangelo. I was playing with fire and the mixture of fear and excitement was so exhilarating, my heart began to pound.

  It took less than five minutes for Michelangelo to pick up the phone. “Hey, Cori. What’s good?”

  Ah, that voice. So smooth and sensual. I was immediately catapulted back to our make-out session in my dressing room. His hands gliding over my body, gently squeezing my breasts, and then meandering between my thighs and stroking my clit through my panties, and bringing it to rigidness. Thinking back, the clit action was probably when I became entranced and was unaware that he had pulled my panties down. I wondered if he’d slid a finger inside me while he was playing with my cooch. Did I hump his finger and moan? I wondered.

  Suddenly, I was aroused and was eager to finish what we’d started in my dressing room. “Listen, carefully, Michelangelo. Don’t let on that we’re having a personal conversation.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve been avoiding you, but after what happened with Ralphie walking in on us, I’m sure you can understand the position I was in.”

  “Yeah, I understand.”

  “But today I’m willing to take a risk. I want to kidnap you for the day. But, for obvious reasons, Becca and Yancy can’t know. So, play along with me, all right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you want to be kidnapped?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said in a voice that didn’t betray any emotion. His response was so lackluster, I wasn’t sure if he wanted to spend a day with me or not, but I pressed onward.

  “Have you been studying my recipes?”

  “I was watching one of your DVDs when Yancy knocked on the door.”

  “Oh, very good. I’m glad you’re staying on top of your game.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Well, I want to wish you luck for the next competition.”

  “Thanks, Cori.”

  “Also, I want you to figure out a way to slip out of the hotel, undetected. Meet me at Pinkberry at the end of the block at noon.”

  “Will do. See you later.”

  I hung up and broke into a smile. For the first time in my marriage, I was actually going to step out on my husband and fuck another man. I so desperately wanted to pay Maverick back, I would have chosen the first swinging dick that passed my way, and so I felt extremely lucky that the man I was going to cheat with was easy on the eyes.

  If that fine-ass Michelangelo was as good at his fuck game as he was with those long, magical fingers of his, I was in for a hella good ride.

  CHAPTER 25

  Not having access to the driver the network provided, I had to drive myself to meet Michelangelo. Miscalculating traffic, I arrived twenty-five minutes earlier than I should have. With time to kill, I gazed at the cheerful-looking menu and ordered a Pink Bubbly, which was described as being a light and sweet, champagne-like, nonalcoholic beverage.

  Incognito, I had on a floppy straw hat and huge sunglasses. I sat in the back and sipped on the drink, which tasted pretty good. I checked to see if Maverick had left a text or voicemail to let me know he’d arrived safely. Of course, he hadn’t. He’d probably gone straight to a brothel after checking into his hotel.

  Fuck you, Maverick; I have a side piece of my own to spend the weekend with!

  I’d never been this infuriated over Maverick’s man-ho ways. I supposed it was the idea that he was willing to risk diseases to be with the women he once referred to as being the most beautiful in the world. He acted like he lost his mind when it came to Brazilian women.

  Azaria Fierro was from Brazil, yet he hadn’t given her the time of day when he was a guest on my show. At least not to my knowledge. I supposed she was too Americanized for his taste.

  I glanced up and was surprised to see Michelangelo sauntering inside the frozen yogurt shop. On the sly, I checked out his confident stride, and decided that I definitely liked his swagger.

  When he noticed me, he flashed a big, gorgeous smile. There was something about the delight in his eyes that made me feel girlish and pretty—and desired, and I hadn’t felt that way in quite a while.

  Don’t get me wrong; my husband and I had amazing sex, but Maverick hadn’t broken into a big grin at the sight of me since the early years of our marriage.

  Michelangelo began making long strides toward me. The eagerness in his walk made me fear that he might greet me by picking me up and swinging me around. Younger men could be overly enthusiastic, which would be fine if we were behind closed doors. One never knew where the paparazzi were lurking.

  I stood up and firmly held up a palm.

  Taking heed, he stopped walking, and I pranced right past him and went out the door. I headed for the parking garage two blocks away, and he trailed slowly behind me. We remained silent when we got off the elevator and were approaching my Porsche Cayenne.

  I opened the cargo door so he could put his backpack inside.

  “Nice ride,” he said and then closed the door.

  “Thanks.”

  Inside the privacy of the SUV, our eyes locked and I suddenly couldn’t wait for him to stretch my cooch out. The waves of heat radiating from his body told me he was feeling the same way.

  I pressed the button that turned on the ignition, and put the air on full blast.

  The next thing I knew, he was leaning close and speaking softly. “Is this really happe
ning? Am I really here with you?”

  Blushing, I dropped my eyes.

  He moved closer, so close I could feel his warm breath against my cheek. The touch of his hand against my neck put chills all over my heated flesh. There was a whirl of sensations inside me that I couldn’t control. Any moment now, I would be getting down and dirty in a parking garage with a contestant. God, if the media knew about this…

  I shivered with desire when Michelangelo dipped his head lower, his mouth aiming for mine. He crushed his lips against mine with a passion that Maverick hadn’t shown for far too long. Sure, Mav’s fuck game had not diminished. He could still make me cum loud and hard. But there was no more romance. He kissed me like I was his sister or a cousin.

  Michelangelo’s mouth was hot over mine, his tongue wild as it parted my lips and stroked inside. My hands went up to push him away, simply so I could take a moment to catch my breath and think rationally. But instead of pushing him away, my arms ended up wound around his neck, and my fingers became tangled in his thick mass of hair.

  Close to him, I couldn’t identify a particular brand of cologne. His fragrance had an earthiness about it, reminding me of leather and rosewood and sweet memories of love.

  “I need you,” he whispered against my lips and then began kissing me with heated energy, letting out a soft groan as his hands became reacquainted with my body, fondling my breasts, rubbing the lush globes of my ass, and squeezing my hips.

  His desperation seemed to match mine and I was assured that we both wanted the same thing: steamy sex in the parking garage.

  I should have worn a dress, but I didn’t let the inconvenience of having on pants deter me. I yanked the pants past my hips and then over my sandals, and Michelangelo began to furiously work on his belt buckle. While he struggled with his zipper, I leaned over the gear shift that separated us and kissed his face, his neck, and his ears.

  I was so worked up, it took a tremendous amount of willpower not to lick him all over like he was a delicious treat.

  With a hungry look in my eyes, I glimpsed him taking his dick out. My mouth watered at the sight of his throbbing erection. I didn’t know what to do first: bend over and suck him or perch myself on top of him and fuck his brains out.

  Unable to stop myself from at least touching it, I wrapped my hand around the length and cradled his balls in my other hand. I stroked him slowly and sensually until his head dropped back against the headrest in surrender. Droplets of creamy moisture beads dribbled out of the slit and I licked my lips in anticipation. The sensation of his dick, so hot and heavy in my hands, had my pussy clenched up painfully. I was in such a quandary. My mouth was watering with the desire to slurp on his dick, while at the same time, my cooch muscles were clenching and convulsing.

  “I need that pussy,” Michelangelo murmured in a husky voice. Taking away my options, he reclined the passenger seat as far as it would go and then tugged on my arm until I was straddling him.

  “Damn, you’re beautiful,” he said, studying my body. He kissed his way down my neck, and then went lower, taking a rigid nipple into his mouth. He sucked it gently before laving it with his tongue.

  Moaning, I groped for his dick and whimpered his name. I grasped a handful of juicy dick and then guided the head to my silky opening.

  “Um, the condoms are in my bag in the trunk,” he uttered.

  “Fuck a condom!” My pussy was drooling with urgency. It was so wet, it made a loud gushy sound when he penetrated me. I pushed downward, impaling myself on his rock-hard appendage, making sure that I took in every thick inch. Each dick thrust caused pussy juice to splash and splatter. My pussy was so boisterous, it seemed to be shouting out in unabashed appreciation.

  “Damn, you’re juicy,” he moaned, clenching my waist as he stroked inside me. He was giving it to me hard, and I was giving it back, slamming my pussy down his lengthy pole.

  We were fucking the shit out of each other, but at one point, he took control. He gripped my side with one hand and grabbed ahold of the overhead handle with the other and commenced to pounding me so hard, I needed an anchor. I wrapped my arms around his neck, held on tight, preparing to be fucked into unconsciousness.

  The dick was so exceptionally good, it had me babbling nonsensically. I was getting so loud, I had to bite my lip to contain the noise. Not wanting to draw attention to our illicit tryst in the parking garage, I went from lip biting to gritting my teeth in an effort to hold back a scream. But my attempts failed me and uncontrollable shrieks slipped out. Afraid that a passerby would think I was being murdered in my SUV, I had to quiet down. I accomplished that by biting into the headrest, fucking up the buttery leather interior with deep teeth marks.

  When Michelangelo let go of the overhead handle and began to increase his speed of fucking, it was clear what was about to happen.

  “Don’t cum, yet!” I said sharply.

  “I can’t hold it, baby,” he grunted. He came with a roaring sound and I looked around apprehensively. I was certain that some do-gooder was going to run up on us and bang on the window in an effort to stop a crime in progress. Fortunately, no one bothered us.

  I was disappointed that he’d come so quickly, but was placated by the knowledge that he had all day to make it up to me. I remained in position, caressing him, and kissing his neck while he panted and struggled to catch his breath.

  As I rubbed his muscular back, I glanced around the vehicle. Strange things occurred when lust took over. We had used my ride like it was a mini hotel room with wheels, and now the windows were steamed, one sandal was in the driver’s seat and the other had landed on the floor in the back. One leg of my pants dangled from the steering wheel and the other was draped over the console. My Birkin bag had toppled off the backseat and was wedged beneath the driver’s seat. Behind Michelangelo, the headrest was chewed up like a vicious animal had attacked it.

  He opened his eyes. “What the fuck?” he said, noticing the mayhem.

  “I have no idea.” Shaking my head, I lifted off his lap and began gathering my things.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said as I fished around in my handbag, searching for some tissues. Trying to clean his cum out of my pussy with him sitting right next to me was awkward, but there was no way I could drive all the way back to my apartment with semen dribbling down my legs.

  “You’re sorry about what?”

  “For not being able to hold my shit. That’s not even like me to cum that quick. It must have been my excitement over being with you.”

  “It’s okay, you can make it up to me when we get to my place.”

  He frowned. “Is that where you’re taking me—to your crib?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “What about your husband?”

  “What about him?” I said sassily.

  He gave me a look.

  I laughed. “Don’t worry; he’s out of town.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not cool for me to be up in that man’s house. Wouldn’t it be more respectful to go to a hotel?”

  “It’s equally disrespectful to fuck another man’s wife—in or out of his residence,” I countered.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “He’s out of the country. There’s no chance of us getting caught.”

  Michelangelo didn’t look convinced. But I didn’t care. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that my whory husband was somewhere in Brazil, most likely sucking on a big, fake titty at that very moment.

  CHAPTER 26

  I felt bold and didn’t make any attempts at being discreet when I entered my building with another man by my side. The concierge did a double-take as Michelangelo and I strolled past the front desk. He actually gawked at us as if he expected me to provide him with the identity of my companion. With no intention of satisfying his curiosity, I waved hello and kept moving.

  God only knew how many women the concierge h
ad seen Maverick bring home over the years while I was away, and now I was seizing the opportunity to sully what should have been the most sacred place in our home—the bedroom my husband and I shared.

  I couldn’t wait to feast my eyes on Michelangelo’s entire naked body. Sucking dick wasn’t my favorite sex act, yet a twinge of desire spiraled through me as I imagined myself on my knees, being face-fucked. For some unknown reason, I wanted to have raunchy sex with him. I wanted to be the whore that my husband had been throughout our marriage.

  I got hot merely thinking about the welcome-home gift I had in mind for Maverick: hardened cum stains on his side of the bed. What could he say after he’d been hoeing all over Brazil?

  From now on, I was going to give Maverick a tit for a tat. I thanked God that I had such a delectable piece of eye candy to conspire with me.

  Inside my apartment, Michelangelo looked around at the lavish décor and made a number of compliments. He paused in front of the long sectional couch, as if planning to take a seat.

  “Don’t bother to sit down; we’re going straight to the bedroom.”

  He looked surprised.

  “I hope you don’t feel offended that I want to use you for your body,” I said playfully.

  “I don’t mind. Go right ahead and use me.”

  Getting permission to treat a man as an instrument of sexual pleasure felt empowering. Thrilled with my shiny new plaything, I guided Michelangelo along the hallway that led to the bedroom.

  I wasted no time coming out of my clothes. He owed me big time and I was ready to collect. I rarely felt like a seductress around Maverick. Our lovemaking was usually initiated by him. With Michelangelo, I was in charge.

  When I noticed he hadn’t removed one stitch of clothing, I quickly went from feeling like a sex goddess to feeling stupid. He was fully dressed and giving me a weird look.

  “Is something wrong?” I had an urge to grab the duvet off the bed and cover myself.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” he answered, unmoving, standing in the same spot.