by Pamela Yaye
Inside the master bedroom, the balcony doors were ajar, allowing the dazzling, crescent moon to light the colorful, cozy space. Marcus was perched on the edge of their custom-made bed in his boxer shorts, clutching his cell phone. He looked deep in thought, as if he was grappling with the answer to a trigonometry problem, but Simone knew he was only checking the day’s football scores. “The couples seminar I mentioned to you last week is being held at the Regency on Saturday night,” she said, “and I’d really appreciate it if you were on time. It starts at five o’clock.”
Marcus rested his cell phone on the side table. “I’ll try my best, but I have a session with that Persian fitness model on Saturday afternoon, and her workouts always tend to run long.”
I bet they do. “Please be on time. This is important to me.”
“Like I said, I’ll try, but there’s no telling when she’ll show up.”
“Then find someone else to train her and come home early.”
Her suggestion was met with a yawn.
“I don’t even know why you signed us up for that seminar. We’re fine.”
“We haven’t been fine for a long time,” Simone confessed, avoiding his gaze. “We argue constantly, and there’s no intimacy in our relationship.”
“What are you talking about? We were intimate a few days ago.” A mischievous expression crossed his face. “As I recall, you came twice that night.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out. He’s joking, right? Surely her husband knew the difference between sex and intimacy. But when Simone saw the proud, I’m-the-man grin stretched boldly across his mouth, she sighed. Apparently not.
Marcus must have read the bewildered expression on her face, must have seen the genuine confusion in her eyes, because he shrugged nonchalantly and said, “Whatever. Play dumb. But we both know you have no complaints in the bedroom.”
Simone paused. It was true. They had an amazing sex life, and Marcus’s kisses left her breathless. But French kisses and multiple orgasms couldn’t fill the void she was feeling inside. Neither did weekly shopping sprees or sessions at her favorite day spa. She longed for more, for a deeper, emotional connection with her husband.
“Can’t we just listen to one of Dr. Phil’s audiobooks or something? I don’t want to discuss our problems with a bunch of strangers. You know how people talk.”
“This is a professional, highly acclaimed seminar, not one of your mom’s weekly bitch sessions at your aunt Lorraine’s house—” Simone stopped herself. But when she saw the harsh glint in Marcus’s eyes she knew she’d crossed the proverbial line. “You have nothing to worry about. No one will ever know we went.”
“Fine,” he said, his mouth a firm, hard line. “If it will make you happy, I’ll go.”
“Great.”
“Good.”
Then Marcus stalked into the en suite bathroom and slammed the door so hard it rattled the balcony-door windows.
Chapter 2
Deep in thought, Simone plopped down on the king-size bed and kicked off her slippers. The pain of her husband’s neglect weighed on her, felt so heavy on her chest she couldn’t breathe. If I wasn’t so tired of having the same argument over and over again, I’d probably cry.
Shoulders hunched in defeat, Simone stared down absently at her most treasured possession. She twisted her wedding ring around her finger, ran her thumb over the radiant, emerald-cut stone flanked by dozens of baguette diamonds. To the outside world, she and Marcus had all the trappings of success—money in the bank, a fleet of luxury cars, yearly vacations to exotic islands. They weren’t keeping up with the Joneses; they were the Joneses. But ever since Marcus had opened a sixth Samson’s Gym location she hardly saw him. All he cared about was building his brand. He was trying to become the Magic Johnson of the East Coast, and if the staggering sales of his first fitness DVD were any indication of his future, he was well on his way. Simone was proud of him, but she missed how close they used to be, how fun and passionate their relationship once was.
Things had been terse between them for weeks. They were cordial to each other, polite, but the tension in the house was suffocating. For days, he’d been moody and quiet, hardly his fun, jovial self. And since he wouldn’t open up, Simone didn’t know if he was stressed out about the business or as upset as she was about the state of their marriage.
“How did things come to this?” she wondered aloud.
Five years ago, Marcus had swept her off her feet. He’d call several times a day just to hear her voice, spent the entire weekend hanging out at her place and once played hooky from work so they could watch movies in bed. And when she was placed on strict bed rest in the last trimester of her pregnancy, and her mom couldn’t travel up from North Carolina, Marcus took care of her. He brought her breakfast in bed, massaged her swollen feet and made so many late-night runs to Wendy’s the staff knew him by name.
Simone gazed out the window, at the stars twinkling in the night sky, and thought about all the times she and Marcus had made love in the backyard. They used to be so in love, so happy, so completely and utterly devoted to each other. But these days it felt like they were living separate lives. Reviewing their heated exchange in her mind, Simone wondered if she was being too hard on Marcus. He was a good man—ambitious, sincere, affectionate. Or at least he used to be. Before fame and fortune came knocking.
Simone bit the inside of her cheek. She had to do something, had to find a way to make Marcus listen to her. But what? Her gaze fell across the framed pictures on the armoire and zeroed in on the one taken at the resort in the Dominican Republic.
Settling back against the quilted pillows, she allowed the memories of the night he proposed to soothe her troubled mind. It was the most romantic moment of her life. They’d had dinner by candlelight, danced to the tranquil sounds of the ocean waves, then made love under a curtain of twinkling stars. Marcus had been so tender that night, so sweet. He always got mushy during lovemaking and often joked that he could be talked into anything after an orgasm.
A smirk tickled her lips. Of course there’s something I can do! Her conscience jabbed her, told her using seduction to manipulate her husband wasn’t the answer, but Simone silenced her inner critic. All I want is to spend some quality time with my man. Is that so bad? Deciding it wasn’t, she opened the side table and rummaged around. “All I need are some candles, a Sam Cooke CD and that edible massage oil Marcus loves so much!”
In seconds, the bed was covered with the supplies. Confident she could turn the night around, Simone whipped off her robe, shook her hair free from its ponytail and hustled over to the vanity table. She knew just what to do to get Marcus’s attention, and when he was finished having his way, she’d have hers.
* * *
Inside the bathroom, Marcus trailed the electric razor along his jaw. He usually used this time to think about ways to boost membership at the club, but instead of strategizing he considered the accusations Simone had made. Did she really think that he was selfish? That he was putting his business above their family? He couldn’t censor his thoughts, couldn’t stop her words from circling his brain. Her insults tormented him, made it impossible for him to think of anything else. He’d given Simone everything a woman could want. Closets full of designer clothes, a hefty monthly allowance and more diamonds than a jeweler’s wife probably owned.
Marcus stared at his reflection in the mirror, saw how tired and haggard he looked. If Simone wasn’t in one of her moods he would have asked her to draw them a bath. When he held her in his arms all the cares of the world ceased to exist. It had been like that from the very beginning, since day one.
A grin overwhelmed his lips when he thought about the night he had met Simone. He still remembered the exact moment he had spotted her. She was with her girlfriends, dancing on top of a speaker at a hip-hop concert, shaking her booty like it was
nobody’s business. Their attraction was instantaneous, intense, like two unstoppable forces colliding. He ditched his friends, she ditched hers and they spent the rest of the night making out in the VIP lounge. Afterward, he invited her back to his place for drinks. They made love twice that night, and Marcus was so enamored with Simone, he stopped hitting the clubs with his boys and started spending all of his free time with her. And when they weren’t together, he was calling and texting her. Marcus unplugged the razor and dropped it in the drawer. After turning on the water, he stepped inside the shower stall and allowed the rising steam to alleviate the tension radiating through his body. He enjoyed reminiscing about those early days, before the kids, before they started bickering and fighting. The moment he’d met Simone he’d forgotten every other girl. Marcus had never fallen that hard or fast for someone, and he enjoyed every minute he spent with the sexy social worker from Chicago’s South Side.
Soon, pleasing Simone became his number-one priority. She was the most beautiful woman God had ever created, the only woman for him, and Marcus didn’t want to lose her to someone else. That’s why he’d surprised her with a trip to the Dominican Republic for their six-month anniversary, and why he’d popped the question their first night there. Two days later, they were married at sunrise on Boca Chica beach. His friends had thought he was crazy for eloping, but Marcus was in love and anxious to start his life with Simone.
Turning off the water, he grabbed a towel from the metal bar and patted his skin dry. Marcus gave more thought to what Simone had said. Had he made a mistake opening another gym? Simone used to meet him at the door with a kiss, cook him meals that would impress the White House chef and give him a kick-ass rubdown at the end of a long day.
Then, he opened his sixth fitness center and the loving stopped. So did her daily inquiries about the business. They stopped confiding in each other and started arguing more. Simone quit being his rock, his sounding board, the person he turned to when he needed sound advice. These days she cut him off whenever he mentioned Samson’s, and she complained constantly about his schedule. She was right though. He was working insane hours. On a good day, he’d leave Samson’s by six and not have to do paperwork in their home office, but that rarely happened.
That’s why he’d met up with his staff at All-Star Sports Bar.
He needed to unwind, and, contrary to what Simone thought, there was nothing wrong with him hanging out with his staff. It was good clean fun, and joking around with his employees helped alleviate his frustrations and stress.
Sighing, he rubbed lotion along his arms and down his torso. Apologizing to Simone was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. Facing her was the easy part. Saying sorry was another issue altogether, he thought, shaking his head.
Marcus stood there, thinking. Tomorrow he’d make it up to Simone. He’d have his receptionist send her the biggest floral arrangement she’d ever seen. That’s sure to get me out of the doghouse and back into her good graces, he decided, pulling on his T-shirt. And if I play my cards right maybe she’ll come with me to Manchester at the end of the month—
Wrinkling his nose, he sniffed the fragrant scent perfuming the air. He smelled sandalwood, patchouli, vanilla. That could only mean one thing: Simone was burning incense. Egyptian musk was her feel-good fragrance and whenever she wanted to...
Dayum. Simone was in the mood.
Marcus scratched his head, shook the thought from his mind. No way. It couldn’t be. She was pissed at him. He cracked open the door and peeked inside the bedroom. Soft music was playing, the lights were low and Simone was lying on the bed—naked. His eyes widened at the sight of her thick, curvy body, and his heart raced like a cheetah in the wild.
What the...? Talk about a quick turnaround! An hour ago, Simone was ready to throttle him, and now she was offering her gorgeous, delectable body for his pleasure.
His breathing was heavy, rapid. Even after all these years, Simone still had the power to take his breath away. He loved her more today than on their wedding day, and just the thought of touching her, of feeling her warm, supple flesh between his fingers made Marcus so hard he could knock over the magazine rack.
Grabbing his towel, he furiously wiped away the water trickling down his face. Simone looked relaxed, at ease, as if she was sunbathing on a nude beach. She’d freed her hair from that hideous ponytail, and now her lush, chocolate-brown locks were flowing over her shoulders, brushing lightly against her erect nipples. They’d been married for years, but every time he saw Simone naked, he was blown away. She had big, beautiful breasts; a pair of long, thick legs he loved to feel swathed around his waist; and an ass made for squeezing and stroking and kissing. But not tonight. Simone loved foreplay—lots and lots of foreplay, more than the entire cast of Sex in the City, and he didn’t have the energy finding her G-spot required.
His eyes roamed over her figure, lingered between her legs. The sight of his wife—stretched out on the king-size bed like a Maxim cover girl model—made his pulse rise, as surely as the erection in his boxer shorts.
Marcus licked his lips.
Foreplay be damned.
He had to have her.
Now.
* * *
When the bathroom door swung open, Simone sucked in her stomach and prayed that the red mood lights concealed the extra weight she’d put on over the summer holidays. One too many plates of barbecue, and now she couldn’t zip her favorite pair of skinny jeans! Simone was glad she’d married a man who loved her for who she was, not for her looks. Marcus didn’t care how much she weighed or what size she was, but her meddling mother-in-law sure did. Gladys took every opportunity to get on her case, and whenever Simone saw her she wished she could take a chainsaw to the family tree.
“I hope this isn’t a dream...”
At the sound of her husband’s voice, Simone blinked. A soft moan escaped her lips. Transfixed by his sheer, masculine beauty, she watched as he strode confidently toward her. Simone couldn’t take her eyes off him, couldn’t stop staring at his hard, muscular body. She desired him, craved every square inch of him. His kiss, his touch, the long, thick erection standing between his legs.
He’s one fine-ass man, she thought, twirling a lock of hair around her index finger. He was built like the Scorpion King—muscled, toned, a physique rippling with tone and definition—and he had more charisma than the leader of the free world. He had a tribal band tattoo around his right forearm, the twenty-third Psalm written in fine script on his left biceps and the word perseverance across his chest. His tattoos gave him a sexy edge, like a bad boy turned good. Marcus carried himself with class, like someone who’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he wasn’t related to the Rockefellers or a card-carrying member of a Yale fraternity. He grew up in a violent, low-income neighborhood, but by sheer strength of mind he’d pulled himself out of the trenches of poverty and achieved all of his personal and professional goals.
“What took you so long to get out of the shower?” Simone spoke in a sultry tone, one intended to arouse, entice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I see. And. I. Like.”
She held up a miniature bottle of massage oil. “You look like you could use a good rubdown, so come over here and let me work my magic on you.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice!”
Simone giggled, felt herself start to relax, to unwind. Marcus smelled good, looked even better and was wearing a sly grin. His eyes were ablaze with lust, so dark and penetrating, she shivered with excitement. The soft music created a romantic feel, a real chill vibe.
“You better lock the bedroom door.”
“Good idea,” he said, nodding. “We don’t want Jayden wandering in like the last time.”
“I know,” Simone agreed. “I almost died when I heard him say my name.”
They laughed together.
&
nbsp; Simone drew air in and out of her lungs, cleared her mind of all worries and stress. She was going to rock her husband’s world, and after, when they were wrapped up in each other’s arms, she’d persuade him to trim his workload.
“Baby, I’m...” Marcus stopped speaking. He stood at the foot of the bed, quietly watching her for a long moment. “I’m sorry about tonight. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Simone heard the sincerity in his tone, saw the truth in his eyes. “I’m sorry, too.”
“Do you forgive me?”
She nodded, reached out and touched his hand.
Marcus covered her lips with his mouth, kissed her with such raw intensity and passion, she groaned his name. Electricity passed between them, then rushed through her like a thunderbolt. Marcus cradled her face in his hands, used his thumbs to stroke her earlobes, cheeks and neck. A tingle shot down her spine. Every part of her body—from her ears to her toes—came alive with her husband’s touch. Simone was on fire, hot, so delirious with need and pleasure she was shaking. One kiss—one long, scrumptious kiss—was all it took to get her wet, and when Marcus cupped her breasts, she tossed her head back and moaned from deep within.
Rap music blared from behind them, startling them both.
Simone broke off the kiss, gestured to the nightstand. “Honey, turn off your cell.”
“Just ignore it.”
“If you don’t answer the person will just keep calling.”
“It’s probably Nate. The Bears beat the Patriots, and he’s pretty stoked about the win.”
Simone rolled her eyes to the vaulted ceiling. She didn’t know anything about football, and even less about its overpaid stars. But now that her best friend, Angela Kelly, had returned to Chicago, she had someone to hang out with while Marcus was cheering on the home team. Now she didn’t have to sit around waiting for him to get home.