Home Wrecker

by Dwayne S. Joseph

  I closed my eyes a bit. “So the only reason you gave it to her was because of other people?”

  Myles nodded. “I just didn’t think I needed it. Not with her.”

  “You’re a fool,” I said. “Now I wish I wouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Why did you? Are you looking for more of a pay off from me?”

  “I don’t want shit from you.”

  He shook his head. “Damn. I thought it was real. I thought she was the one.”

  “You thought wrong.”

  Myles clenched his jaws again. “Bitch,” he said. “Fucking bitch. I can’t believe she was trying to set me up.”

  “Like I said . . . you’re a fool.”

  Myles looked at me. He didn’t like the truth one bit.

  “You’re not looking for money?”

  “Had I been, I would have had two hundred thousand dollars already.”

  Myles straightened his back and stuck his chest out a little. “Aren’t you being a little overconfident?” As he said that, his eyes roamed from my eyes to my breasts, and then down to my legs again.

  I said, “Don’t play yourself, Myles.”

  He looked back up at me with concession in his eyes. “I guess I’m indebted to you.”

  “I told you, I don’t want anything.”

  “My wife was going to pay you to seduce me. You don’t have to be here sitting in front of me right now. I owe you something.”

  I stared at him for a few seconds and then grabbed my purse. My mission had been accomplished. He would go home and Kyra’s world would be fucked. I stood up to leave. “Goodbye, Myles.”

  Before I could walk away, he grabbed me by my wrist. I looked at his fingers clamped around me, and then at him. He was staring at me intensely.

  He said, “My wife was going to pay you two hundred thousand dollars of my money to seduce me.”

  I said, “Yes. She was.”

  He said, “She’s going to pay.”

  I said, “Good.”

  “She’s not going to get shit.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m pissed.”

  “You should be.”

  “I don’t condone violence on women, but if she were here, I’d slap the shit out of her.”

  “I’d join you.”

  “Bitch. I thought she was different.”

  “Why are you still holding on to my wrist?”

  “Two hundred thousand,” he said, his index finger moving against my skin softly.

  “Two hundred thousand,” I repeated.

  He looked from side to side for eavesdroppers and then said, “I’ll give you three hundred thousand.”

  He continued to caress the inside of my wrist with his finger, as he stared at me with eyes filled with anger, hurt, and lust. Vengeful eyes. Eyes that said, My wife was going to try to screw me out of millions. Now I’m going to be the one to do the screwing.

  “Three hundred thousand for what?”

  “To fuck me.”

  “She hired high-priced hookers. I’m not one.”

  “I’m not implying that you are.”

  “You want to pay me three hundred thousand to fuck you.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. I want to pay you three hundred thousand dollars to let me fuck you.”

  “So you’re not buying my company?”

  “No. I’m paying you for mine.”

  “What if I don’t want the company?”

  He stood up. I’m five foot five. He was at least seven inches taller. Made me wonder about how many other inches he had.

  His hand still around my wrist, he said, “You just told me that my wife wanted to pay you to set me up. I’m pissed right now. I want to fuck.”

  I licked my lips. “Angry sex is good sex.”

  “It would be great sex.”

  I looked at him.

  He looked at me.

  We stood staring for seconds.

  His hand was still vice-gripped around my wrist.

  He needed the release.

  He needed to vent.

  He had no intention of letting me go.

  Three hundred thousand to be fucked.

  Angrily.

  Without feeling.

  Without compassion.

  Just sex.

  Fucking.

  I said, “Grab your laptop.”

  19

  Angry sex is the most intense sex to have. It’s hard. It’s rough. It’s uncaring. It’s uninhibited. It’s also completely self-gratifying.

  I was on my knees. My hands were braced against the headboard of the bed. Myles was behind me, penetrating my pussy hard, deep. Each thrust was for his pleasure and pain. How it felt to me meant nothing.

  We spoke no words.

  Had been silent since we’d stepped into the suite he paid for.

  We were there to fuck.

  Small talk had happened at Starbucks.

  Grunts. Moans. Oohs. Aahs.

  This was all the conversation we needed.

  I bit down on my bottom lip and backed my ass up as he came forward.

  Myles groaned.

  Speaking to him with my body only, I told him, Fuck me harder, deeper. Said, Show me what you got. Asked, How pissed are you? How much do you hate that bitch?

  With his thrusts, he said, I fucking hate her.

  I backed up, squeezed my walls around him, said, Show me. Fuck me. Fuck the shit out of me.

  He came forward.

  I backed up.

  Is that all you have?

  No, I have more. Much more.

  Then bring it.

  I will.

  Good.

  Is that better?

  Getting.

  Now?

  Mmm. Close.

  Like this?

  Oooh.

  Hard enough?

  Yes.

  Is it hurting enough?

  Yesss!

  Good. Take it. Take it.

  I backed up harder, making his penetration even more forceful.

  Give it to me, Myles.

  He grunted.

  Moved faster.

  Harder.

  I gnawed on my bottom lip a little harder. It hurt. Hurt so good. He was pissed. So, so pissed.

  I moaned.

  I moaned.

  I moaned.

  I got chills.

  And then from my G-spot, from my clit, from the walls of my pussy, I came. Came damn hard.

  Myles grunted as my levees broke. Grunted, moaned, made sounds that were borderline demonic.

  “Can’t . . . can’t hold it. About . . . to . . . about to . . . Shit . . . shit . . . shit!”

  And then he came.

  Fierce.

  Powerful.

  Almost sent me into the headboard as he thrust forward.

  He leaned forward against me and jerked a few times as he released the rest of his jism into the condom he had on. He was breathing heavily. His heart was beating even heavier. He jerked several more times until the sensitivity died down. Then he pulled out of me and rolled over onto his back.

  I turned and sat with my back against the headboard. My legs were stretched out in front of me. I didn’t cover up. I usually never let a man run the show, but Myles wanted to pay me three hundred thousand dollars to fuck me. I wanted to see if he could put his money where his mouth was.

  I let out a slow breath. I didn’t smoke, but if I did, I’d be taking long drags on a cigarette right then and there. But I’d tried smoking once in fifth grade, hated the taste, and never tried again.

  He was good. Shit . . . better than good. One of the best I’d ever been with. I was impressed. I looked down at him. “Are you still pissed?”

  He looked up at me. “Very. Going to be a while before I’m not.”

  “It’s obvious that you settled with her. Why?” I was curious.

  He propped himself up on his elbows. His dick, still in the condom, was limp and lay on
his thigh. I hadn’t had an opportunity to see how well equipped he was before, because seconds after we stepped into the suite, he took me to the bed, turned me around, stripped me, removed his own clothing, and then bent me over. Fully erect with the blood pumping, it had been a force. It still held its own in its current state.

  I looked at him.

  He’d been watching me stare.

  With his eyes, he said there was more to be had.

  With mine, I said, I may have to take you up on that.

  He cleared his throat and then sighed. “She wasn’t anything like my other two wives. My first two were . . . refined. More sophisticated. But Kyra . . . there was just an appeal about her. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. She just seemed so much more genuine. So much more real. When she said something, she meant it. When she told me that she loved me, I believed it because I just could not see her saying something and not meaning it.

  “My first two wives, I married them because they were essentially the type of black women I was supposed to marry. Good background. Good, affluent families.”

  “Good pedigree,” I said.

  He nodded. “I guess you could say that.”

  “But they turned out to be bitches.”

  “To say the least.”

  “They were both younger, weren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have a thing for young, gold-digging pussy.”

  He looked at me and then frowned. “Apparently.”

  “You’re a fool,” I said, shaking my head. “You got burned twice, yet people had to push you into giving Kyra the prenup.”

  “Like I said, I thought she was different.”

  I said, “She was. She turned out to be the super bitch.”

  Myles chuckled. “I guess so.”

  I shook my head again. “You’re lucky I dislike her so damn much, because you deserve to get burned again.”

  Myles shrugged. His ego was taking a beating. “Here’s to her being a super bitch.”

  “Here’s to you being another woman’s fool.”

  “That’s not going to happen again.”

  “Is that a statement or a question?”

  “A vow. I’ve been at bat three times and I struck out. I’m done with marriage and trying to find that one person. I’ve had enough headaches to last a lifetime.” Myles sighed and lay back on the bed.

  “Marriage is overrated,” I said. “A waste of time.”

  “Have you ever been?”

  “No.”

  “Ever wanted to be?”

  “No.”

  “Haven’t you ever had a desire to share your life with someone?”

  “I don’t like to share.”

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  “Once.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Love turned to hate.”

  “Not all men are bad, you know.”

  “Enough of them are.”

  “I don’t consider myself one.”

  “No. You’re just a fool.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  Myles sighed and stared up at the ceiling. After a few seconds, he said, “You and I . . . the sex was good. Damn good.”

  I said. “Angry sex.”

  He said, “Best kind.” He was silent for another few seconds and then said, “I cooled down for a moment, but talking about her has me pissed off again.”

  He looked over at me.

  I looked at him.

  Minutes later, we were in the shower fucking.

  My legs wrapped around his waist.

  My nails digging into the flesh of his back.

  His palms at my sides, laying flat against the tiles.

  Just like on the bed, I let myself go, and swallowed him deep. Took every inch he had to offer and opened myself up to take even more. My pussy rained down like the water that was beating on us like applause.

  I sucked on his ear lobe as he pushed himself up inside of me. I nibbled on it when he pulled out and demanded that he slam back up into me.

  With each thrust, I let go.

  Let go and let Myles.

  Fuck me.

  Fuck me.

  Fuck . . . me.

  Myles made demonic noises again and then told me how good my pussy was. How tight it was. “Never . . . never had pussy like this,” he said. “Shit . . . never.”

  I said, “You never will again.”

  He slammed up into me and said, “I know.”

  I arched my back, giving him more to work with.

  Myles grabbed me by my waist and thrust his dick so hard up into me I gasped.

  Gasped and then moaned.

  Said, “Do it again.”

  And again.

  And again.

  And again.

  And then harder and more powerful than before, I came.

  Minutes later, it was Myles’ turn to release every drop he had.

  Completely spent, we remained in the shower, connected as one as the water cascaded down over us. We had sex one more time after that before he left to go and turn Kyra’s world upside down.

  20

  Something wasn’t right. I could feel it.

  I was standing in front of my door. I’d just come home after another night of kick boxing at the gym. I was tired. I had turned up the intensity in class. Had everyone kicking, punching, blocking until they couldn’t anymore. No one had come expecting to be worked so hard. To be honest, I never intended on pushing them the way I had. But Myles and the sex we’d had just a week before had been on my mind, and that was frustrating the hell out of me.

  He’d worked it. Worked it so good that as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The way he’d pounded me. The way he controlled me.

  Initially, I’d given up the control to see if he could back up the talking. Eventually, control became something that I couldn’t get back. I’d turned up the intensity in class because I wanted to kick and punch away the thought of wanting Myles to dominate my pussy again. But it didn’t work. The more I fought against the desire, the more I wanted to Myles up inside of me again.

  Luckily for the class, my time slot had only been for an hour and a half, because the way I felt, I could have kicked and punched for a hell of a lot longer.

  Completely fatigued, my plan was to go home, take a hot shower, have a glass of wine, and then go to sleep with Pink Martini playing in the background. But standing in front of my door, the feeling causing bumps to rise from my skin told me that relaxing night I’d planned wasn’t going to happen.

  I put my hand on the doorknob. The feeling was strong. Something wasn’t right at all. I felt it like hot breath on the back of my neck. I felt it like I was still feeling Myles inside of me. It was intense. It was dangerous.

  I tested the knob by trying to turn it. It failed the test when it did turn. I let my Nike bag fall from my shoulder, balled my hands into fists, shifted my feet into a fighting stance for proper balance, took a deep breath, and then pushed my door open.

  When it opened completely, my breath escaped from my lungs as I stared at complete destruction. My flat-screen plasma television was lying face down on the ground, destroyed. My Italian leather sofa and chaise had been ripped to shreds. My expensive oriental porcelain statues had been shattered. My coffee table and side tables had been broken beyond repair. My vertical blinds had been ripped down, along with various paintings, which had all been defaced as well.

  I stepped inside and stared at the violation that had taken place. My tower of CDs that I had for display since everything was on my iPod, lay scattered and broken. My shelf system and books I had on shelves . . . everything. I looked toward the bedroom. Saw my door, which I never left open, completely ajar. I unclenched my hands. Without doing a walk-through, I knew I was alone.

  My Sidekick rang suddenly. I looked at the caller ID. Marlene. I answered.

  “L . . . Lisette.”

  She w
as crying.

  “Marlene. What’s wrong?”

  She cried hard tears for a few seconds before speaking. “Kyra . . . she . . . she told Steve.”

  I walked to my bedroom to see the damage done there. “Told Steve what, Marlene?”

  “She told him everything. He knows that I paid you to set him up. He just called me. He says he’s taking me to court. He says he’s going to take Ben away from me.” She broke down again.

  I frowned and shook my head as I stared at the complete disheveling that had taken place in my room. I said, “Calm down, Marlene.”

  “Calm down? Did you just hear what I said? Steve knows!”

  I picked up a pair of Mavi jeans that I loved. The front and back had been cut up. I shook my head and tossed them to the ground. Kept looking around. Said, “What does he know, Marlene? What exactly can he prove?”

  “She . . . she told him everything, Lisette. She even told him about being in your office.”

  I thought about that episode and smiled. Steve and his tongue had worked it out. I bent down and picked up a sequinned blouse I’d designed for a famous pop singer several months ago. The blouse, along with the rest of the line, was supposed to have been the hottest line for the summer. Unfortunately, the twenty-something phenomenon lost whatever grasp she’d had on the drugs and alcohol she was consuming on a daily basis, and was now in and out of rehab. As a result, the line was put on hold. The blouse had been the only one made. I tossed it to the bed and looked around at all of my other things that had been ruined.

  “Marlene . . . haven’t you learned anything by now?”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, Marlene. What’s Steve going to do? Tell the judge that I forced him to eat my pussy and fuck me on his couch while he thought you were away on a business trip? Marlene, no matter what the hell he knows, the fact is he cheated on you and you caught him in the act, with a witness at your side. A judge won’t do shit for him, so relax.”

  I bent down and picked up a Manolo pump—the left shoe—and sighed. Its soft brown leather had been stabbed over and over and cut. The more I walked around and looked at the destruction of my things, the angrier I found myself becoming. Truthfully, it wasn’t the fact that my shit had been destroyed that was pissing me off because I was insured and could buy the things back. What was really stoking the fire inside of me was the fact that the cowardly bitch, Kyra, had dared to invade my space. There wasn’t any indication that it was her who had broken in, but I knew it was her.