Power Couple (17 page)

CHAPTER 25

N
ot 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 happening? 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 had 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.

“You're being weird.” I felt a little frantic, wondering if there was something about my body that turned him off. Maybe I wasn't as seductive as I'd thought.

But he put my doubtful thoughts to rest when he walked up to me and dropped to his knees. His large hands grasped my hips and I glanced down at the sight of him brushing his lips against my baby-smooth cooch.

Although I had wiped his cum out with tissues in the Porsche, I wasn't sure if there was a lingering scent. I would have jumped in the shower had I known he was going to stick his face between
my legs and nuzzle my pussy like it smelled as fresh as morning rain.

I wriggled uncomfortably. “Maybe I should take a quick shower.”

“No. I love the way you smell.” He removed a hand from my hip and his fingers lightly touched the damp petals of my folds. “Are you always this wet or is your pussy dripping for me?”

“It's all for you.”

He made a soft grunt before his tongue began to delicately lick at my silky folds. He didn't try to penetrate my walls with his tongue. He proceeded to drive me insane by softly licking the outside of my cooch, and my body jerked like it was being zapped by a stun gun.

His style of eating pussy wasn't anything like my husband's. Don't get me wrong; Maverick was good at oral sex. He dove right in and didn't bother with any of the gentle-licking that Michelangelo was doing.

He had me squirming around so much, it's a wonder I didn't topple over. “That's enough,” I whispered, but he kept at it, alternating between licking my folds and then closing his mouth around my clit as his tongue flicked against it rapidly.

Ready for Michelangelo to stop torturing my clit, I went into a semi-squat position—a nonverbal way of saying,
“Get up in this this pussy, please!”

The way he was eating out my box was so electrifying, my legs started shaking. Desperate for deep penetration, I went into a variation of a Sumo Squat with my legs wide apart and my feet turned outward. My pussy was wide open and ready for him.

A quick study, Michelangelo got up and pulled me toward the bed. He nudged me to sit down, and then he resumed his position between my legs. At some point I wrapped my legs around his neck. He gripped me at the waist and then stood up, continuing
to eat my pussy while walking around my vast bedroom. He cupped my ass and sucked my pussy like he was slurping raw clams out of the shell. The sound effects he was making with all the slurping and sucking was causing my cooch to run like a raging river.

He laid me down on the bed and stretched my legs into a V, splaying me wide open. Hovering over me, he devoured me with his eyes as he observed my most intimate body part. In response, my pussy wept with joy.

He splayed me even wider as he embedded his tongue as deeply as it would go, tongue-fucking my cooch until I was writhing around and begging for mercy.

After giving me the best head I'd ever had, Michelangelo puckered his lips around my clit and began tugging on it while teasing the tiny head with the tip of his tongue. He was a master of oral sex, and although I was in heaven, I was ready for some dick.

I sat up a little and struggled to get his belt unfastened. But he kept eating pussy, digging his tongue into my sloppy wet hole and then darting up to my clit and swishing across it. Each tongue stroke felt like an electric shock. The way he was toying with my clit should have been illegal. He had me scooting around on the bed and yelping like a wounded animal.

Somehow, I ended up with my head and torso hanging over the edge of the bed, while my lower region bucked and writhed against his face as his tongue delved into me deeply. On the edge of sanity, I cried out, “Fuck me, Michelangelo! Please, baby, please.” My voice was so loud and urgent, he finally realized I wasn't playing with his ass anymore.

At last, he began to unbuckle his belt. I pulled myself up and busily tried to help him. He removed his pants, and then tore off his shirt, displaying the most beautiful washboard abs I'd ever seen. I couldn't help from reaching out and running my hands over his
eight-pack. From head to toe, Michelangelo was a work of art. So deliciously handsome, he looked edible—like an exquisite piece of high-priced gourmet man-candy.

He kissed me and slipped in his tongue, which was coated with my nectar. I sucked on his tongue, enjoying the spicy-sweet flavor.

Pulling me to my knees, he positioned me for doggy style. He slid a finger inside of me and then joined it with a second, thick finger. Seizing my ass in both hands, he fucked me from behind. Sizzling hot and creamy, my pussy opened up easily, enabling his dick to slide in without a struggle. I spread my knees wider apart, inviting him to fuck me as deeply as possible.

Doggy style was a good way to start off, but I couldn't cum in that position. Pulling away from him, I flopped on my back, and urgently reached for him.

He got on top and I guided him to my hot spot. Once inside, he changed his pace, switching to a slow, winding movement that stroked against every inch of my satiny walls.

“This is what I've wanted since the day we began shooting. Never thought I'd get it, though. You feel so good, I'd fuck this pussy every day if you let me, Cori.”

I nodded, unable to participate in a verbal conversation during such an intense moment.

“I go crazy whenever you're on set. Do you have any idea how hard it is to compete in a cookoff when your dick is hard?”

I murmured a sound, but I actually had no idea that he'd been harboring such intense feelings for me. But we'd have to discuss his erections on the set at another time. All I wanted to do in that moment was focus on getting satisfied.

In sync with me, Michelangelo pushed his dick in to the hilt and moved extra slowly while my inner muscles gently grasped, rhythmically massaged, and then clutched his shaft possessively.

“Give me more. Harder! Oh, go deep!” Mindless words escaped my lips as I rode him. “Does this dick belong to me?” I asked in a throaty whisper.

“It's all yours, baby. Every fucking inch,” he responded in a growl and then pushed his entire length into my body, locating my G-spot and stroking it masterfully.

On the cusp of an explosion, my pussy tightened around his shaft like a vise. My body became wracked with tremors and pulsed in ecstasy. Heat gathered in the pit of my stomach and tingles corkscrewed up and down my spine. Cries of passion erupted from me and seemed to echo off the walls. A kaleidoscope of vibrant colors danced behind my closed lids as an orgasm tore through me. Then I went limp and collapsed with my breasts pressed against his chest, the sweat from our bodies comingling while our hearts pounded together.

• • •

Michelangelo had amazing energy. We made love over and over. I couldn't get enough of him and he couldn't get enough of me. I was lying in his arms, and gearing up for the next round when he shifted his position and sat up lazily, stealing a peek at the clock on the nightstand.

He peered down at me. “It's getting close to dinnertime. I should probably be getting back to the hotel.”

“Don't worry about food. If you're hungry, I can fix us something or we could cook together. Wouldn't that be fun?”

“I'd love that, but I can't stay.”

“Why not?”

“The contestants always eat dinner together in the suite. Becca and Yancy will be looking for me. They'll bang on my door if I don't show up.”

“Oh, damn.” I'd completely forgotten that we needed to be careful about arousing the suspicions of his fellow contestants.

“I don't want to leave, yet, baby. But I don't want to give people a reason to gossip, either.”

“You're right.” I nodded as if I was in total agreement. In reality, my mind was spinning, trying to come up with a way to keep him in bed with me.

He bent over and kissed me softly on the lips, and then threw the covers back and got out of bed. Panic set in as I watched him gathering his scattered clothing from the floor.

“I have an idea,” I blurted.

He cocked his head to the side, waiting to hear what I had to say.

“Why don't you take a taxi back to the hotel, have dinner with Becca and Yancy, and then pretend that you've decided to go to bed early…or you could tell them that you want to go back to your room and Facetime with your girlfriend. I'm sure you can think of a way to excuse yourself.”

“I like the Facetime idea.”

My heart dropped. “Wait. Hold up. Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

I felt like I'd been punched. Being married and all, I shouldn't have felt betrayed, but I did. “Is your relationship serious?”

“I'd like it to be.”

“Well, damn. If it's like that, why'd you even agree to meet up with me?”

“Because…”

“Because what?” Angry, I spoke in a sharper tone than I had intended.

“Because in my dreams, my girlfriend is you.”

Totally, disarmed, I felt myself turning red. “Don't tease me like that,” I said, attempting to give him a gentle elbow to the ribs,
which he deflected and then put a wrestler's move on me, pinning me down and covering my face with sloppy, wet kisses.

“Ew. Get off me. Stop!” I said, laughing.

“Nope. You tried to crack my ribs and now you have to pay.” He held my wrists together with one hand and began tickling me in the armpit with his free hand. I couldn't recall the last time I'd been tickled—but I recalled that it was something that Grandma Eula Mae used to do. She chased my cousins and me around the house when we were little kids, and whomever she caught, got tickled unmercifully.

Laughing and wiggling under Michelangelo's tickling assault, I felt like a little kid again.

I wondered what was happening here. Michelangelo and I were laughing and playing around like a pair of lovebirds. Maverick and I rarely laughed together. We mimicked the sounds, but we seldom truly laughed and we most definitely were never playful with each other anymore.

I cut an eye at Michelangelo and wondered if I was developing feelings for him. That would be crazy and totally out of character for a woman like me who was usually all about business. My main focus in life was to continue building the Mavcor brand.

Maverick and I were bound together for forever, and I accepted that. All I was doing with Michelangelo was indulging in revenge sex and having fun in the process.

I couldn't wait for Maverick to discover that he wasn't the only one who could reap the benefits of being in an open marriage.

Hugged up together, Michelangelo and I walked through the living room and stood at the door.

“Promise me you won't linger around, bullshitting with Yancy and Becca. Promise me you'll get back here as soon as you can,” I said, caressing his arm.

“As soon as I finish eating, I'm gonna stand up and announce that I have to Facetime with my girl. But it won't be a lie because I'm going to hop in a cab, and tell the driver to step on it so that I can do some real face time between those luscious thighs.”

He'd caught me off guard with that remark and had me blushing and giggling, again. Before he walked out of the door, I pulled him to me and gave him a lingering kiss. “Seriously, hurry back because I miss you already,” I admitted.

“I'll be right back,” he promised, and then he was gone.

I wanted to stand in the corridor and watch him walk to the elevator, but that kind of behavior would make me appear to be overanxious and juvenile. Forcing myself to get a grip, I went inside, closed the door and leaned against it.