LaQuandra said nothing. She shifted in her chair.

  “I guess you’re wondering why I asked you to come in today?”

  “Yeah, the thought crossed my mind. Mind telling me?”

  Dr. Dangerfield nodded. “Well, I wanted to talk a little bit more about the lack of intimacy in your marriage.”

  LaQuandra frowned. “Why you want to talk to me about it? Isaiah’s the one with the intimacy issues, not me.”

  “Perhaps,” Dr. Dangerfield agreed. “However, the lack of intimacy in your marriage is affecting you, am I right?”

  Dr. Dangerfield believed marriage was more than a mere contract. It was a covenant that entailed being not only physically present in the marriage, but emotionally, spiritually, and sexually giving. Sex was an important component of any healthy marriage. To think otherwise was foolish.

  LaQuandra swallowed. “Of course it is.” She turned her attention toward the sculpture of the naked man, her eyes fixed on its enormous erection. She felt her cunt clutch in want.

  “Has he told you he doesn’t love you anymore?”

  LaQuandra peeled her gaze from the erotic statue and shook her head. “No. Not in so many words. But his actions . . .” She paused, taking a deep breath. She didn’t want to get into this, her feelings, today, didn’t want to think about them, but this messy bitch was trying to drudge shit up, and now she felt herself on the verge of tears.

  She needed a drink.

  “What do you think is the cause of him pulling away from you, emotionally?” Dr. Dangerfield asked cautiously. “Do you think he’s no longer in love with you?”

  LaQuandra scoffed. “Do I look like I have a crystal ball? How should I know? I’m not the relationship expert. Shouldn’t you be asking him that? I mean, damn, you’re the one making over six-figures, I’m sure, to ask stupid-ass questions. So go ask him, because I’m tired of asking, and I’m tired of begging. The shit’s exhausting.”

  LaQuandra felt her chest tighten. She hadn’t wanted to consider that to be the case, but the writing was scrawled out all over the walls. And she couldn’t deny it—Isaiah wasn’t in love with her. Had he ever been?

  Dr. Dangerfield ignored LaQuandra’s outburst. She knew that her pain ran much deeper than the lack of intimacy in her marriage.

  “I want you to tell me how your husband’s emotional and sexual neglect makes you feel.”

  LaQuandra huffed. Hadn’t she gone through this already with her in her session with Isaiah some weeks ago? Hadn’t she been clear enough, how Isaiah not making love to her made her feel?

  Worthless.

  Ugly.

  Rejected.

  Unlovable.

  Unwanted.

  Abandoned.

  Should she go on?

  Isaiah not touching her, shutting her out emotionally and physically, made her feel alone. And it took her right back to that dark, ugly place she’d spent her entire life trying to forget.

  Home.

  Where she’d never felt wanted.

  “I imagine you miss your husband. And now that he’s robbed you of his touch, of his love, that takes you to a very dark place. And I’m sure that is frightening. And very lonely.”

  Shockingly, LaQuandra choked back a sob. Dr. Dangerfield had summed it all up in one big, ugly-ass nutshell. She disliked this meddling bitch. Yet the power of Dr. Dangerfield’s words seemed to thicken the air around her. For the love of God, she missed him so much. Missed the way he used to look at her. The way they used to fit so good together.

  Or maybe she’d simply imagined it all. Maybe they’d always been misfits, a hodgepodge of bullshit and emotional baggage. Maybe they’d been everything she imagined them to be because it was simply what she had wanted to believe, what she needed to believe.

  Who else would ever love an ugly black bitch, with kinky hair, like her?

  She was ugly. Baldheaded. Bucktoothed. Had no ass. She was all tits and big lips.

  Her mother had made it her life work to remind her of those flaws. Hurtful words used to admonish her, to hate herself, to despise the color of her own beautiful dark skin.

  Growing up, she had to compete with the prettier girls, the lighter-skinned girls, for the attention of boys. She had to fuck them (one, two, sometimes three at a time) to get them to look at her.

  Eventually, after a countless number of sex partners—she’d stopped counting after seventy (she’d kept a diary up until she graduated college)—she’d mastered how to mask her pain with meaningless moaning and emotionless orgasms.

  Consequently, her mother upgraded her from “ugly, black, baldheaded bitch” to “little black slutty bitch” and then it was “the ugly-bitch with the good pussy” from the boys, who’d pulled their hard dicks out every chance they’d gotten.

  Fucking had nothing to do with her libido. It had everything to do with her self-esteem. If her mother belittled her, she fucked. If she had a bad day at school, she sucked dick. If a prettier, more popular girl made a snide comment about her, she fucked. Maybe even the prissy bitch’s boyfriend. If she got an A on a progress report or a test, she sucked dick and fucked.

  Fucking, fucking, fucking . . .

  It was the only time LaQuandra had felt wanted. Momentarily, she’d felt special. Yes, sadly, only when she was lying flat on her back, or down on her knees between a boy’s legs, or taking it from the back. So what if they usually had to be smoked out or drunk. They’d still wanted her.

  Her.

  They’d cheat on their pretty bitches to feel the inside of her pussy. Even if it was a late-night creep—out in the woods, in some abandoned building, behind bleachers, in the backseat of some old, beat-up car. Even if they only wanted to smash and dash, they had still wanted a piece of her. She made them feel good. Made them want to do things, nasty things, to her that they wouldn’t do to those uptight uppity bitches they’d parade around during daytime hours.

  Eventually, she’d learned to love it when they’d talked dirty to her.

  “Eat this nut, bitch . . .”

  “Suck this dick, ho . . .”

  “Take this fat dick, smut . . .”

  She’d learned to love being called dirty names. At least she wasn’t being called ugly.

  Freaky bitch.

  Nasty ho.

  Slut-ass.

  However, no matter what they’d called her growing up, there was one thing that she’d taken pride in: the fact that she had good pussy and sucked dick and ate cum like a pro.

  Fast-forward, fifteen abortions and dozens of STDs later, LaQuandra snagged the only man who’d made her heart fill with something other than lust. A nineteen-year-old boy from Hempstead, New York, who had a thick, curved dick and the ability to stroke her G-spot over and over and make her squirt, something no other boy—or man—had been able to do.

  She was eight years his senior, but he handled her and her body like a grown man.

  LaQuandra knew then that she would have to do whatever it took to reel him in before the rest of the thirsty Brick City (Newark, NJ) bitches got their hooks into him.

  Isaiah Lewis.

  So she spoiled him with the latest footwear and designer digs and fucked him real good every chance she got until she’d finally gotten him to move in with her. And every night, she’d fuck him to sleep, then wake him up with the sweet sounds of her sucking his dick wetly and sloppily. Then she feigned being pregnant. Then faking a miscarriage several months later, after she’d gotten him down to City Hall, where they’d said, “I do.”

  Deep down, LaQuandra knew she hadn’t gotten Isaiah to marry her because he had fallen madly in love with her. No. He’d fallen in love with the pussy and all of the trappings that came along with sexing down a dick-whipped bitch. And now LaQuandra felt her own guilt creeping up inside of her. Their marriage hadn’t been built on love. It’d been built on lies. Deceit. And, although, she’d allowed Isaiah a glimpse at a few bones of her past, she’d managed to keep the skeletons in her closet buried beneath the floorboards.

  Twenty-Eight

  Dr. Dangerfield glanced up at the time in the right-hand corner of her laptop, and shook her head—not surprised that Krista was a no-show for her individual session today. That woman was a walking ball of self-denial and delusions to think her marriage was any less troubled than Brenda’s or LaQuandra’s. But Dr. Dangerfield wasn’t in the habit of forcing anyone to see what he or she refused to see. And she definitely wasn’t in the business of chasing anyone down. Either you wanted help. Or you didn’t.

  Period.

  So if Krista wanted to stay in denial, then she’d leave her right there, stuck in it. Hell, it wasn’t her marriage on the line. She wasn’t the one too blind to see that she wasn’t giving her husband all that she could sexually. If she couldn’t see that she was missing out on the very best parts of her husband’s sexual self, then shame on her.

  So fuck Krista Evans—and her no-show ass.

  Dr. Dangerfield had no problem putting her time to better use, healthier use; more exciting use. She hurriedly typed in the last line of her treatment note, saved her file. And then shut her laptop just as a knock sounded at the door. She looked up to see the object of her desire standing at the door.

  Sin.

  “You ready for me?” he asked, allowing the lust he felt for her to pour out into the room.

  Dr. Dangerfield smiled, standing to greet him. “I’m always ready . . . for sin.”

  He laughed, walking in and then shutting the door behind him.

  “Yeah, baby. That’s what I like to hear.” And then he was pulling her into his arms, so she landed against the muscled wall of his chest. “So fucking beautiful, so sexy,” he said hoarsely. And then he surged forward, taking her mouth with his, hungrily and greedily. Their mouths melted hot, their tongues dancing wetly around the others.

  She groaned into his mouth as her hands roamed over his hard body. Suddenly desperate to have nothing between them, they tore at each other’s clothing until their clothes went flying—his shirt this way, her dress that way, her bra smacking against the door, his pants hitting the wall—until his delicious dick was between them, sandwiched tightly against her belly.

  She stood in her heels as they continued their kiss, his mouth moving hotly over hers, the plushness of her soft breasts, even the turgid points of her now-hard nipples, searing his flesh. Dr. Dangerfield released a delicious sigh because those lips, that mouth. Oh God, as if she weren’t already on the verge of creaming her thong—there went his tongue again.

  And he’d only been inside her office all of two minutes.

  Dr. Dangerfield leaned further into his kiss, melting and sighing in sweet surrender, giving in to Sin. He licked delicately over her plump bottom lip, nipping lightly with his teeth, then licking over it again until he was back inside her mouth.

  She met his tongue with the tip of hers, brushing softly over it, until Sin nearly groaned aloud. God, she tasted so sweet, so feminine. Sin’s dick roared to life.

  Dr. Dangerfield straddled him and then quickly fit him to her heated opening and without hesitation, she slid down and engulfed him in one motion, deeply into her body. Wet fire.

  “Fuck,” he groaned. “Pussy so wet.”

  “For you,” she said. She needed this. Needed him.

  Sin’s strong hands slid to her ass, cupping her there as she rose up, her pussy gliding wetly up over his shaft to the head of his dick. Dr. Dangerfield sucked in her breath until she was nearly light-headed. And then she slid back down, taking all of him all over again, to the balls, her ass coming to rest on his lap.

  Thick, nine inches of sin, that’s what he was. He felt so big inside her, but Dr. Dangerfield reveled in the tightness, her body welcoming the sweet agony of her stretching cunt.

  “Oh, yes,” she pushed out, finally, over a breath as he palmed her breasts and then put his mouth to one nipple, sucking ravenously.

  Dr. Dangerfield’s swollen pussy clutched, squeezing him as she rhythmically galloped up and down the length of him.

  “Goddamn, baby,” Sin hissed. He loved the way, like Nairobia, she wasn’t afraid of the dick. She didn’t run from it. Hell nah. She rode it. And owned it. Made the dick hers every-and-any-time they were together.

  And Sin loved that shit.

  Dr. Dangerfield rose up slowly, inch by inch until she clutched only the head of his dick, using her muscles to suck him there as she slowly twirled her hips, rocking her body over the crown of his dick.

  She paused for a moment, staring at him. His eyes glittered as he stared into hers. She was bad as fuck. The kind of woman he could love—maybe—if he were the loving a one-woman kind of guy. He loved pussy and pleasing it—lots of it—more than he believed he could ever love a woman.

  “Let me fuck you.” The words rumbled gruffly from somewhere deep in his chest. “Balls deep, baby. Let me bury this dick inside your guts.”

  “Oh Sin!”

  His erotic words heated over her, splintering more need through her body, pushing her that closer toward release; her entire body bowed and then spasmed. And then her juices were gushing out around him, soaking him, his balls, and the leather sofa beneath them.

  “Now, this pussy is all mine,” he breathed, cupping her by the ass and then rising to his feet, his dick still impaled inside her body. He gripped her ass and then slammed her up and down on this dick, pushing himself up and into her, faster, harder, stroking over her G-spot until Dr. Dangerfield was crying out his name.

  “Oh Sin, Oh Sin, Oh Sin . . .”

  He carried her over to his, thrusting up into her with each step until he bent at the knees and set her ass on the edge of the desk, sweeping everything off her work space, knocking the contents to the floor.

  He lifted her legs and parted them up over his shoulders, but then he flipped one of her heels off and sucked her toes into his mouth.

  And Dr. Dangerfield cried out and arched upward, her legs shaking spasmodically.

  “Play with yourself,” he rasped over a mouthful of toes. And so she did, her hand going between them, her index and middle fingers going to her clit.

  “Oh,” she breathed out, her head lolling backward as her eyes slowly rolled to the back of her head.

  Sin licked the sole of her foot, then sucked its heel into his mouth, his dick moving swiftly in and out of Dr. Dangerfield as he bathed her foot with his mouth and tongue.

  “Oh, oh, ohhhh,” she mewled.

  Finally, he released her foot from his mouth and leaned in for her lips again, gently sucking them into his mouth, before sweeping his tongue back inside. They stayed this way for a while, kissing, him stroking her until Sin finally withdrew, enjoying the sensuous slide from her body. Her pussy was good. Not as good as Nairobia’s, but still—very, very, goddamn good. He slammed forward and began thrusting into her slippery heat, hard and deep. Faster. Harder.

  “Oh, fuck,” he gritted out.

  Dr. Dangerfield’s eyes rolled back in her head again. She’d never felt anything so goddam good in her life. Sin—oh, God, yes. There was nothing like sinning for him.

  Sin.

  Yes, yes, yes . . .

  “Oh God, Sin, don’t stop. Keep fucking me . . . mmm . . . yes, just like this.”

  “I got you, baby,” he rasped out as he pounded into her, the force of his thrusts causing her breasts to jiggle enticingly, her nipples so hard and beaded that his mouth watered.

  He leaned in and sucked one of her nipples into his hot mouth.

  “Aah,” Dr. Dangerfield moaned. And then razor-sharp need splintered through her as he bit down into her turgid peak. Her orgasm swelled around the width of his dick.

  “Oh, Sin,” she whispered, his name nearly a groan.

  “Yeah, baby,” he murmured, grabbing her hips, “give me all that pussy.” His thrusts deepened, quickened. “Aah, fuck . . . nut all over this dick . . .”

  “Uh, uh . . . come with me,” she cried out, her voice nearly pleading.

  Sparring tongues.

  Sloshing juices.

  Damp skin slapping.

  Sin’s body sizzled inside her raw, creamy pussy. He wanted to stay right here, inside her wet, juicy heat, but he knew better.

  He groaned.

  Then reluctantly, begrudgingly, he pulled out of her body, and frantically grabbed hold of his wet dick and stroked himself, his body violently jerking as he shot his hot load all over the front of her, covering her clit and the seam of her pussy.

  “Ah, ah, ah . . .” His body jerked one last time as more nut spurted out of him. Then he rubbed his sticky dick over her glistening sex, smearing his nut into her skin, before sliding back inside her body. He stayed that way, staring at her, peering into her soul until Dr. Dangerfield closed her eyes, shutting him out of that part of her.

  Sin smiled. He’d already seen what he needed to see. Unfettered desire. He leaned in and kissed her until his dick went limp and wetly slipped out of her still quivering cunt.

  Twenty-Nine

  Dirty Talk . . .

  It was the art of seducing a lover with arousing words.

  Flirty.

  Filthy.

  Sexy.

  Used to build sexual tension.

  To keep him/her thinking about you, about the promise of what was to come.

  To illicit toe-curling orgasms.

  Sultry whispers.

  Deep soulful tones.

  It could be subtle. Indirect. Or brazenly direct.

  Text messages. Telephone calls.

  Letters and notes . . .

  Or in person.

  The idea was to play on words, to tantalize.

  Yes, dirty talk. It wasn’t what you said, but how you said it that stoked the libido.

  And today Dr. Dangerfield had enlisted the help of Nairobia (the queen of seduction) to help her get the couples’ sexual juices flowing.

  Roselle, Isaiah, and Kendall were seated in white leather chairs. All three men were donned in white. Loosely fitted drawstring linen pants, unbuttoned linen shirts. And they were barefoot.

  Waiting . . .

  Dr. Dangerfield thought the contrast of the white against their bronzed, dark-chocolate, and cocoa-brown (in that order) skin was beautiful. They looked handsome, especially Kendall—with his smooth, bald head.