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I considered her question. Considered her very visceral reaction to the question I’d posed about a man wanting ass play. “Come on, babe. I already told you. No.”
“Well, since we’re having this conversation, is it a secret fantasy of yours?”
It used to be. Now it’s a reality.
“No. No fantasy of mine.” I reached for her. Pulled her up from her seat, then pulled her into my arms, kissing her. “My only fantasy is you, baby.”
She smirked. “Yeah, right. Every man has some secret desire.”
Yeah, like you licking my ass and kissing this asshole every now and then.
I raised a brow, smirking. “Oh, yeah? And what secret desires do you have, baby? Do tell.”
“I only have one. I don’t want my man desiring some nastiness with another man; that’s all I desire.”
I blinked. I couldn’t believe what had come out of her mouth. Of all the things to secretly crave, or fantasize about, the only thing Krista could focus on was the idea of her man, me, wanting to get down with another man. Like damn. My dick would have jumped if she’d said she fantasized about having a threesome. That she secretly fantasized about being tied up and gang-fucked.
Or better yet, about pleasing her damn man. But, hell, no such luck! The only shit she could come up with was, her man not fucking, or getting fucked by, another man. Talk about creativity at its finest.
“Well, no worries there, baby,” I said reassuringly. “Believe that.” I kissed her again. This time, cupping her ass. “You feel that hard dick? Does that feel like a man wanting to be with another man?”
She relaxed and grinned. “Not really. But…”
“?‘But’ nothing. I’m not looking to have nothing stuck in my ass.”
Only a woman’s tongue, a few fingers…maybe a small, thin vibrator if I’m horny enough. I couldn’t believe Krista, my wife, was going there with me, of all people. I’d never been the type to knock what someone else did behind closed doors. Their likes, their desires, are none of my concern. I respect everyone’s space and their right to their private moments. What they do sexually has nothing to do with me. So if Herbie has a thing for trannies on the side, that wasn’t/isn’t my cross to bear. It’s his. And it’s his wife’s decision to either deal with it or not.
At that moment, Herbie was still out of the house. But let him tell it, he was still fucking her. So, what did that say? Either she was confused, too emotionally caught up in him to let him go, couldn’t let go of that hard dick, was willing to work through it, or all the above.
Regardless, it wasn’t my business. And the fact that Krista had the audacity to bring his transgressions with another man into a discussion that had nothing to do with same-sex cheating had me feeling some type of way.
That was far from who I was, or who I am. I wasn’t interested in—or attracted to—other men. So I wasn’t looking to sleep with one, period, point blank.
Hell, I wasn’t even interested in being pegged by a woman wielding a strap-on, or fucked by a dildo. But I’d taken a finger back there.
And…
I was twenty-six. And it was a few months before Krista and I met. I was out in Vegas with a few of my frat brothers,
popping bottles at another one of our frat brother’s bachelor party being held at a private rooftop club overlooking the city.
There were about fifteen badass strippers there to entertain us however any one of us wanted it. And most of the bros there were in full swing taking full advantage of the free-access pussy and head.
Except me.
I had my sights on the sexiest one who stood out from the rest. She was the one who’d caught my eye. She had voluptuous red lips, honeydew-melon breasts, a flat stomach, and a big bubblicious-ass that bounced and shook in sync to the music. She watched me watching her. Licked her lips—exposing a long pink tongue, and swung her hips, thrusting her pelvis, her eyes never leaving mine. My dick stirred for the first time that night.
I wanted her. Bad.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long. Or make a move. She’d made it first. She liked what she saw and came for it. One foot in front of the other, back straight, pelvis thrusting, she cat-walked her way over to me.
“What’s your name, baby?”
“Kendall.” I extended my hand to hers. “And yours?”
“Peaches.” She licked her lips, letting her warm hand get lost in mine. Before I could ask her how she got her name, she added, “?’Cause I’m real sweet ’n’ juicy.”
I grinned. “I like that.”
