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It was six fifty-eight pm when he stuck his key in the door. Upon opening, he first noticed a trail of scarlet red and cobalt blue rose petals covering the entire walkway.
A grin rose on his face, pushing his cheeks as he released a chuckle.
“Is this what we’re doing, Mrs. Valentine?” he whispered.
Entering, DeAndre dropped the bag at the door, removed his Timbs, and followed the trail to an open seating area. The room was decorated in scarlet and cobalt flower arrangements. A sweet aroma floated mid-air, and his gaze drifted to a staircase.
“A two-level presidential suite.” He sucked his teeth and searched for her—past the modern furnishing, luxury accessories, and world-renowned artwork.
Music from the top level shifted him, his feet moving across the sitting area where he climbed the stairwell two at a time.
The space was massive, with a king-sized bed to the far left, a jacuzzi tub on the far right, and a full bar surrounded by a seating area. And though those things were pleasing for the moment, his wife—standing in the middle of a propped stage, with a pole behind her—became his undoing.
She was donned in a mini scarlet dress that hung loosely around the peak of her black panties. Cleavage pushed against her gown, peeking through the top. Bundles of black wavy hair hung passed her shoulders. Jewels accessorized her body—on her wrists, around her neck, hanging from her ears. Black see-through stockings rode the length of her legs, stopping in lace around her thighs. On her feet, red five-inch stilettos gleamed.
A set of multi-colored lights overhead rotated, casting the room in a nightclub glow. The music switched, andDance For Youbegan to play.
DeAndre’s nostrils flared,his gaze heavy-lidded, following Avery as she strolled around the pole slowly and seductively. When she faced him back in her original position, she moved her hands down her body in choreography with Beyoncé’s dance. There was no chair to accommodate the sitting moves, so she remained on her feet but balanced herself in a hip squatting wine when the choreography called for it.
On cue, her shoulders bounced, her body dipped, her hips rotated, and she twirled effortlessly on her heels. Avery’s confidence was potent, her hair flipping, her body waving in rhythm to the beat.
She moved her mouth with the song, singing about his loyalty and patience with her. How much she wanted to show him how much he meant to her. She strutted to the end of the stage as the song went into the bridge.
“Loving you….”
Hip swing, hands rising up her body to her head, she bent forward, flipped her hair, connecting her eyes with his intense gaze, twirled, and went down to the floor dance. On her knees, she arched her back, pushing her ass into the air, leg swings like she’d been taught, and at the height of the chorus, she grabbed the pole and went into her carousel swing.
Chills flooded DeAndre’s body, and he locked his jaw, his heart racing as his pulse sped up. Avery was a goddess, taking his breath away like an ancient spell each time she went into a different move.
He’d never seen her this way; the sensuality was on a different level of eroticism. Steps moved him forward, standing as close to her routine as possible without getting on the stage with her.
He fisted his fingers and relaxed them, calming himself so he wouldn’t snatch her from the platform and interrupt her dance.
But he desperately wanted Avery in his arms, between the clutch of his fingers, and on the throb of his pulsating dick.
She was on her feet, her back against the pole, her hips dipped and rotating slowly, her eyes settled on him. Sultriness was amassed in the look on her face, eyes low, lashes batting, the tip of her teeth biting her lip. She raised an arm and gripped the pole again, reaching with the other, lifting, then leaning her body and pushing off into a swing that allowed her to flip and spread her legs wide.
DeAndre’s eyes widened, his tongue moist, and hunger ignited.
Avery completed her swing, effortlessly returning to the carousel rotation, dipping into a squat, her ass moving into a sexy slow bouncing twerk.
She strolled around the pole, lifted the dress at the hem, and pulled it over her head, tossing the material to the side. Her hands moved up her body, her bra the next piece to be thrown.
Brown areolas teased DeAndre; his dick was hard as a brick, desperate for relief.
He stretched out of the crew neck t-shirt, a muscular delight ripping through his biceps and torso.
Avery squatted before him, grabbing his belt, unfastening and tossing it to the side. Her sexy dance invigorated DeAndre, the veins in his hands and arms prominent like the veins in his curving dick.
Avery licked her lips, winding her hips as she rose—so close she could feel the heat from his body. She gripped her panties and pulled them down her thighs, stepping out of them and flipping to her knees; still in her stilettos, she shook her ass, naked and grinding her hips.
DeAndre had held back as long as he could. He squatted, curved his arms underneath her thighs, and tilted her ass to his mouth. His extended tongue covered the fullness of her pussy, slurping and sucking, a hum rumbling from his throat as he tasted her.
“Oh…” Avery braced against the stage, her back arched and her vagina tingling from DeAndre’s warm suckles. “Ssssss…. Ooooh….”
His tongue lashed, flipped, pressurizing her clit, tonguing her pussy down.
“Ooooou….”
