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  “Too hot or fucking hot?” Lexington asked, twirling his finger in the air to the bartender. Next he held up two fingers, signaling for a double shot of tequila, straight up, then pointed at his date.

  His date unzipped his pants at the bar, shoved him against a stool, got on her knees, grabbed his dick, and proceeded to lick his balls.

  “Aw, shit! You haven’t even had a drink yet,” he said. He wanted her to enjoy herself. That was why he’d invited her. Watching a lot of people freely having sex did strange things to all of the women he’d invited.

  His guest had on her teddy and he still had on all of his clothes, including his sandals. His unbuttoned shirt exposed his chest. Lexington rubbed his own nipples. At Trapeze, there was no such thing as over-or underdressed as long as the attire was presentable for men and sexy for women.

  She spat on his dick, then stroked his shaft. Her tightened fingers slid all the way down to his nuts, then she locked a firm grip, trapping the blood inside his shaft, making his dick nice, long, and overstuffed like boudin sausage.

  Her mouth opened wide. Her throat bobbed up and down over his head. She suctioned him in, massaged him with her tongue, then eased him out of her mouth. Again she tightened her jaws around him, bobbing up and down his dick like he was chocolate melting in her mouth.

  “Baby, ease up before you make me fucking explode in your mouth,” Lexington said, nudging her forehead.

  He picked up the chilled double shot of tequila, poured half of it on his dick, and the other half down her throat. Opening her mouth wide, she sucked his dick faster. Immediately his dick got ten times cooler and hotter at the same time. His new discovery of tequila aiding in an awesome blow job was the shit!

  “Fuck, baby. You ready for this third shot?” Lexington asked. He was so fucking ready to let go of the sperm dying to be released. They knew not their own fate. His body would reproduce more sperms that would bring him ultimate ecstasy, hopefully again tonight.

  She shoved his dick deeper inside her mouth, stroking and sucking him, until his legs weakened, then trembled.

  Shooting cum over her sexy mocha lips, Lexington whispered, “I love you.”

  Lexington doubted it was the tequila warming his heart. It was his date. Lexington was down with, and for, Nikki ever since they were high-school teenagers growing up in New Orleans—him at De La Salle and her down the street at Sacred Heart. Unlike his wife, Donna, who’d graduated from Xavier Prep, Nikki, with all of her money and success, didn’t give a damn about what people thought about her. After all the years they’d been together, Nikki was still willing to try something new just for him. Nikki was the sole reason Lexington relocated his business from New Orleans to South Beach and bought an estate near hers on The Island.

  He didn’t want to live without sharing his life with his first and only true love.

  CHAPTER 4

  Nikki

  Money equaled power.

  An established, successful woman was more powerful than her male counterparts, and she was entitled to the same privileges as any man. Last night wasn’t about Nikki fulfilling Lexington’s fantasy of her sucking his dick at a sex club. Last night, Nikki felt liberated, knowing she could have satisfied her sexual craving or fulfilled her fantasy with the man or men of her choice. She chose Lexington. He did not choose her.

  Last night, she could’ve been that exotic woman dancing on the pole, or the dominatrix woman slapping that man, or the woman sitting at the bar getting her clit licked while sipping on a drink. Ironically, Lexington’s urgent desire to leave came at the exact moment when a group of tall, sexy Puerto Rican men invaded the club, overshadowing all of the other dicks.

  Women weren’t that different from men. New dick to a woman was just as thrilling as new pussy to a man. All of Nikki’s lips puckered the second those succulent, edible, delicious Puerto Rican men ripped off their shirts, whipped out their dicks, with conviction, and made her pussy drool.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Lexington had said last night.

  Nikki had glanced over her shoulder just in time to see some of the most impeccable, glistening asses she’d ever witnessed.

  Oh, well. Maybe next time she’d go back with her best friend, Venus.

  Nikki somberly eased out of bed, dragging her feet to the kitchen in search of damiana tea, fresh peaches, and figs to reinvigorate her dwindling libido. As much as Nikki enjoyed the taste of soy milk and coffee, both soy and caffeine spiked serotonin. An elevated level of serotonin decreased a woman’s sex drive. Stimulants like ginkgo and ginseng were great for her male clients’ sex drive but had the opposite effect on a woman’s libido.

  “What time is it?” she wondered, pausing in the living room to stretch her hands high above her head. The house was quiet. Good. Maybe Herschel was gone.

  Entering the kitchen, she saw him leaning against the counter in front of the appliances. Nikki exhaled a dry “Good morning.”

  “It’s way past morning,” he grumbled. “And I’ve been thinking. Nikki, seriously, I want us to have a baby,” Herschel said, standing tall, as if his posture would make her agree with his request.

  Silence. Everything was quiet. No usual buzzing from the huge double-door stainless-steel refrigerator. She couldn’t hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room. In the moment of not responding to her husband, life for Nikki was peaceful within her. Why couldn’t she be serene within all the time?

  Herschel stood in front of the fresh avocados, figs, and peaches, then folded his arms across his chest. He knew her diet. He knew those were three of the foods that definitely increased a woman’s sex drive, along with garlic, oysters, and chocolate truffles.

  Reaching around her husband, Nikki lightly squeezed a peach with her fingertips. She selected a ripe one and placed it on the cutting board on the island. She eased a knife from the holder and laid a pineapple sideways next to the peach. Slicing off the top and the bottom, she pushed them aside, then inserted her pineapple cutter, removed the center, diced it into cube-sized chunks, then tossed the pieces into a bowl. Standing in front of Herschel, she waited for him to move out of her way.

  His lips flattened. His eyes stared into hers.

  Nikki placed the bowl of fresh pineapple on the island, stared into Herschel’s piercing brown eyes, then said, “Please. You can’t possibly be serious about this baby issue. You’re not in love with me. You need to quit bringing up that conversation. I’m never having your baby. What you really want is for me to slow down long enough for you to catch up. It’s too late. That’s not happening,” Nikki said, walking away from him.

  She opened the refrigerator, scanning for the orange juice that she wanted to blend with peaches, pineapples, and strawberries for a fruit smoothie. She exchanged the orange juice for yogurt. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was well after three in the afternoon. Her late night with Lexington had left her feeling mellow and happily exhausted.

  “Herschel, move from in front of the blender,” Nikki said, nudging him in his side. “You don’t support the bastard you’ve got. I do.”

  Herschel’s jaw dropped. He quickly stood straight, then closed his mouth.

  Nikki continued speaking. “What? Kwan is ten years old, looks exactly like you, and the last time I went to church with you, Ivory and Kwan sat next to me in the pew and your stupid ass let them, ’cause what? You think you’re slick? You think you’re smarter than me. Never that, sweetheart. I know everything about you. Everything.”

  Herschel reached out for her. Nikki stepped back, then said, “Don’t touch me. Am I supposed to appease your ego by throwing up for months with morning sickness? Am I supposed to give you the opportunity to decide whether or not you seriously want to be a husband and father while I wobble around pregnant for nine months while you tag along as a gofer with Brian and Lexington to the golf course to stroke eighteen pussy holes? Or kick it with your girlfriend Anthony?”

  Herschel held his breath.

  “Um-
huh. That’s right. I called you on your shit,” Nikki continued. “There is no way I’d gain over twenty-five pounds, getting stretch marks on this body, waiting for you to come home late at night, trying to stick your dick in me—to prove what? That you love me? Yeah, right. I was foolish to believe you’d ever keep the wedding vows you made at the altar.”

  “Baby, I did keep my—”

  “Herschel! No, you have not! You have a fucking boyfriend, a mistress, and a son. Do you know how embarrassing it would be for me if my clients and family found out your ass is bisexual? Get out! Just get out of my face! Out of my house and go live with them! I’m not about to change my lifestyle to give you a damn baby you won’t take care of.” Pausing for a moment, forcing back her tears, Nikki said, “Fuck you, Herschel. Stand in front of the blender all damn day if you want to. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “How’d the show go? Who were your guests this week?” Herschel asked, stepping aside.

  Forget the smoothie. The hunger bubbling in her stomach boiled with disgust. Rolling her eyes at her husband, Nikki replied, “The taping was two days ago.”

  She knew her husband knew the answers to both of his questions. Her tapings always went well. Why wouldn’t they? If he was indirectly inquiring about her bruises, the artist applied makeup to Nikki’s neck to camouflage the remaining discoloration. Nikki hadn’t bothered explaining how she’d gotten the marks. Her private life was nobody’s damn business, and Nikki—like Brian, Michelle, and Lexington—had done a great job of maintaining a positive media image. If protecting her reputation meant quietly staying married to her bisexual husband, then that was exactly what Nikki Henderson would do.

  “I know. But I’ve barely seen you over the last two months,” Herschel said, narrowing his eyes at her.

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you whenever,” Nikki said, leaving the fruit and the yogurt on the counter. She went into her spacious walk-in closet and tossed a red bikini into her oversized purse. Scanning for something to wear, she reached for her lavender halter-top dress.

  Standing directly behind her, Herschel’s hands covered hers. “Whenever? You come in here after five this morning, sleep all day, and now you’re leaving until whenever? I thought you had to cater a party tonight.” Snatching the dress from the rack, he said, “You are not wearing this dress out of this house.”

  “Haaa!” Nikki exhaled, clenching her purse. She didn’t feel like arguing with Herschel again. What was she thinking? That dress didn’t match her swimsuit anyway. She quietly excused herself from the closet, exited the bedroom, left the house, hopped in her car, then sped out of the driveway. The loose-fitting mint-green cotton shorts and tank-top T-shirt she’d slept in last night were fine. She could stroll South Beach topless if she wanted and she’d be among the majority of the women getting perfect line-free titty tans.

  Why—oh, why—didn’t she stay single? Nikki didn’t enjoy disrespecting her husband; it was her way of maintaining her power. During her marriage, Nikki had grown her own set of balls. No more pretending with Herschel, catering to Herschel, being inconvenienced for Herschel, or lying around her house with him when she didn’t want to be there with him. Herschel was lucky Nikki hadn’t told him about her affair with Lexington. The only reason she hadn’t told him was that it would destroy her friendship with Donna.

  She’d known Donna before they moved one mansion away from her and Herschel. Nikki had prepared appetizers for Donna’s girls’ birthday parties in the last few years. Lexington talked about wanting to spend time with his kids. Nikki agreed, but if that meant time away from her, she’d support—not encourage—his planning. Nikki had her own problems with financially providing for her husband’s illegitimate son. Herschel did not want another child. Her husband wanted her to relinquish her dominant position. Would her husband be happier if she were confused like he was?

  “I’m crazy in love with my job. I’m damn good at it. And I pay the bills in my house. Not Herschel,” Nikki said, driving past Lexington’s estate.

  Shit. She needed a baby like a fish needed a blow job. As she cruised by the guard shack, that thought made her laugh. Nikki sat at the red light, watching cars speed along US 41. Maybe she should’ve just bought herself some fish instead of getting married. Driving along Fifth Street, Nikki took a right at Collins, left at Fourth, then another right. She cruised along Ocean Avenue in her convertible, checking out the sexy-ass PRCLs—Puerto Rican, Cuban, and Latino men—at the sidewalk cafés. She wondered if marrying one of them would’ve been better than walking down the aisle to let Herschel put an incarceration ring on her finger. It was a ring she only wore because she was trapped in the eyes of lurking paparazzi waiting to exploit her and the husband she once loved… She didn’t love her husband anymore.

  The attractive men she saw couldn’t be worse than Herschel. At least not the PRCLs she’d fuck—not giving a fuck about more than coming, so she could go about her day. The one thing each of her PRCL lovers had in common was they were all passionate. They were crazy about her; they satisfied her sexually; they had a zest for life; they enjoyed what they did. That was more than she could say about her discontented husband. What would it take to make her husband happy again? Who? What? When had he changed his outlook on life? Despite… in spite… she’d remained his lawfully wedded wife. The question she needed to answer: why?

  Herschel wasn’t passionate about his job, he wasn’t happy with Ivory or Anthony, and he hated Nikki. Which was exactly why Nikki was headed to Nikki Beach for a late lunch, not with the man she should’ve married, but to connect to the universe and lay with her feet in the sand.

  Nikki parked at valet and handed the attendant her keys. She started to bypass the gift shop but decided to step inside. “I’ll take these,” she said, laying the cutest sheer purple pants on the counter. Dashing into the restroom, Nikki removed her clothes, covered her body with Hawaiian suntan oil, slipped into her sizzling red bikini, stepped into her pants, then exited the ladies’ room.

  “Oh, excuse me,” she said, almost bumping into a kissing couple standing in front of the restroom door.

  A kiss was never just a kiss. She wondered if the man who was kissing the woman was equally as passionate about her as she appeared to be about him. Had they just met? Did they travel to South Beach together on vacation? Or was the guy in town on business in search of some fun and she just so happened to be the one he chose?

  Lying on one of the canopy beds mounted in the sand, the white cotton sheets draping over the top and down the sides of each post flapping in the wind, comforted her. Removing her pants, Nikki motioned for the waiter. “I’d like your signature mojito, please, with two sugarcane sticks.”

  Sugarcane fields deep in the South. Bogalusa, Louisiana. Nikki closed her eyes, remembering the days her grandfather would go out into those fields, whack down canes with a sickle knife, then peel away the stems with his pocketknife and hand her and her two sisters a slice of what Grandpa called “Heaven’s sugar.” No preservatives. No additives. She missed her grandparents, her parents, and her sisters too. They were all alive, and presumably well, living what they considered Christian lives. They’d disassociated themselves from her, saying she was destined to go to hell. Well, that was okay with Nikki, because to live any life other than the one she wanted would be a lie. And God, who was a forgiving God, would never want her to be unhappy. She opened her eyes.

  There were a few tables with chairs at Nikki Beach, but most guests came to experience being served food and drinks in a bed while tanning on the beach in the sun. Easing on her sunglasses, she reclined under the 80-degree heat as the bartender set her beverage on a tray at the foot of her bed beside her feet.

  Reaching for her phone, Nikki answered Lexington’s call. “Hey, baby. How are you?”

  “I’m good, and you?” he said seductively.

  “I had so much fun at the club. We on again next Saturday?” she asked, smiling while biting her bottom lip.

  Hes
itantly Lexington said, “Let me think about that. I’ll let you know.”

  “There’s nothing for me to think about. I’ll be there. The question was intended for you,” Nikki said. “Call me later. Bye.”

  Nikki wondered why she took everything she’d done seriously except being married. Ten years in, it was safer and cheaper to stay legally obligated to Herschel. Marrying him in the first place was her mistake. In retrospect, it wasn’t a good idea inviting him to her home for a private party she hosted for her thirty-four neighbors on The Island. How was she to know Herschel would befriend her neighbor Anthony? What was she thinking? She wasn’t. Nikki was simply enjoying her life when she’d met Herschel. And when they first met, he was a ton of fun. Everybody at the party that night, including Lexington, liked Herschel.

  Nikki’s waterfront property on Biscayne Bay, her yacht, her Lamborghini, which she seldom drove because she was always traveling, her infinity pool, her outdoor and indoor Jacuzzis, and her tennis court were comparable to what Lexington and Brian owned. The difference was Nikki had purchased her property before getting married. They each lived approximately two blocks’ walking distance away from one another. The barriers of tall palm trees, larval and nectar plants that attracted beautiful butterflies, bird-of-paradise, bougainvillea, and other exotic tropical plants provided added privacy for each neighbor.

  A woman with her own shit didn’t need a dick to validate her, but Nikki’s traditional Southern churchgoing parents didn’t see things her way. They felt Herschel was sent by God. Having a husband was an investment in the future of their family, whenever Nikki did decide to settle down and have the babies Nikki never wanted. She was one of four girls (if she counted the daughter her father had out of wedlock) and her parents desperately wanted lots of, as they’d say, “grandbabies.”

  Nikki’s parents’ emotions had ruled over her senses when Herschel proposed to her on national television during one of her cooking shows. Why had she invited him on as her guest? That was the first and last time she’d made that mistake. Of all the places Herschel could’ve gotten down on both knees, pulled a decent diamond ring out of his pocket, and popped the question, why did he have to do it when millions of people were watching her show live? Watching him on two knees begging, instead of being on one knee proposing, Nikki didn’t want to embarrass him; and she did like him, so why not marry him? It would make her Christian parents happy.