Role Play

by Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker

  “Fuck,” Monty mumbled.

  Elle tossed a look his way.

  He said, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m just . . . pissed about that reporter following us around tonight. Stupid motherfucker. All the other reporters were across the street with the fucking People to People protest over the hospital. And where was he? Stalking me.”

  Elle nodded, then turned back toward the mirror, brushing her hair into a ponytail.

  Monty picked up his phone and sent Brooklyn a text: STOP FUCKING IGNORING ME. A few minutes later, all Monty had on his screen were the fifteen text messages he’d sent to Brooklyn and not a single reply from her.

  He swallowed the sting pricking in his throat and looked back to his wife. He questioned what exactly had kept them together. They’d married when Elle was fresh out of college and Monty was a young attorney running for mayor. Back then they were perfect together. She didn’t complain, was happy to be by his side, and her parents, both popular and influential televangelists, loved him and often campaigned for him on the air, swaying the Christian vote his way.

  Now everything had changed.

  Elle complained, often.

  Her mother couldn’t stand him, and her father hardly spoke to him.

  Maybe it’s habit.

  Or maybe we’re both too emotionally lazy to call it quits.

  What was it? Because now, at this very moment, with everything feeling as if it was tumbling down on him, Monty needed something solid to hold on to, and whatever the reason, it had to be more than doing what was best for their sons or what looked good politically to stay married. There were lots of divorced politicians, many of them his friends.

  He leaned back in the chair and stroked his chin.

  Monty was well aware that he hadn’t been the perfect husband. He’d made mistakes, done some stupid shit, had a few hit-it-and-quit-it affairs. None of which he ever intended for Elle to find out about, but she wouldn’t stop snooping through his shit.

  None of the women amounted to anything she needed to fret over, though she always did. And until Brooklyn, those affairs had all been about one thing: pussy.

  Stress free.

  Freak nasty.

  Pearl necklace.

  Tea bag.

  Ass eatin’.

  Uninhibited.

  No kids attached.

  Whenever he wanted it, however he wanted it.

  Like his father had always said, “When a hardworking man has the world on his shoulders, he needs two types of women in his life: A wife, who’s polite, educated, and respectable, to raise his children. And a bitch on the side, who’s carefree and slutty in the sheets.”

  That’s all the women ever were: bitches on the side, which was exactly how, for the last three years, he’d managed to classify Brooklyn.

  ’Til tonight.

  “Dammit.” He took his eyes off of Elle.

  Elle tossed another look his way. “Are you—?”

  “I’m okay,” he ended her sentence. “I just need to clear my thoughts, release this tension.”

  He walked over to Elle and stood behind her, crowding her reflection in the vanity’s mirror with the roaring lion tattoo on his left pec and the imprint of his hard dick jutting through his white CK boxers.

  Monty leaned into Elle’s back and rotated his dick between her shoulder blades. He bent over and swept gentle kisses up her neck, his tongue grazing her skin with each one. Elle stood up, and Monty pulled her into his chest. She slid her tongue over his earlobe, licked around the outline of his ear, and moaned, “Oh, Monty.”

  He lined more kisses up her neck.

  “What’s the matter, baby?” Elle whispered. “You can’t reach your bitch on the phone?”

  The kisses stopped.

  Elle continued, “And now you think I’m going to let you use me to take your mind off her?” She pushed his arms away from her waist and took a step back. “Motherfucker. Please.”

  He blinked. His mind searched for something to say.

  She continued, “And don’t even bother to think of a lie.”

  His brown eyes examined her. He was shocked that she knew the truth and disturbed that she’d called him out on it.

  “How dare you have that bitch at my event! My event, Monty! You are a worthless piece of shit!”

  Monty sighed. “I’m a worthless piece of shit?” He paused. “I swear you are on one tonight. You had a wonderful event, which I helped to make happen for you, and this is what you pull? Here, I’m a hardworking man with the world on my shoulders, and considering all that I’ve done for you, I should be able to have a peaceful night with my sane wife. Instead, I have to be badgered by some crazy bitch about some invisible woman you’ve conjured up, again. You really need to stop. You’re fucking losing it.”

  “‘Crazy bitch?’ ‘Losing it?’” Elle said, taken aback.

  Monty continued, “With everything I have on my mind, do you really think I want to deal with this?”

  Elle walked over to the nightstand and lit a cigarette. “You have yet to see a crazy bitch.”

  “Oh, it gets worse?” Monty smirked. “Really, Elle? Tell me who’s the other woman this time? Beyoncé, Michelle Obama, Ava DuVernay—”

  “Try Brooklyn Pryce.”

  Monty’s breath caught in his throat, and the veins in his neck thumped. The room fell quiet as Elle stared at him. Long. Hard. And wondered out loud, “Do you love that bitch?”

  He flinched.

  “Oh. My. God.” That was it.

  Elle was dumbfounded and wasn’t sure her legs would hold her up. She slumped to the edge of the bed.

  “Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about. The only Brooklyn I know is a borough in New York.”

  “You love this bitch?” Elle mashed her cigarette into the ashtray.

  Monty cleared his throat. “I’m not about to argue with you over this paranoid bullshit.” He paused. “You need to check yourself. You’re slipping. Really running yourself fucking crazy. But your insecurities will not drive me insane!”

  Elle hissed as she stood up. “I don’t know what kind of Jedi mind tricks you’re trying to play, but you will not gaslight my ass tonight. I’m a lot of things, but crazy is not one of them. Now tell me, while you were out falling in love with this tramp, did you tell her that when I met you, you didn’t have a pot to fucking piss in? ’Cause your parents weren’t shit and all your drunk daddy did was leave you with a bunch of bills and fucked-up credit! While your whore of a mother couldn’t stand being around you and opted to vanish into thin air!”

  Monty gripped Elle by the throat, and heat filled her face. “Enough.” He shoved her away, and she shoved him in the back.

  Monty stumbled as he walked over to the closet and slid on a pair of jeans.

  Elle, now standing behind Monty, continued, “Did you tell her about Lisa and that goddamn baby you have out there somewhere?” Elle shoved him again. He whipped around and raised an open hand.

  “I dare you!”

  He drew in a hard breath and lowered his hand. “Don’t push me again!” He pointed in her face. He walked over to his dresser and grabbed a red T-shirt. She walked behind him and knocked on the top of the dresser, commanding more of his attention. “Does this raggedy bitch know how you really gathered all this so-called wealth, you punk-pussy-mother-fucker?! Or are you playing lying-ass Captain Save a Ho, again?!”

  More silence.

  “Surely you told her that I’m the one who helped you campaign to be mayor, then practically ran your campaign for governor. Didn’t you? I mean, if you’re going to fall for the bitch, she should at least know who she’s dealing with. Does she know that I’ve been busting my ass to keep your junkie-cokehead-drunk-ass on track? Huh?”

  He whipped around and gripped her by the neck. “Calm your ass the fuck down!”

  She shoved him and screamed into his face. “That must be a no. Poor dumb bitch! She must simply think your ass is the king of politics. Littl
e does she know.”

  “Elle,” he warned.

  She continued, “Since you obviously haven’t said shit, should I explain to that bitch that you aren’t worth the bad dick you slinging? If she had any sense, she’d get out now. Huh, motherfucker? Speak.”

  Nothing.

  “Any other time, you can’t shut the fuck up. Now you want to be quiet and shit. I tell you what, I’ll get dressed and go to the home wrecker’s house and fill her in!”

  Monty looked over at Elle.

  “Let’s see, 555 Oceanview Drive, El Dorado. End unit townhome!” She cocked her neck to the side for emphasis.

  “You better not ever go to her fucking house!” His eyes burned through her. “And how the fuck do you know where she lives?”

  Elle grabbed her throat. For a moment, she thought he’d sliced her there. “It’s true? You’re admitting it. You love her.”

  “You can believe what your warped mind wants you to believe, Ellaina. All I’ma say is this: Stop searching through my shit, and don’t take your ass to somebody’s house and get fucked up!” He slid on a pair of black Running Nikes.

  A flash of pain kicked Elle in the chest as she spat, “And who’s going to fuck me up? You? For that bitch?”

  Without hesitation, Elle reared her hand back to slap Monty in the face. He stepped back, causing her to miss. She pushed the dresser to the floor, doing her best to have it topple over on him. The drawers flew from their slots. One hit Monty in the face while the dresser itself crashed to the floor, just missing his feet. Clothes were everywhere.

  “The hell are you doing?” He grabbed her by the arm, and she pulled herself away.

  Her feet thundered as she raced over to the closet, grabbed his clothes, and dumped them wildly into his suitcase. She ran back to the closet and yanked everything from the hangers to the floor. She grabbed what she could and raced back over to the suitcase, dumped it, and returned to the closet for another armload.

  “That’s enough, Ellaina!” He followed behind her. “The fuck do you call yourself doing?”

  “Putting you the fuck out!”

  “How are you going to put me out of the house I bought?”

  “Like this!” She lifted the open suitcase and pushed it out the window. Most of his clothes landed on the bushes, while the rest crashed with the windowpane and the suitcase through the windshield of the black Escalade below.

  Monty yanked Elle by the arm again and pinned her against the wall. “What the hell is wrong with you!” he said.

  “You, motherfucker! Clearly you can see that you’re the problem!” She slapped him with her free hand, forcing him to release her from his grip. “You are absolutely pathetic, Montgomery! After everything I have been to you, the least you could do, even if you couldn’t keep your weak stroke at home, was keep your feelings in check and not fall in love with the bitch.” Elle’s voice cracked, and tears fell from her eyes. She flung them away. “And here you actually thought you were going to fuck me and waste two minutes of my time tonight. Never. Again. Since you’re all in love with that low-budget, fat-ass teacher, then you’d better go and knock on her goddamn door for some pussy. But wait, you can’t, because she left my fund-raiser with another man!”

  Monty yanked Elle by her hair and tossed her to the floor. He hovered over her, giving Elle’s haunting fear of being cornered and beaten again a slim place to return. She jumped up swinging her fists wildly, catching Monty in the jaw. He reared his hand back and slapped her so hard that spit flew out of her mouth and her bottom lip burst open.

  Elle ran a finger across her lips; blood dripped. She looked over at Monty and raged, “Oh no, motherfucker, it’s on!”

  Chapter 24

  Lorenz

  Heavy raindrops beat against the windshield as Lorenz pulled up in front of Brooklyn’s townhome and parked. He walked around to the passenger side of his deep blue, seven series BMW and opened the door. Brooklyn set one heeled foot onto the curb, then the other. He placed his suit jacket over her hair and reached for her hand. He helped her out of the car and walked her to the front door.

  Lorenz stood on the sidewalk while Brooklyn stepped up on her stoop and turned to face him. With the help of the stoop and her six-inch heels, they were now the same height.

  His almond-shaped eyes pulled her in as she cradled his cheeks between her palms, pressed her forehead against his, and kissed him with more intensity and passion than she’d ever kissed anyone before. And he kissed her back, matching her fire.

  Brooklyn slid her arms around Lorenz’s neck, causing his suit jacket to fall from her head to the ground below. The rain washed over the two of them as their heated passion emboldened Brooklyn to slide one of her hands from his neck to his hard-on. She unzipped his pants, slipped a hand through the slit in his boxers, and lost her breath. The inches were immeasurable, and any guess she took would be an insult. The only description that played in her mind was as elementary as they came: He had a big-ass dick, maybe bigger.

  As if he had telepathically read her thoughts, he moved his kisses from her lips to her cleavage, up the center of her neck, and around to her ear, where he whispered, “You want me to stop?” He ran his hands across her breasts, caressing her hard nipples and gently sucking them thorough her dress.

  “Yes.” She moaned, remembering they were on her porch, giving her neighbors an early morning peep show.

  He took a step back.

  “We should go inside.” She removed her keys from her purse and opened the front door.

  His eyes scanned her place, an open and airy living room, dining room, and eat-in kitchen combination. Each section gleamed with hardwood floors. Her kitchen cabinets were white, with white lime countertops to match. A cream leather sofa, love seat, and stone fireplace were in the living room area, while African statues, an ancestor altar, Malik Whitaker paintings, and pictures of her daughter adorned all the walls.

  Brooklyn took Lorenz by the hand and led him to her bedroom. He flicked on the lamp on her nightstand before taking a seat on the edge of her black sleigh bed.

  She stood between his legs as he lifted her dress and she pulled it over her head. He unsnapped her bra, and slid her panties off. His eyes marveled at her stunning perfection. Her full melon breasts with dark chocolate, nickel-size nipples. Her plush stomach. Wide hips. Plump and clean-shaven pussy worthy of his multitude of tongue tricks. “Damn, look at you,” he moaned.

  Brooklyn hated the light being on, because it gave all of her most intimate secrets away: a fat pocket here, a love handle there. And just as she was prepared to turn the lamp off, Lorenz kissed her stomach and said, “You’re perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.” He worked his lips from her stomach to her thighs, kissing every inch of her thickness, working his heated tongue into her silky middle, sliding in and out of her slippery slit, sucking, licking, and easing two fingertips into her wetness.

  Brooklyn’s legs shook as he sucked her clit into his mouth and teased it with the tip of his tongue.

  Her legs were seconds from giving way. Realizing that she was in danger of falling, she placed her hands on his shoulders, gripping the back of his shirt.

  “Wait, baby,” she panted, feeling her knees giving way.

  “No,” he said, placing his hands on her ass and squeezing it. “I don’t wanna wait.”

  “I’ma fall, baby.” She moaned.

  “I got you.” He licked faster, with more vigor than before. Pushing her pussy deeper into his mouth, he lay back on the bed, her creamy middle now completely covering his face.

  She thrust over his tongue, moaning, screaming, and riding his mouth until her stomach tensed and her pussy pumped. She screamed his name, “Lorenzzzzz!”

  She rolled over and collapsed onto the bed.

  He stood up and removed his clothing, revealing a perfect eight-pack. An Omega tattoo was branded into his left pec.

  His thighs were statuesque—African warrior worthy. His dick was the prettiest she’d ever see
n. Perfect shade of chestnut with thick veins and ridges running through it that led to a plump mushroom-shaped head.

  Her mouth watered. She wanted a taste. “Come here,” she demanded, pulling him onto the bed, rolling on top of him, and sucking him in, inch by inch. Deeper than she ever thought she could go. Now that he had filled her throat, she bobbed her neck up and down, slurping loudly, spitting, and moaning, while she jerked his shaft with the palm of her hand. She licked the space beneath his dick, working her tongue over his scrotum and tea bagging him. He gripped her hair and flipped her over. He reached for the condom on the nightstand and slid it on. A few moments later, her pussy was his dick’s delight, and she was just the appetite quencher he thought she would be. He placed his hands on her hips and lifted her on top of him.

  He was deeper than anyone had ever been. Brooklyn winced from the pleasurable pain of riding a dick this big. She worked her hips and he gripped her behind, moving her from left to right, rotating her any way he wanted. She arched her back, and he sat up, yanking her hair and biting his way from her neck to her nipples.

  This was heaven. It had to be. He looked into her eyes as he held her breasts together and said, “Suck it with me.” She did, until her stomach tightened, and her walls clamped around his dick.

  He stared at her and watched her bite into her bottom lip, and as her velvety pussy slicked his dick, he exploded.

  She collapsed on his chest, and he played with her hair until they both drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 25

  Monty

  “The fuck is wrong with you, son?!” Monty’s thoughts floated back to when he was nineteen and he’d walked in on his father screwing Monty’s then-seventeen-year-old girlfriend, Carissa. Monty yelled as he charged toward them. Senior hopped out of bed, wrapped the sheet around his waist, and rushed over to Monty, who stepped toward Carissa.

  Senior pushed Monty out of the bedroom and closed the door behind them. His breath reeked of Carissa’s perfume as he spat, “Calm down, boy!”

  Monty shoved his father in the chest, only to be pushed into the wall with Senior’s elbow pinned across Monty’s throat. “I know damn well you’re not trying to fight me over some cunt! You’re my son, and our bond is stronger than this! Bitches come a dime a dozen, and that whore in there is cheaper than that! Now, chalk this bitch off as a loss and walk away.”