Free Married on Mondays by HoneyB Page B

of him. Posted him on their Internet pages, carried him in their purse, pent him
     up inside their cubicles at work.
    His reputation as the best attorney made him a household name. Why she’d showcase a married man’s picture in her home was
     beyond him. A single man wouldn’t have a picture of a married woman in any visible location in his dwelling. If she was a
     bragging piece and he’d fucked her and she was great in bed, he might have a snapshot of her pussy in his cell phone. Maybe.
    The benefit of living in a large city was if any of his clients saw his photos in Isis’s house, Winton could tell the truth
     and lie, saying Isis was a former client and he had no idea she had a crush on him. During their year of dating, he made sure
     not to leave a sock, a used toothbrush, strands of hair from his comb, or his underwear. His first mistress taught him not
     to trust women. She’d slipped her red thong in his suit pocket. After he finished cursing her out, that never happened again—with
     her or with his subsequent mistresses. What if his wife had found the cum-stained thong? How would he have explained?
    Isis hugged and kissed him, removed his jacket, hung it in the foyer closet, then said, “Hey, baby. Perfect timing. Dinner
     is ready. Wash up while I fix our plates.”
    Watching her hips sway side to side, he licked his lips. She had a nice frame. Not banging like his wife’s, but nice. Isis
     was almost five feet five and lived in three-inch heels. A woman’s shoes—slip-ons, sling backs, open toe, closed toe, high
     heels, no heels, gladiator, alligator, leopard, zebra, snakeskin—spoke volumes about her sexuality and her inhibitions. At
     times all he wanted to see Isis in were high heels. He knew her well enough to know she wasn’t wearing anything under that
     dress. Her pussy was always prepared for his dessert.
    She’d taken time to style her hair, slip into a halter maxidress, and put on a thin layer of strawberry gloss. He sniffed
     the air as she walked away. “Um, so decadent,” he said, appreciating she’d worn his favorite grapefruit-scented perfume. There
     was something about the scent of grapefruit or vanilla that instantly made him horny. That and the thought of Nova’s lips
     on his dick.
    The table for six was set for two. His seat was at the head. Her seat was to his left. The centerpiece, seven long-stemmed
     white unscented candles, illuminated the room. Isis’s face glowed each time he saw her. She was worthy of a man that would
     marry and give her the two children she desired. He was selfish. Although he was married, he refused to share Isis with another
     man. Based on her decision to be with him, she’d delayed what was important to her, having kids.
    Isis was incredibly beautiful inside and out. She’d do anything for him. He couldn’t say the same about himself. Her soft
     skin, gentle smile, and mild demeanor attracted him to her instantly. Her spirit of pleasing him first made him feel at home
     in her home. She could never come to his. He seldom saw her cry but imagined there were times she had when no one was listening.
    Settling for his offerings of companionship, sex; his leaving every night in the middle of the night; her waking up alone
     couldn’t have made her happy. But he was as good to her as he could be. He stayed with her on weekends. Vacationed with her
     once a month. Isis was his hobby; golfing was his alibi.
    She desperately wanted to have his baby. Why a single woman would want to have a married man’s child was incomprehensible.
     Her irrational request was more of a reason why he’d faithfully worn a condom each time they made love. He did love her. He
     had the kind of love that cared for her but not deeply. It was time to let her go, release her to the flock of men waiting
     for their chance to lay between her legs. He contemplated if this was a good moment to address the inevitable.
    “You’re awfully quiet,” Isis said. “Everything