The White Housewives' Slút Club (2)
(She called the plumbers to fix the pipes. But her pússy had other emergencies).
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I played with my nípple, whispering Jones’s name under my breath like he was the answer to every filthy prayer I’d ever whispered in the dark. That man had no business looking that good, especially not whenever he stood there in that tailored black suit like a fúcking greek god.
His skin was smooth, dark, and radiant, and that mouth of his? God, I couldn’t stop imagining it between my thighs, making me feel what Jamal hadn’t bothered to in forever.
Jamal, my husband, hadn’t gone down on me since before the wedding. It was all routine now. A kiss on the cheek. Quick in, quick out. No passion. No hunger. Nothing like what I imagined Jones would giv
