spent with the sexy social worker from Chicago’s South Side.
Soon, pleasing Simone became his number-one priority. She was the most beautiful woman God had ever created, the only woman for him, and Marcus didn’t want to lose her to someone else. That’s why he’d surprised her with a trip to the Dominican Republic for their six-month anniversary, and why he’d popped the question their first night there. Two days later, they were married at sunrise on Boca Chica beach. His friends had thought he was crazy for eloping, but Marcus was in love and anxious to start his life with Simone.
Turning off the water, he grabbed a towel from the metal bar and patted his skin dry. Marcus gave more thought to what Simone had said. Had he made a mistake opening another gym? Simone used to meet him at the door with a kiss, cook him meals that would impress the White House chef and give him a kick-ass rubdown at the end of a long day.
Then, he opened his sixth fitness center and the loving stopped. So did her daily inquiries about the business. They stopped confiding in each other and started arguing more. Simone quit being his rock, his sounding board, the person he turned to when he needed sound advice. These days she cut him off whenever he mentioned Samson’s, and she complained constantly about his schedule. She was right though. He was working insane hours. On a good day, he’d leave Samson’s by six and not have to do paperwork in their home office, but that rarely happened.
That’s why he’d met up with his staff at All-Star Sports Bar.
He needed to unwind, and, contrary to what Simone thought, there was nothing wrong with him hanging out with his staff. It was good clean fun, and joking around with his employees helped alleviate his frustrations and stress.
Sighing, he rubbed lotion along his arms and down his torso. Apologizing to Simone was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. Facing her was the easy part. Saying sorry was another issue altogether, he thought, shaking his head.
Marcus stood there, thinking. Tomorrow he’d make it up to Simone. He’d have his receptionist send her the biggest floral arrangement she’d ever seen. That’s sure to get me out of the doghouse and back into her good graces, he decided, pulling on his T-shirt. And if I play my cards right maybe she’ll come with me to Manchester at the end of the month—
Wrinkling his nose, he sniffed the fragrant scent perfuming the air. He smelled sandalwood, patchouli, vanilla. That could only mean one thing: Simone was burning incense. Egyptian musk was her feel-good fragrance and whenever she wanted to...
Dayum. Simone was in the mood.
Marcus scratched his head, shook the thought from his mind. No way. It couldn’t be. She was pissed at him. He cracked open the door and peeked inside the bedroom. Soft music was playing, the lights were low and Simone was lying on the bed—naked. His eyes widened at the sight of her thick, curvy body, and his heart raced like a cheetah in the wild.
What the...? Talk about a quick turnaround! An hour ago, Simone was ready to throttle him, and now she was offering her gorgeous, delectable body for his pleasure.
His breathing was heavy, rapid. Even after all these years, Simone still had the power to take his breath away. He loved her more today than on their wedding day, and just the thought of touching her, of feeling her warm, supple flesh between his fingers made Marcus so hard he could knock over the magazine rack.
Grabbing his towel, he furiously wiped away the water trickling down his face. Simone looked relaxed, at ease, as if she was sunbathing on a nude beach. She’d freed her hair from that hideous ponytail, and now her lush, chocolate-brown locks were flowing over her shoulders, brushing lightly against her erect nipples. They’d been married for years, but every time he saw Simone naked, he was blown away. She had big, beautiful breasts; a pair of long, thick legs he loved to feel swathed around his waist; and an ass made for squeezing and stroking and kissing. But not tonight. Simone loved foreplay—lots and lots of foreplay, more than the entire cast of Sex in the City, and he didn’t have the energy finding her G-spot required.
His eyes roamed over her figure, lingered between her legs. The sight of his wife—stretched out on the king-size bed like a Maxim cover girl model—made his pulse rise, as surely as the erection in his boxer shorts.
Marcus licked his lips.
Foreplay be damned.
He had to have her.
Now.
* * *
When the bathroom door swung open, Simone sucked in her stomach and prayed that the red mood lights concealed the extra weight she’d put on over the summer holidays. One too many plates of barbecue, and now she couldn’t zip her favorite pair of skinny jeans! Simone was glad she’d married a man who loved her for who she was, not for her looks. Marcus didn’t care how much she weighed or what size she was, but her meddling mother-in-law sure did. Gladys took every opportunity to get on her case, and whenever Simone saw her she wished she could take a chainsaw to the family tree.
“I hope this isn’t a dream...”
At the sound of her husband’s voice, Simone blinked. A soft moan escaped her lips. Transfixed by his sheer, masculine beauty, she watched as he strode confidently toward her. Simone couldn’t take her eyes off him, couldn’t stop staring at his hard, muscular body. She desired him, craved every square inch of him. His kiss, his touch, the long, thick erection standing between his legs.
He’s one fine-ass man, she thought, twirling a lock of hair around her index finger. He was built like the Scorpion King—muscled, toned, a physique rippling with tone and definition—and he had more charisma than the leader of the free world. He had a tribal band tattoo around his right forearm, the twenty-third Psalm written in fine script on his left biceps and the word perseverance across his chest. His tattoos gave him a sexy edge, like a bad boy turned good. Marcus carried himself with class, like someone who’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he wasn’t related to the Rockefellers or a card-carrying member of a Yale fraternity. He grew up in a violent, low-income neighborhood, but by sheer strength of mind he’d pulled himself out of the trenches of poverty and achieved all of his personal and professional goals.
“What took you so long to get out of the shower?” Simone spoke in a sultry tone, one intended to arouse, entice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I see. And. I. Like.”
She held up a miniature bottle of massage oil. “You look like you could use a good rubdown, so come over here and let me work my magic on you.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice!”
Simone giggled, felt herself start to relax, to unwind. Marcus smelled good, looked even better and was wearing a sly grin. His eyes were ablaze with lust, so dark and penetrating, she shivered with excitement. The soft music created a romantic feel, a real chill vibe.
“You better lock the bedroom door.”
“Good idea,” he said, nodding. “We don’t want Jayden wandering in like the last time.”
“I know,” Simone agreed. “I almost died when I heard him say my name.”
They laughed together.
Simone drew air in and out of her lungs, cleared her mind of all worries and stress. She was going to rock her husband’s world, and after, when they were wrapped up in each other’s arms, she’d persuade him to trim his workload.
