Spencer hadn’t moved from where he’d sat waiting for Damon Paxton, talking and sharing cocktails and hors d’oeuvres with the man. He knew Jenah was upstairs waiting for him, but for a reason he couldn’t fathom he found it impossible to go to her.
He replayed everything that had gone down with him and Damon, his denial and the lobbyist’s accusations. They weren’t accusations but the truth. But who was Damon Paxton to lecture him about morality when he’d had a reputation for screwing any woman who smiled at him? However, he had to agree with Damon when he said he’d aimed too low.
Spencer had achieved his boyhood dream of becoming a lawyer, but he’d never aspired to the bench because he eschewed politics. He hadn’t wanted to be beholden to anyone but himself for his successes. If he worked hard, then he would attain his goals, not because he owed some power broker.
It was apparent someone recognized something in him that he’d refused to acknowledge: the ability to sit on the bench and mete out justice. Judge Tyson. Your Honor. He smiled. Spencer had to admit he’d like people to stand up out of respect when he entered a courtroom. It was an action he’d performed countless times when he defended his client. The bench was imposing, the black robe impressive, and being addressed as Your Honor was heady indeed.
Yes. He would do as Damon recommended and stop seeing Jenah. Thankfully, he didn’t have to drop her right away. He had sixty days to continue to enjoy the woman who’d offered him the best sex he’d ever had in his life.
He stood up, dropped several large bills on the table, waved to the bartender and walked down the corridor to the elevator. He entered an empty car and punched the button for the third floor. It rose quickly, quietly stopping at the designated floor. The door opened and Spencer came face-to-face with Jenah.
“Where are you going?”
“Where the hell have you been?”
Spencer clamped a hand around his paramour’s upper arm, forcibly dragging her down to the suite where he’d told her to wait for him. He unlocked the door and pulled her inside. “It’s apparent you didn’t hear me when I told you to wait in the room for me.”
Jenah Morris tossed back the thick, highlighted, chemically straightened hair that had fallen over one eye. The peekaboo cut had become her signature hairstyle much like 1940s pinup girl Veronica Lake. The style added mystique, but it also concealed the fact that she had different-colored eyes. It wasn’t easy for a black girl growing up in Pittsburgh with one brown and one blue eye not to become the object of rude stares and ridicule.
Pushing out her lower lip, she pouted. “I got tired of waiting.”
Taking off his suit jacket, Spencer draped it over the back of a chair in the dining area. “Don’t I make it worth your while to wait for me?”
A sly smile parted Jenah’s full lips as she watched Spencer Tyson undress. She still couldn’t believe she’d gotten him to fall in love with her. She was more than aware that he was married when they’d met on election night in the bar of a downtown D.C. hotel. They’d managed to find a spot where they could talk without shouting, and hours later they went upstairs to a suite where they had shared the most mind-blowing sex she’d ever had.
She’d moved to D.C. to join the staff of a Pittsburgh congresswoman, and had contemplated moving back to the Steel City before Spencer changed her mind. They couldn’t be seen together publicly, and she understood that, but now she wanted more. Jenah wanted to become Mrs. Spencer Tyson.
Shrugging out of her coat, she let it slide to the floor. Pulling the hem of her blouse from her skirt’s waistband, Jenah began what she called her dance of seduction. She swayed back and forth to a nameless tune in her head, removing each article of clothing like a professional burlesque dancer. Whenever she knew she was going to see Spencer she exchanged her panty hose for a bustier and thigh-high hose. The bustier clinched her waist and pushed up her breasts, bringing Spencer’s hungry gaze to linger there.
“Do you like what you see?” she crooned, stepping out of her heels.
Spencer smiled, his gaze shifting from her breasts to his groin. “Do you like what you see?” His enormous erection strained against boxer briefs.
“Let it out, baby,” Jenah whispered.
Reaching under the waistband, Spencer exposed his swollen penis, holding it and watching Jenah’s expression change from curiosity to awe as it continued to grow longer and larger.
“Come and lick it, Jenah.”
She approached her lover, sank to her knees and flicked her tongue around his sex. It began with a tentative flick, then her mouth opened and she took as much of him as she could without gagging.
Jenah was so aroused that the moisture bathing her core trickled down her inner thigh. She’d gone down on Spencer, but he never went down on her. She realized their lovemaking was lopsided, but she didn’t want to say anything that would make him stop seeing her. However, all that would change once they were married.
Spencer bared his throat, growling as Jenah’s mouth worked its magic. He wanted to come in her mouth, but only after he went inside her. Reaching down, he eased her large golden breasts from the bustier, smiling when he saw the large bloodred nipples. Jenah Morris was lush, curvy from her lips to her long, sexy legs. She’d become his private dancer, performing on cue. She was only twenty-six, yet she had a sexual repertoire rivaling an experienced courtesan.
Easing his penis out of her mouth, he placed it between her breasts, smiling while she masturbated him, alternating licking each of her breasts. The uninhibited coupling moved to the bedroom, articles of discarded clothing trailing behind them.
Jenah lay on the bed, legs bent at the knees and arms raised above her head. She didn’t have to wait long before Spencer loomed over her, his dick grazing her thighs. He placed his hands on her knees, spreading her legs until she felt the muscles pulling in her groin.
“You’re hurting me,” she gasped when he applied more pressure than necessary.
Lowering his body, Spencer buried his face in the large breasts. “I’m sorry, baby. You know I’d never hurt you.”
“Love me, Spence.”
Grasping his erection, he eased the rigid member into her vagina. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you when we’re together. I love you when we’re not together.”
He told her what she needed to hear, only because he wasn’t ready to give her up. Damon Paxton has issued an ultimatum and he would follow through. He would continue to sleep with Jenah, getting his fill before he settled down to become a father, judge and a faithful husband.
Jenah was the only woman he’d slept with and not used protection. He’d accompanied her to an ob-gyn in Philadelphia to have her tested for STDs and to be fitted with an intrauterine device. And she was the first single woman who’d become his mistress. Spencer preferred sleeping with married women, because all they wanted was sex without declarations of love or happily ever after.
“Fuck me, daddy,” Jenah chanted when she felt every inch of his prodigious penis moving in and out of her. Internally she was a big woman, and Spencer was the first man who’d been large enough to bring her to climax.
If possible, he became longer and harder, and she bucked wildly while trying to get closer when he thrust into her with the power and speed of a piston. Grabbing her breasts, she squeezed them as orgasms tore her asunder. She screamed over and over as they kept coming. Spencer’s triumphant growl overlapped hers; he ejaculated, a hot rush of semen filling her core.
They lay joined, waiting for their respiration to return to a normal rhythm. It was another half a hour before they stirred to begin the dance of desire again.