Single Husbands

by HoneyB

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

A steamy, erotic tale from New York Times bestselling author, Mary B. Morrison, writing under the pseudonym HoneyB, about three men who marry for all the wrong reasons. Herschel Henderson said, "I do," to gain access to his wife's money, Lexington Lewis vowed for his better and her worse, and Brian Flaw meant until death do we part, yet none of them are dedicated to their wives. Herschel has a mistress that he sexes more than his wife, Lexington is making love to as many women as he can, and Brian is sexing women of every ethnicity because he's become bored with his wife. The one thing these men do share, is the fact that neither of them will give up the sexual freedom they enjoyed as single men.

Release date: February 1, 2010

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 304

Sample

Emotionally unavailable… to all women, except his mother and his wife.

The countless number of women he’d fucked before saying “I do” easily doubled during his ten years of marriage. Pussy was his vice. Anal sex too. Damn, his dick hardened as his eyes beheld his wife easing her red thong out of the crack of her butt, then over her ass. Irrespective of his discreet infidelity, he’d kept his wedding vows; he’d kept all of them.

He didn’t marry his wife’s mother. He’d married her daughter. Yet, somehow, Michelle’s mother deemed it her responsibility to hold him accountable to his vows. Perhaps because her husband hadn’t kept his vows, or maybe she wanted a happier life for her daughter than the one she’d had. Framed by his wife’s mother, hung by him on their coral reef–painted bathroom wall, centered above their double vanity, were his exact words:

I, Brian Flaw, take thee, Michelle Thibodeaux, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part, and thereto I pledge thee my faith.

Brian’s passion for life and his marital commitment were straightforward. His desire for love juxtaposed with his insatiable appetite for sex created a dichotomy that perpetuated an internal struggle within him. There was absolutely nothing his wife could say to keep him from being attracted to, and having sex with, other women. Nothing.

His lustful struggle, all too common among married and single men, was one that most women found incomprehensible. A hard dick needed to rest its head in a pussy. Brian was a grown man with no intention or desire to live up to anyone’s expectations, except his father’s. Brian’s life was his own. Not his wife’s. His decision to share his dick with other women, and to share his life with his wife, was a conscious commitment to share, not to give.

Reared in the South, New Orleans to be exact, Brian was taught by his wealthy parents that sharing was a good thing. “Share with your sister. Share with your brother. Share with your friends. Share with those less fortunate.” His wife knew he had a philanthropic heart when they’d met at a charitable fund-raiser hosted by Les Gens de Couleur Libres, The Free People of Color of New Orleans. Brian’s primary purpose for attending the event was to meet his future wife, a woman whom his dad would approve of.

Considering there was a shortage of men at the event and everywhere Brian had traveled, his sexing multiple women was quite gratuitous, fulfilling a greater humanitarian purpose. If only in their orgasmic moment, Brian sexed more women into happiness by selflessly making them come, preferably first.

Brian’s upstanding ways were deeply rooted in his upbringing. Unlike many New Orleanians, he wasn’t the descendant of slaves. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, dating back to the 1800s, were free French-speaking men—Republicans, lawyers, and journalists—part of the Comité des Citoyens speaking out about Plessy v. Ferguson, writing about Brown v. Board of Education, constantly fighting for separate but equal rights for blacks.

Brian came from a legacy of light-skinned, successful, thinking men who would rationalize their behavior and the aggressive discipline of the white people around them. His ancestors declared success teaching—more often preaching to him—that “Light-skinned Creoles unequivocally married light-skinned Creoles.” His forefathers constantly reminded him, “The darker the skin, the harder the fight for constitutional rights.” Unanimously, the first time in Flaw history, every voting member of three generations of Flaws voted for Obama.

Everything was both debatable and negotiable. Respect ranked second on his patriarchal list of values, right below family values and above self-preservation. With freedom came liberties. And the Flaw men came rather frequently. The one forbidden rule was no bastards were allowed in the family tree. Flaw men took impeccable care of their kids and their wives, no exceptions. Brian’s eyes scrolled from his wife’s smile down to her protruding shaft.

“Baby, my pussy is puckering,” she purred, spreading her lips for him to witness her arousal.

He lusted for a lick of her coconut-tasting secretions, thinking, That’s mine. I own that shit right there. Her lips, her clit, the blood engorging her shaft, even her orgasms, exclusively belong to me.

Pussies. Suckable. Fuckable. Spankable. Lovable. Big. Small. Fat. Tight. Strawberry. Creamy. Cherry. Vanilla. Raspberry. Juicy. White chocolate. Blissful. Neapolitan minus the chocolate. Wet. Dry. Hot. Loose. Sweet. Fishy. Every pussy other than his wife’s was just a pussy, a warm place to dip his dick for a minute until he made his way back home to his wife and kids. Family was first, always.

Like his father, who’d stayed married to his mother for over forty years, marrying Michelle was Brian’s greatest investment. No amount of money could yield a greater return than the love of, and from, his wife. She was his everything.

Eagerly Brian wanted to slip the head of his hard dick inside his wife’s sweet, hot, juicy, fleshy volcano and make her pussy erupt with white, creamy cum hotter than the bubbling praline mix his grandmother constantly stirred atop her gas-burning stove whenever his family visited her and his grandfather in Amite, Louisiana.

His wife’s moans. Her shivers. Her whispers. Her pleasure was his gratification. “Take care of home first” was his family’s mantra. Its creed included sexual satisfaction. Brian’s stiff tongue circled inside his watering mouth, then relaxed behind his teeth. Slowly his lips parted, curving upward at the ends as he stroked his chin then smiled, watching his former Louisiana pageant queen step into the shower. Brian danced in behind her, then closed the door.

Beholding her immeasurable beauty, he admired his wife as she tilted her head backward, allowing the warm flow of water to glide over her pale face then in and out of her mouth.

“Your flight to Houston departs at two o’clock from Miami International,” she said, swiping the water away from her eyes. “Your driver will be here at noon to pick you up. Don’t forget to review the most recent stats and articles I e-mailed you on Marcus Monty. You know he’s going to sign with you. We’ve already claimed that. Those other sports agents can’t handle him off the court like you can, baby. Be sure to take your vitamins. I’ve laid them out for you and packed a daily supply in your carry-on. And most important, kiss the kids good-bye as soon as you get out of the shower, because your mother is picking them up in a half hour. Oh, and my mother reminded me to upgrade our cell phones with the new GPS, so I did yours last night,” Michelle rattled.

Staring at his wife’s tantalizing lips, he hadn’t heard most of what she’d said and definitely tuned out everything after he’d heard her say “mother.” Standing beside his wife underneath his separate showerheads, Brian closed his eyes, then exhaled a long “ahhhh.” Then he said, “I love you, woman,” thankful that he had a competent and considerate wife. No matter how exhausting or demanding her day was, Michelle always made time for the little things that she didn’t have to do, like keeping his schedule.

His wife became quiet. At times, their silence spoke louder than words. The energy swarming around his heart was all for her. Energy. Brian separated his feelings for his wife into three categories: Love. Sexual. Spiritual. The three could at some point exist independently, intermingle, or consume him all at once. There was never a time when at least one of his feelings for Michelle was not present.

The water glazing over her kissable, thin lips made his dick stand tall, damn near touching his navel. Lathering his body with Very Irresistible shower gel for men, Brian realized Michelle was the irresistible one, not him. His parents were crazy about her the minute they saw her, knowing their grandchildren would be light-skinned with good hair too. Closing his eyes again, he felt her magnetic spiritual energy beaming toward him. Slowly opening his eyes, he peered at his wife, teasing her protruding bubble-gum-pink nipples.

Brian smiled, then whispered, “Damn, that’s my shit.”

“Yes, it is, baby,” she reassured him. “And this is mine,” she said, squeezing his dick.

Not exclusively, but yes. His dick was her dick. “I miss you already,” Brian said, pressing his lips against hers.

Closing his eyes once more, he imagined sprawling his fingers over the crown of Michelle’s head right before bearing down, guiding her to submissively kneel before him. He loved whenever his wife demanded that he take total control in the bedroom, insisting, “Take me, Brian. Fuck me any way you want.”

Anything he wanted to do with or to his wife was okay with her, except inviting another woman into their bedroom. He agreed. With a woman as amazing as his wife, he didn’t need another pussy spread across his face in her presence. A ménage à trois with two other women would be nice to experience one day.

There were times when Michelle would let him say, “Bitch, give me my pussy. Sit this sweet fucking watermelon pussy on my face and rotate it in my mouth.” Watermelon “Eat some now, save some for later” was his favorite candy. Sometimes he’d say to her, “I want you to come hard or you gon’ make me take this big-ass dick and fuck the shit out of you.” Then he’d cup his palm and slap her firm ass until it blushed the way he liked it, and say, “Answer me.”

Suddenly he heard his wife softly say, “Earth to Brian.”

Opening his eyes, he exhaled, “Ahhh,” again returning to the image in front of and not behind his corneas.

With the warm water flowing from his showerheads beating against his chest and her showerheads sputtering water against the back of her head, his wife firmly gripped his hard dick. “Yes,” he grunted, placing his hand on the crown of her head. This time he wasn’t imagining. He thrust his dick in and out of her mouth before tracing her succulent lips with his precum.

“Fuck me,” Michelle moaned, standing. She pressed her lips against his, surrendering her tongue to his suctioning jaws.

“Not yet, baby. Not yet.” Brian’s sexual appetite was brewing. His spiritual energy marinated in his wife’s love for him. He wanted to get his mind right so he could please Michelle first. “I want to watch you play with your pussy, baby,” he said.

“Umm,” she moaned, spreading her lips once more. Her middle finger traveled in tiny circular motions over her pink pearl.

If he touched his lovely wife right now… “Damn. Fuck this.”

Brian slammed her creamy titties and blond pussy hairs against the teal tiles. “Assume the position,” he commanded, putting her hands high above her head. He covered both of her hands with one of his, pressing her palms against the wall. His foot swept her feet wider apart. His body meshed flat against hers, forcing her stomach against the wall.

“Ah, yes,” she moaned, submitting to him. Her left ear and cheek were flattened against the tiles. Warm water showered his back. “Fuck me real good, Brian.”

They weren’t going to see one another for three days. He’d always leave her more than satisfied. The last thing he wanted was for his wife to lust for another man to fuck or love her. After tucking the kids in last night, they made love off and on until they made their way into the shower a few moments ago. One more explosive orgasm for the road would hold him until he arrived in Houston tonight.

Bending his knees, he held his shaft, positioned his hard-ass dick at the opening of her pussy, and with one long, continuous thrust he entered his wife. His dickhead throbbed up the walls of her vagina until he reached the roof of her cul-de-sac. He tiptoed, penetrating her deeper. As he stood still, his dick marinated in his wife’s pussy as he lowered his lips to her mouth. They kissed. He pushed a little deeper. Within five minutes, a thick stream of cum oozed inside her pulsating pussy while the warm water caressed his back.

“I love you,” he said right before her pussy muscles ejected his dick.

Turning her to face him, he covered her mouth with his, dancing with her tongue. Michelle was the only woman who drove him mad with sexual desires. That’s why he had to marry her. No other woman he’d met had measured up to Michelle’s brains and beauty, and his parents’ approval.

Inhaling deeply, Brian held his breath for five seconds, then released, saying, “I’m good. You good? I had to release that—”

Interrupting him, Michelle smiled and then whispered, “Hush. I know, baby. I know. Yes, I’m real good.” Then she kissed his lips.

Brian scooped a healthy portion of mixed plain yogurt and turmeric from the crystal dish perched on the shower ledge and began layering Michelle from her neck to her toes. She stood away from the showerheads, allowing the homemade mixture to dry and tighten her skin. Lathering her hair, he massaged his fingertips into her scalp. He loved the silky feel of her long, thick hair between his fingers.

“Ou, wee,” he exhaled, reminiscing how she brushed her sandy-colored hair all over his body last night.

Two hours after his, Michelle’s business flight was departing from Fort Lauderdale International Airport. “Is there anything you want me to do before I leave?” he asked, scratching her scalp.

“Umm,” Michelle exhaled. “That feels wonderful. No, baby. Everything is in order. My mother will check on the house while we’re away.”

Rinsing his hands, Brian kissed his wife’s lips while she rinsed her hair and body with cold water. He kissed the nape of her cool neck, then slid his hand between her butt cheeks.

“Baby, I swear you’ve got the prettiest ass God has ever given any woman. Damn!” he said, kneading his fingers into her shoulders. “Let’s get outta this bathroom so I can taste my sweet pussy.”

“Kiss the kids first,” she insisted.

Michelle’s body dripped with wetness as she smoothed coconut oil onto her skin. Gently drying her off, Brian pressed his lips to the nape of his wife’s neck once more, wrapping his arms around her waist. Sliding his pubic hairs side to side against her ass, he glanced at his sexy-ass wife in the mirror.

They were an amazing power couple that spent more time on the road working than at home with one another. The quality time they invested in one another made the sacrifice for their careers worth it. Being away from Michelle three to four days out of the week made him appreciate her more.

Their fabulous home on The Island in Biscayne Bay mirrored Brian’s life. He was a public figure residing in a private neighborhood in South Beach, Miami Beach. The guardhouse at the entrance of The Island resembled Brian’s conservative personality. He had the illusion of being private and exclusive with his wife, although he wasn’t. Like the guard on duty twenty-four hours a day, Brian would do all within his control to protect Michelle’s heart from shattering if she found out about his numerous affairs.

“Baby, you are so beautiful. I love you. You are good to and for me.” She truly was his foundation. Brian would rather die than live without Michelle.

That was factual—not debatable or negotiable.



Stop choking me so tight, baby.” Nikki wheezed, struggling to pry Herschel’s fingers away from her throat.

“Shut the hell up, woman. You know you like this big dick knocking the bottom out of your tight-ass pussy,” Herschel countered, repositioning his huge masculine hands for a firmer grip and deeper grind.

As Herschel’s thumbs pressed hard above his wife’s pituitary gland, he hoped to suppress the gland’s ability to secrete the endorphins that would make Nikki scream with pleasure, skip to the shower, then coldheartedly leave him once more. He wanted his wife to stay at home with him. His thumbs dug deeper into the base of his wife’s brilliant brain; he was determined to evoke excruciating pain. The veins in her neck swelled with blood.

“Why do you tell me to manhandle you, then beg me to stop? Make up your mind. You want me to stop or not?” he asked, fucking Nikki harder. Too bad her head couldn’t pop off her body. He was fed up with honoring and obeying her. That was his wife’s role.

As he pumped his pelvis against her buttery smooth, slick ass, her titties banged his knuckles. Nikki had the softest skin, which layered over the firmest muscles. Her preferred doggie style was cool, but Herschel was more of an old-fashioned missionary-style kind of guy who enjoyed kissing and looking into a woman’s eyes while sexing her. He needed a woman who wanted him as much as he craved her. Once upon a time, early in their marriage, that woman was his wife. Not anymore.

Herschel was dog tired of role-playing in and out of bed with Nikki, pretending that he was happy. Secretly he hated his wife. If no one—like her mother, sisters, or clients—would notice Nikki missing, he’d kill her. Right here. Right now. Then throw her body in the bay. “Hate” was such a strong word, but the sight of Nikki disgusted him more than it pleased him. Not because she was unattractive. Nothing was further from the truth.

Nikki was five feet ten inches, a curvaceous size-twelve, with wide child-bearing hips and a round ass, plump titties—firm and perky like fresh giant nectarines—flawless mocha skin, short jet-black wavy hair on her head and her pussy, and sparkling white teeth. Nikki used to be the perfect woman for him. But once Nikki got that ten-page spread in a national magazine showcasing her culinary skills, the bitch thought her shit didn’t stink. Flying all over the damn country, sometimes abroad, she joyfully left him home alone every possible moment she could disappear for business or pleasure. If it weren’t her house, he’d put her ass out.

Nikki stretched her neck enough to clear her airway, then said, “Herschel, I want a divorce.”

Forget that. He was the one who’d stood by her side at the altar. He was the man who encouraged her to continue her multimillion-dollar business and career after they’d married. He was the one on her arm at all those humdrum invitation-only galas sponsored by Nikki’s clients for their well-to-do friends. He couldn’t care less about folks who spent their money and their lives pretentiously hugging, kissi. . .