Liam

A little over twenty-four hours—and several bizarre dreams which include glowworms and African executives—later, I roll over, stretch my arms over my head, and yawn. When the nearly orgasmic feeling dissolves, I turn onto my side in bed and find Amira sitting with her legs folded under her in the chair where I threw my clothes the day before. She has her giant fucking iPad Pro propped on her legs, reading one of her trashy romance novels in the dark room while she files her nails.

“I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up, handsome,” she says like I never asked her for a divorce.

I moan and flop onto my back, scrubbing my face with the palms of my hands. She never quits.

“That’s no way to greet your wife.”

“How did you find me, Amira?” I ask from under my hands. She doesn’t pay attention to anything outside her own little bubble. I didn’t think she would even remember Steve’s name.

“I knew you wouldn’t go to a hotel because you don’t want any tabloid talk, and I asked around until somebody gave me David’s address.”

“Steve,” I correct her and throw my arms down to my sides.

“Huh?”

I sigh, “His name is Steve, not David, and he’s my best friend. Wives usually know little things like that.”

“David, Steve, whatever. It’s all the same,” she says, waving her nail file in the air.

“No, it’s not. They’re totally different names, and you’re missing the point. I’m not changing my mind, Amira. I want a divorce.”

She unfolds her legs and slips her file into a bag propped against the chair on the floor.

“I love you, Liam,” she says with eyes full of crocodile tears. This woman doesn’t cry. Sometimes, I swear she has a heart of stone.

I throw off the covers and sit on the edge of the bed, facing her with some serious morning wood. She eyes my cock, and her tears evaporate so fast that I wonder if I ever really saw them in the first place.

“Amira, you don’t know what love is. You’re spoiled. Nobody ever tells you no, and when they do, or if you even think they might, you manipulate the situation until you get what you want. Case in point—me. You knew I wasn’t available. You knew I liked my life playing the field. You did your homework and came up with your psycho plan to get me to marry you.”

“Lia—”

“Don’t. Save it. We’re done.” I stand up and look around for my clothes.

“Amira, give me my jeans.”

“Not until you hear me out.” Her eyes dart back and forth between my face and my cock that is now pointing straight at her. I put my hands on my hips and watch her squirm.

“Hurry it up. I haven’t peed in twenty-four hours.”

“Okay, well I thought about what you said the other day, and I told my father we wanted to get a divorce. I tried to tell him that we just weren’t meant to be together, that our marriage was a mistake.”

This is the first time she’s ever come close to admitting she made this marriage happen all by herself. I wish I could record it and play it on every dance radio station in the world. This is also the first time she’s alluded to being unhappy in our marriage. It took six months, but she finally got the fucking hint: I don’t love her. I sense a ‘but’ coming though.

“So you told your father. And what did he have to say?”

She squirms in her seat and closes the app she’s been using to read her book.

“He says absolutely not.”

“Well it’s a good thing it’s not up to him then, isn’t it?”

Now she’s really fidgeting. Something about her unusual nervousness is making me uneasy too.

“He . . . he threatened to disown me and take me out of his will if I can’t make this marriage work. He says I’ll be a disgrace to the Nigerian people. I’ll embarrass our family if it gets out that I couldn’t even hold onto a husband who’s a DJ And he said he will destroy your reputation.”

And for the first time, I witness Amira crying real tears. The thought of not having money is incomprehensible for her. She was born with a platinum spoon in her mouth, and her father gave her anything she wanted so she would shut up and leave him alone. She never went to college because she figured what’s the point? I’m already rich. I don’t need to learn how to make money. I have money. So if her father actually cuts her off, she’s fucked.

She looks down at the dark iPad, and I watch as tears splash onto the glass screen. She’s infuriating, but seeing her vulnerable like this weakens my resolve. I take her hand and pull her up in front of me while she sobs. I remove the iPad from her hands and place it on the bedside table and wrap my arms around her.

I know what it’s like to be broke and alone, and her father’s just the kind of man who would do that to her—not that she doesn’t deserve a little punishment. Everything she does is to spite her father: ignoring her education, frequenting dance clubs, drinking, doing drugs, marrying me . . . she even took up being a DJ after she met me, and she’s pretty damn good at it. She’s good at everything she puts her mind to. She just never puts her mind to anything worthwhile, aside from being a workout junkie.

“Don’t cry. We’ll figure something out.”

I smooth my hand down her back to her perfectly toned ass and press my hard cock against her belly. Her sobs slow, and I feel her perfectly manicured nails slide up the back of my neck and into my hair. She nuzzles her face into the curve of my neck and speaks against my skin.

“Liam, I know you’re mad, and I know this thing with us isn’t going anywhere, but—” She presses against my cock and holds me tighter. I understand her needs. I’ve got the same needs burning deep in my belly.

“Yeah, but this doesn’t mean I don’t want a divorce, Amira. You get it?”

She nods against my neck, and it’s on. The pounding of my pulse is purely a physical reaction. I have never had feelings for this woman other than pity, and I suspect that she understands that now, but in this moment, she’s shameless.

Amira kneels down in front of me and looks up through her long, fake lashes. I see a thank you in her eyes, even though I know she’ll never utter the words.

I guide my cock to her mouth and watch it disappear between her perfect, glossy pink lips. I groan and drop my head back. One hand around the root of my cock follows her mouth up and down, stroking and pumping while the other hand cradles my balls.

I’ve had a lot of blowjobs in my day, but Amira is proving to be a pro. I suppose that would concern me if I gave a shit about her, but I don’t. The only things I care about right now are her lips around my cock and her tongue dragging along my long, sensitive shaft. She sucks and licks up and down my length, taking me deeper than should be humanly possible with seemingly no gag reflex. My fingers tangle in her hair as I guide her head back and forth, trying to fuck some respect into her gifted mouth, when I hear the front door slam and the pitter patter of no fewer than three sets of feet.

Shit.

I don’t know if the bedroom door is locked, and I don’t know if the kids even know I’m here, but if they do, this is the first place they will look for me after checking the kitchen and living room.

“Get ready; this is gonna be fast and rough.”

She looks up at me wide-eyed. Sliding her hands around my hips, she digs her long nails into my ass. I like to warn a woman when things are about to get wild, but rarely have I lost control while fucking their mouths.

Every muscle in her body locks up in preparation for my wrath, and I piston my hips against her face hard and fast until I explode with a vengeance into her mouth. I can’t see her face under her hair, but I hear a muffled moan and maybe even a mild gag before she sucks me dry.

No time to bask in the glory of a job well done. I pull out of her mouth and help her off her knees while she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. No more pink gloss . . . what a shame.

“Clothes,” I say, walking to the door to make sure it’s locked. It isn’t. I twist the button just in time. The knob rattles, and little voices call from the other side of the door.

“Liam! Wake up! Daddy says we’re going out to eat! Come on, come on, come on!”

Amira hands me my clothes, and I hop into my jeans and slide my shirt over my head.

“Smooth out your hair. You have a big tangle on both sides.”

She pulls a hairbrush from her bag and quickly yanks it through right before I unlock the door.

“Hey, Max-a-million, long time no see, man! I say, high-fiving the miniature version of Steve. He smacks my hand as hard as a seven-year-old can, and I flinch.

“Whoa there! Take it easy on this old man there, buddy.”

A wicked smile crosses his face when he thinks he’s hurt me.

“And no way are you two Melody and Molly! You’re so grown up! I can’t believe it!”

The twin twelve-year-old girls blush simultaneously and greet me with a quiet ‘Hey, Freedom.’

I notice that Max’s attention is focused on Amira standing behind me.

“You guys remember Amira, don’t you?” They’ve only met her once three months ago, but Amira isn’t someone you forget with her mile-long legs, cantaloupe-sized fake boobs, and expensive clothing. And if by some miracle you actually don’t remember her banging body, her voice will stop you in your tracks. Most women can’t get away with such a whine, but Amira somehow makes it work to her advantage . . . well, most of the time. Sometimes, it’s like feedback from a microphone and I’m afraid my ears are going to bleed.

“Hey, guys,” she says while holding a compact mirror and reapplying a fresh layer of the pink gloss I just finished working off her lips.

Max’s mouth drops open, and Molly and Melody sigh with admiration.

Max recovers first.

“Daddy didn’t say you were here.”

“That’s because Daddy didn’t know,” Amira says with too much ‘tude.

I nudge her with my elbow to let her know she needs to put a muzzle on it. She clucks her tongue and retreats back into the dark room.

“Amira came to take me home. I was so tired after the tour that I crashed here.”

“Daddy wants to go to dinner. You guys can come,” he says with a huge grin.

“Okay. Give me a minute to finish getting dressed, and I’ll be out. Go on, now. Scoot.”

I turn him by the shoulders and gently push him down the hall in the direction he came from. His sisters give me one last shy smile and fall in line behind him.

I shut the door and walk past Amira to get the rest of my clothes and shoes.

“You can give the attitude a rest, Amira.”

She huffs, slinging her bag over her shoulder after slipping her iPad into it.

“You’re welcome.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and crosses her arms over her well-endowed silicon chest.

There’s the Amira I know and hate, the snide and utterly unpleasant creature that hides just below her pretty exterior.

“Those kids hardly know you. Be nice.”

“I just blew you into next week, and I don’t even get a hug or a thank you?”

I sit on the edge of the bed and tie my shoes.

“It was just sex, but if it makes you feel better, thank you. It was very nice.”

I smile to myself while I wrap the lace around and pull it through the loop. I hate wearing the same pair of shoes twice.

I shouldn’t mess with her. She’s gonna lose her shit, but I can’t resist when she was so snotty to those sweet kids.

I straighten up just in time to see her widen her stance and place her hands on her hips.

“I just choked on your ten-inch cock, and all you can say is it was nice? What the fuck, Liam?”

“Yup . . . nice.” I slap my hands on my knees and stand up.

She throws her arms in the air and paces back and forth in what I refer to as her hooker heels.

“Look. Let’s go to dinner, and we can talk about our situation later at home.”

She stops and points at me, something she knows I despise.

“Liam Wild, I would rather get fucked in the ass with your monster dick than go out to dinner with a bunch of kids!”

Now there’s a thought. Nah . . . I’m hungry. I’d rather have dinner.

“Amira, be quiet. Those kids don’t need to hear about my dick. God, you’re so fucking insensitive!”

“I don’t give a shit about those kids.”

“Clearly. Take your ass home. I’ll be there later.”

“So you’re just dismissing me?” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Yes. You. Are. Dismissed. Goodbye, Amira. Thanks for the blow job.”

I wink, and I swear smoke shoots out of her ears when I get up and brush past her, heading for the bathroom across the hall.

When I unzip to piss, I hear her stomp across the tile floors and slam the door so hard the whole house rattles like a category five earthquake. Good riddance. I should let her father strip her of her inheritance and leave her high and dry. She deserves it. But I won’t. It wouldn’t hurt to knock her down a peg or two, but her father’s an all or nothing kind of asshole. He barely tolerates her insubordinate behavior as it is, and I have a feeling he’s going to use our impending divorce to torture her into submission. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gave her some crazy ultimatum just to watch her squirm.