Smooth Operator by Risqué Page A

swear I’m married to you and feel lonely as hell!”
    “Can we please,” Quinton stressed, “talk about this later, when I get home?”
    “But—” Dominique went on to say as Payton snatched the phone from Quinton’s hand, snapped it closed, and tossed it to the floor. A few seconds later it was ringing again.
    “Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?” Quinton grabbed Payton by her forearm, tossed her to the side of the bed, and pinned her down. He held her tightly by both of her wrists and her body shook as he spoke. “Don’t ever do no shit like that again. That’s my fuckin’ wife!”
    “And when did you remember that, before or after you came while calling my name?”
    “What,” he said, sternly, “matters is
what
I just said to you. And another thing, don’t ever in your life come at me like that again, ’cause I’m not Lyfe.”
    “No, you just suggested that I send him to New York.”
    “
The point is
,” he stressed, as sweat formed on his forehead, “you can talk crazy to him all you want to, but don’t try that shit with me, ’cause that’s the quickest way for you to get fucked up and left alone.” He roughly let her wrist go and stood up.
    Payton sat up, crossed her legs, and gave him a half smile. “Aww …” she said, “that was cute you were trying to take up for your wife. Isn’t that sweet.” She snapped her fingers. “You better work it, boy. Now, seriously,” she lifted her eyes and locked into his gaze, “don’t you ever come out the side of your neck at me again, ’cause I will have you out on your ass before you can eventhink to apologize to your fat-ass wife. So, let me remind you of Payton’s rules again: I’m in charge, and along with making me money you need to play your position, which is on your knees.”
    “I don’t have to take this shit.” He snatched his clothes from the chair.
    “Then leave.” She lifted her glass of merlot off the nightstand and sipped. “But if you do, consider this your pink slip.”
    “One thing has nothing to do with the other.”
    “Well,” Payton lifted one leg on the bed, spreading her pink lips, “I don’t separate very well.” She flicked her hand. “Now go on and get your things, because I have work to do.” She fingered her pussy with her index finger, stirred her finger into her drink, and licked off the drippings. “Unless, of course, you’re rethinking your behavior.”
    Quinton didn’t respond and Payton could tell that a million thoughts were running through his mind as he looked down at how her pussy dripped. She knew he hated that he was attracted to how much of a bitch she was, but she also knew that it kept his dick hard.
    “This shit is going to be the death of me.” He slid to knees.
    “I knew you couldn’t resist.” Payton moaned, throwing her legs over his shoulders.

California
    D ominique sipped her third glass of wine and held a lit cigarette between her fingertips. She sat on the edge of her bed and fought like hell not to stare at her reflection in her vanity’s mirror. Yet, no matter which way she turned there she was, beneath the crystal chandelier, looking into the reflection of her eyes and wondering how despair, bankrupt feelings, and fucked-up thoughts had etched their way onto her brow.
    She was supposed to be fly at all times, high on life, not wearing misery on her face. After all, she was never content with being a plain Jane from New Orleans. She always knew she was destined to have more, which is why she couldn’t contend with her first boyfriend, Harry Johns. Hell, she didn’t even like his name. He was too boring, too safe, had never been outside of Louisiana, and yeah, he had a big dick and a mouth filled with tongue tricks, but nothing about him satisfied her fantasy.
    Then there was Sheldon Lewis, the assistant pastor she dated. But after six months she’d had enough. All he wanted to do, in between screwing her, was keep her in church all day, preparing her to become