bwwm romance

BWWM Books: Redneck Rebels | A WMBW Interracial Romance Novel

I’m not exactly new to the Reverse Harem trend. A couple years ago, I published an insanely hot series of reverse harem books although at the time, I called it a menage series. Currently, all five books are available for purchase on eBook and audiobook. Since it’s been SO LONG, I decided to bring the reverse harem books trend back with my upcoming release, Redneck Rebels. If you enjoyed my book Cocky Cowboy or you liked Anaconda, Python, Mamba, etc. you will LOVE this story…

Here’s what you can expect to find:
💞3 SMOKIN’ hot & loyal alphas all bonded to one woman

💞STEAMY interracial scenes unlike any you’ve read before

💞DEVOTED beefy men with huge muscles and bigger c*cks working to end segregation in a small town

💞Symbols of hate DESTROYED by 3 hot men and 1 brilliant woman with a mission to change the past…

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Redneck Rebels

“The three of us men are kin. We share everything… especially her — Caroline Coulson, the woman we ain’t s’posed to love…”

3 alpha male country boys…

1 Black intellectual woman…

A segregated town that isn’t ready for interracial love.

Exposing town secrets & scandals threatens all four lovers in this interracial reverse harem.
Can Caroline keep the quad together, or will she have to choose between the strapping men who love her, and her career in politics?

If you’re new to this kind of romance… give it a try. If you love interracial romance and enjoy bwwm books or wmbw books, you’ll love this!

I posted the free sample below. It’s not gross, it’s female centered passion and the HEAT between these characters will blow your mind. Read the excerpt below and get excited about the upcoming release.


Romance Novel Excerpts: Redneck Rebels

Travis took his hand and pulled a hairpin from Caroline’s head. Thick black curls draped down over her chest, covering her small, perky B-cup breasts. The cop car parked beneath a magnolia tree a mile away from the town’s well. Here, it was quiet enough and isolated enough that no one would notice a dirty beat up police car parked beneath a tree with the windows up and the air conditioning blasting to stave off the summer heat. 

Caroline was naked, sweat pooling at her brown despite the air conditioning, and for the first time in weeks Travis was finally alone with her. He took his pale hand and pressed it to her sepia colored cheek, drawing her in for a kiss. Magnolias bloomed around this time of year like a storm. Their pink and purple petals fell to the ground beneath the trees, littering every inch of the sidewalk and the earth with these sweet scented reminders of the springtime. Old Town breathed with life again, and the Southern winter was finally over.

A fresh southern breeze blew across the town, past the white Evangelical Church and over the train tracks past the Black Baptist church where Caroline’s mother sang every Sunday. That woman could have been a star, people in Old Town said. Old Town was always going to be so quintessentially American. Each house hung a large American flag, the stars and stripes floating in the breeze and marking Old Town as a home for true patriots. There would always be two sides to the town. There would always be the side with large houses, old antebellum mansions with their pillars and acres and acres of old plantation land. On that side of town, sometimes the flag had the stars and bars instead of the stars and stripes. Southern pride, they said. Caroline knew different. Tufts of cotton floated on the breeze at the height of growing season, landing on the porches and cars of the townspeople. The train tracks would always be in the same place, cutting the town in two. On the other side of those train tracks, the town was different. There were no more columns or large swathes of land that stretched out for acres and acres. Small wooden houses were built not too far apart from each other and on the other side of the tracks, the houses centered around a deep well that had watered that half of the town for decades.

That morning Caroline Coulson twisted her long kinky black hair into a top bun. While the other girls in her office could get away with "messy buns”, Caroline did not share that privilege. Using stiff black hair pins, she pinned down every strand of hair lest she be accused of being unkempt. It was the first day since Buchanan’s victory as Mayor and the most important day Caroline would have in the office. The new administration would probably be making changes to the staff and getting rid of anyone unfriendly to the Buchanan leadership.

Caroline ate a small bowl of oatmeal for breakfast that morning before meeting Travis, drowning out the noise of her family members, all of them crowded into their two room house. Nobody noticed how quiet she was at breakfast. They were all busy and in a rush to get to work. Only Caleb seemed to notice. And he didn’t say anything until after he watched her put her bowl into the sink. Caleb chased after her and offered to walk Caroline to work.

"Travis is already giving me a ride," She said to her brother, reassuring him that she would make it without his help, even if the factory was past the Mayor’s office and they usually did their walk to work together.

In the car, with Travis, Caroline began to regret not leaving with her brother that morning. Travis looked at her with that worried look in his eyes.

"I hate when you look at me like that,” Caroline complained.

Travis’ eyes as blue as a prairie sky softened. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, then her lips. 

"I can't help it, Caroline."

"Find a way to help it. I wasn't worried about today before, but now I am with all your staring and ogling."

Travis pulled her in for another kiss. His lips were soft and Caroline swore she could smell magnolias on his skin. His cropped blonde hair was just wet from a shower and he smelled like cinnamon and Axe deodorant. Caroline straddled his lap and ran her hands over his head and his neck, burned red from the strengthened sun on his morning run before work. She didn’t want him to stop kissing her but they had already wasted enough time. These morning romps had become their morning ritual of late. They were just old friends, going for a small drive in his car. That was how it started at least. Now, they kissed and kissing lead to other things. Caroline slipped into her clothing, hoping that her bun could be twisted into its former glory. Travis stuck the last hairpin in.

"Before we leave, let's just have one more round," Travis suggested, his eyes wandering to her breasts as he helped her fix her hair one last time.

Caroline was powerless to his suggestions. He kissed her and then pushed her back up against the seats. The door handle dug into the middle of her back, but Caroline didn’t care. Travis spread her legs wide and undid the zipper to his cop uniform, pulling his hardness out again. His member was large and thick, throbbing with anticipation before he even pressed the tip up against her silky dripping entrance. 

Even if this was their third round for the morning, heat never subsided between them. Travis thrust every inch between her legs with one stroke and Caroline moaned as she accepted his firm pulsing cock between her legs. He took her hands over her head, pressing them into the window. He plunged into Caroline deeply, making love to her in the back of his police car until she screamed in pleasure and the windows fogged up. Her toes, raised in the air, traced the fog on the window and pressed up against it as he pounded her. It was a good thing no one really came to this part of town. Travis new all the good spots — chalk it up to him being the starting quarterback at their high school and having plenty of girlfriends to take out into these abandoned fields. 

Once Caroline finished in a loud, euphoric climax, Travis erupted between her legs causing her to shake and tremble as his seed filled her slippery honeypot. 

Once they finished for the third time that morning, Caroline buttoned his shirt and help him tuck it in his starched blue pants. Travis Montgomery grinned. He loved their morning ritual. And Caroline? Well he always loved her. Since they were teenagers, they had been best friends. When Caroline went to college, Travis was convinced that she would never come back. Now, he worried that Caroline was trapped in this town, like he was, and he regretted ever wishing that this smart brown-skinned beauty would come back. Old Town didn’t deserve a woman like Caroline. He kissed her forehead again, unable to resist doing so.

"You're way too pensive in the morning. Lighten up. I'm already going to have a hellish day at work," Caroline complained, smacking Travis's shoulder with a teasing expression on her face.

Travis grinned and rolled his eyes, countering her complaint with one of his own.

“I’m going to have an even more hellish day.”

“What, the Old Town hooligans going to egg another old lady’s house?”

“You know what I mean, Caroline," he said.

"Right. It's our dear mayor’s first day on the job."

"Speaking of which, I had better get you to work. You button up that shirt,” he commanded.

Caroline liked when he made demands like that. As a police officer, Travis was used to to telling people what to do. And since he became an officer, it was a welcome change. When they were kids, Caroline ran the show. It was nice that Travis grew up to be such a good leader. People really looked up to him — and not just because his daddy is the sheriff.

The truth is, Caroline had an ulterior motive for asking him to drive her to work. It wasn’t just that their morning romps were some of the few things she still looked forward to. It wasn't just because Travis was smoking hot with a perfect toned body that he diligently maintained. It wasn’t even the fact that his sky blue eyes were filled with such soul, and that his Southern manners made her feel like all hope wasn’t lost. 

There was something else that she wanted from him today. It was almost hard to admit to herself that she needed anything from Travis. When she first left for college, she was convinced that she didn't need anyone in this town, least of all Travis. Now, she needed her old friend more than ever, especially since she had taken that job in politics hoping that she would be able to make a difference in Old Town.

Travis drove Caroline from the Black side of town, the only safe place they could meet and canoodle like that, across the train tracks to the center of town where the mayor's office stood as if it were a castle. To be a mayor of a town that small may not seem to be such a big deal to you or me. But in towns like Old Town, people cling to whatever power they can find and they hold onto it as if they were despots in small foreign nations. 

Travis offered to stop at Dunkin' Donuts for coffee. Caroline declined. She'd been trying to quit coffee for sometime now with limited success. Travis stopped anyway and the smell was tempting enough that Caroline ordered a decaf. Travis was amused with her latest attempt at good health and he teased her about her “water coffee”. He noticed that Caroline didn’t seem to be her usual chipper self. She was still outspoken, true, but there was a faraway look in her eye, like she had something on her mind. It must be something going on at work. Ever since the mayor won the election, Caroline had been acting strangely.

"Are you going to bother telling me what's on your mind or will have to guess?"

"I need your help, Travis,” Caroline confessed finally. 

"I know. That's why am driving you to work."

"I need more than that. You know my opinions about Mayor Buchanan. It's a total mistake to let him assume power. We have to do something."

"Buchanan won the election fair and square, Caroline. I don't know what you expect me to do.”

“Use your daddy for help,” Caroline insisted. 

Travis continued, ”Daddy helped Buchanan's campaign. He's not going to help you out."

“Well, I know that there has been wrongdoing and I'm going to prove it no matter what it takes."

"Ever heard of the phrase you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?"

"I'm not trying to catch any flies. I'm trying to get rid of them,” Caroline replied stiffly. 

"You know what I mean Caroline. This town is old-fashioned. Traditional."

"You mean it's segregated and racist?"

"There you go again with that race stuff."

"It's not a race stuff, Travis. It's my life. And Buchanan is going to make that life and the lives of other people like me way worse when he assumes power."

What did you think of the free sample? Comment down below. Come over to Instagram and Facebook to learn more about the book, play fun games about the characters and read free bits and pieces…

Dark Romance Books: American Alpha Soldier (WMBW Interracial Romance Novel)

American Alpha Soldier

A dangerous love story between a former racist on the path to redemption and a black woman skyrocketing towards fame.

An alpha male soldier with a dark past…

His dream woman, desperate for a gospel music award…

Their hearts weren’t prepared for a head-on collision like this.

A white man journeys towards healing and sheds his dark past by falling in love with an African American woman.

This page-turning ultra-steamy story of atonement, true love, kinky lust, and real redemption will change the way you think about interracial love.

Hi everyone! I have been working to make some changes and re-release my book previously published as Rock Hard Soldier under a different title. Finally, the book is ready and on sale. I have to warn you that this book has very sweet romance mixed with dark themes and if you feel sensitive regarding some of the explicit content in this book, you may not enjoy it. However, the sex scenes in this book are INSANELY hot and I promise you will be scouring bars looking for the military man of your dreams to take you home…

Keep reading here to enjoy the entire first chapter FREE. 👇


Talia leaned over the table, pressing her elbows into the table and squeezing her bosom together unconsciously.

“So how much time do you have left?”

“One last tour of duty. Not sure when.”

“Exciting. So you’ve been all over the world?" She probed.

He sat back and nodded, “All over the middle east at least. Spent some time in Africa.”

“Oohh, Africa. Sounds wild.”

“It was.”

“Well, Damian, I’m glad Imogen convinced us to get together.” 

Damian smiled at the woman sitting across from him. She was the one who’d needed to be convinced. From the moment his buddy’s wife, Imogen Henderson, had brought her stunning friend Talia out for drinks, Damian had been smitten. He’d only said a few, shy words to her, but he was desperate to find out more.

Imogen, eager to play matchmaker, had convinced Talia to see Damian beyond the group setting. Their first date had started off well.

“I’m glad too.”

Talia shrugged, “Though I can’t say I agree with all this war stuff. I’m more of a pacifist.”

“A pacifist?"

Talia nodded.

“I don’t think there’s a single conflict that we can solve better with violence.”

Damian smirked and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well, we’re all entitled to our opinions, aren’t we.”

“Hey, no judgment,” Talia replied.

“So what about you? What do you do for a living?”

Talia shook her long, curly black hair out of her face. Her sparkly eyeshadow complemented the Ankara print on her dress. 

“I’m a singer."

“What kind of singer?”

“Gospel music. Jazz music. Anything that will pay the bills.”

“No way.”

“Yup,” Talia nodded, “It’s always been my dream to be a big star. Like Etta James. Or Billie Holiday.”

“I love Billie Holiday.”

“There's not a man I trust who doesn’t.”

Damian grinned. He liked Talia so far. A lot. She was on the thicker side, with a nice round buttocks and a set of breasts that he’d pay to suffocate between. Not like he’d be so crude as to say that to her out loud. Her skin, a reddish-brown ochre color had a deep, warm glow. Her smile lit up her face, carving out two dimples in her cheeks. 

Her patterned dress was loud and extroverted, in stark contrast to the shyness she displayed on their date. She was reserved but open at the same time, giving Damian the impression that she valued her honesty.

“So where do you sing?” 

Talia lit up once he asked her about singing.

“I started off singing in church. But then… I stopped going to church. Started getting gigs singing in bars. I put out an independent album and now my agent is working to sign me a record deal.”

“Wow. That’s…impressive?”

Talia shrugged, “Not really. It’s not like I’m rich or anything. But I hope to be some day.”

“Don’t we all,” Damian replied with a smile.

He continued to press her, “So this album, can I listen to it some time?”

“You can buy it,” Talia teased, “Lord knows I need the money.”

“I’ve never been a fan of gospel music.”

Talia clicked her teeth, “I have a feeling I’ll change your mind.”

Damian admired her confidence. She seemed to ooze it, especially when talking about singing. Hell, he could imagine she’d be a good singer too. Even her regular speaking voice was deep and sultry, with a slight rasp to it. He could just imagine how beautiful she looked with her mouth all twisted up, as high notes flew into the air. 

Talia could see him looking at her and she changed the subject again. She found Damian attractive, but she didn’t want to lead him to believe she was ready for something that she wasn’t. A man being fine wasn’t enough of a reason for her to let him in.

“Another drink?” Damian asked.

“Sure thing.”

Damian pulled a waiter aside and ordered another drink for the two of them. He leaned across the table and smiled at Talia. His blue eyes were widened with curiosity. As he smiled, Talia noted how perfectly straight his teeth were, how he smelled of cinnamon and cloves, and how his hair was a gorgeous ash brown color.

“What? Why are you staring at me?”

“I want to ask you something.”

“Then ask it.”

“How good are you at shootin’ pool.”

Talia smiled back.

“I’m pretty damn good.”

“Then you won’t mind if I challenge you to a game after we drink?”

“Mind?” Talia replied, “I’ll whoop you ’til next Tuesday. Won’t be much of a challenge.”

Damian chuckled.

“I love your confidence.”

Talia teased him by winking. Man, she was gorgeous. Where the hell had Dwayne Henderson been hiding a single woman like this from him for so long? It had been such a long time since Damian had been with a woman. Deployment meant there wasn’t much time for romance and when there was, it was usually brief and meaningless.

Now that he’d settled down for a while, Damian could see himself pursuing something more. And with Talia, he could definitely picture it. She was luminous, confident and charming. Her voice was magnetic too.

Their drinks came and Talia pounded hers back quickly. Damian followed suit. She stood up and sauntered towards the pool table.

“Get ready to have your ass kicked,” She teased.

Damian grinned, “Oh no missy, I ain’t about to let you whoop me.”

They grabbed cues and set the balls in the triangle. Talia leaned over the table and squinted one eye shut. She seemed to be making micro-adjustments. As she set up her shot, Damian couldn’t help but keep his eyes glued to her body. Her bosom swung over the table, giant mounds of flesh that distracted him thoroughly.

When the cue cracked into the first ball, sending three solids into the holes, Damian snapped out of his reverie.

“Shit. Nice shot.”

“I know it was,” Talia replied, winking at him.

“You know,” Damian replied, “I’ve never lost a game of pool.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Not this,” Damian said cheekily.

“Have you always been such a flirt?”

Damian chuckled, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Talia waited for him to make his shot. She was playing hard to get with him, but the truth was, she was trying to convince herself not to take things too far with Damian. In the past, most of the guys she’d dated had tried their hardest to get in the way of her career.

They’d seem OK with it up front, but when they realized just how much work Talia put into her singing and producing songs, they lost interest. Fast. If the guy was a particularly troublesome one, he’d try sabotage. Talia was wary around new guys. Damian was a bit different because Imogen had pleaded with her to give him a chance.

He was Dwayne’s buddy from Afghanistan and they worked out together three times a week. If Dwayne and Imogen vouched for him, that had to be worth something. Damian’s shot wasn’t bad. But Talia was convinced she’d still beat him.

She shot again. And missed. Badly.

“Damn it!” She swore.

Damian chuckled, “They let you sing gospel with that mouth?”

“I’m a singer, not a saint,” Talia replied, “And I really thought I had you there.”

“Guess I’m more of a challenge to beat than you thought.” 

Man, she was sharp. And Damian was finding himself more attracted to that than he expected. It wasn’t just her looks, her sharp wit or her charm. It was something more.

They played one round. Talia won. The smug look on her face didn’t bother Damian one bit.

“Round two?” He asked.

“Only after a shot of whiskey.”

“Gotcha.”

Damian was starting to feel the liquor. The slightly dizzy feeling plus the excitement he felt just being around Talia was starting to make him feel frisky. Damian ordered two shots of whiskey at the bar.

While Damian was at the bar, Talia leaned her weight on her pool cue, waiting for him to return. She knew she could beat him again. Talia was smiling so widely and so distracted that she didn’t notice the two men come up behind her.

“You usin’ this table?” One of the men grunted.

The two men were both taller than Talia. Both with protruding, globe shaped beer guts. One had black hair and the other was bald.

“Yeah. I’m waiting for someone.”

“It’s our turn,” the bald one said.

“Excuse me?”

The black haired one folded his arms and smiled smugly, “It’s our turn. So hand over the pool cue.”

Talia glared. 

“No.”

The black haired man started getting in her face when Damian returned.

“Do we have a problem here gentlemen?” He asked.

The bald one smiled, “We were just watching.”

They stood back and left Talia alone for the time being. With their arms folded, the two men stood against the wall watching. Talia tried to shake the uncomfortable feeling the men gave her. She had a sense that they hadn’t seen the last of them.

“Whiskey?” Damian offered. 

She took her shot.

“And you’re really okay?”

“Yeah. They were looking for trouble, but I don’t think they found any.”

“Good.” 

“Bottoms up,” Talia said with a smile.

Damian grinned and they tilted their heads back, consuming their shots of whiskey quickly.

“Mmm.” 

“Burns.”

“Ready for me to beat you again?” Talia teased.

“Hell yes.”

Damian was willing to let her beat him a second time. He was intoxicated just being near her. The liquor didn’t help. Damian watched as Talia leaned over to take her shot. Again, she looked perfect like this, all bent over with that look of hunger for victory beaming in her eye.

“Your staring is distracting me.”

“A man can’t help looking when he sees something nice.”

“Well try to keep it in your pants, okay?”

“No guarantees,” Damian teased. 

As Talia took her first shot, the two guys cheered and whooped in the back. Damian braced himself. He could tell they were looking for trouble from the moment he’d seen them start piling on Talia. For now, they’d held themselves back. But Damian didn’t know how long that’s last.

He took his first shot. Awful.

Damian stood up and cast a watchful eye at the men up against the wall. They were getting rowdier. At Talia’ next shot, they approached the table to whoop and cheer for her.

Talia was getting visibly uncomfortable. Damian turned to the guys and told them off.

“Why don’t y’all get away from this table.”

“It’s a free country sir. We’ll stay right where we are,” The bald one said.

It’s a date. Don’t give them the trouble they’re looking for. Damian tried to talk himself down from lashing out instantly, despite his urges.

Talia pressed her hand to Damian’s arm.

“Don’t worry about it. Ignore them.”

Damian was finding it hard. Talia was winning the game, whooping him badly. When she bent over to shoot what Damian was sure would be her last shot, the black haired man who’d been watching them waltzed over and smacked her on the ass.

Talia stood up, mouth agape. The bald headed man and the black haired man began laughing at the top of their lungs, their faces turning tomato red and beer spilling out of their pony-neck bottles.

“Did you see the look on the face of that monkey,” The black haired one laughed even harder. 

Damian couldn’t hold back any longer. He rushed towards the men. Talia grabbed his arm, trying to stop him.

“Damian! No! It’s fine.”

“To hell it is…” Damian growled. 

Damian walked over to the two men, getting into the taller one’s face. 

“Why don’t you two get away from here so I don’t have to get my hands dirty.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re gonna do to us?” The bald one grunted, cracking his knuckles.

“I don’t want any trouble. I just want us to be left alone,” Damian replied. 

He could feel his face turning red. He could feel blood boiling in his veins and that old desire to grab onto someone and bash their face in was running strong. Damian tried to resist. 

I’ve changed. I’m not gonna let one douche bag upset me. 

The black haired guy took a step forward, refusing to back down.

“It’s a free fuckin’ country and I don’t have to do shit that a nigger lover like you tells me.”

“What did you just call me?” Damian growled.

Bald head folded his arms with a cocky grin plastered across his face, “I think he spoke loud and clear. He called you a nigger lover.” 

"I already told you to watch your fuckin’ mouth,” Damian growled.

He cracked his knuckles. He knew the type that these guys were. They’d fix their mouth to say anything, thinking that no one would have the guts to stop them. But Damian had already identified their weak points. He could see that the bald headed guy had a slight limp and that the black haired one was too drunk to take a punch. He was prepared to fight them off.

“It’s a free country mother fucker,” The bald one said.

“Please Damian, let’s just get out of here,” Talia pleaded.

She didn’t want this to escalate. But Damian couldn’t stand to sit back and watch somebody spit out the n-word like it was nothing. Damian wasn’t going to listen to her. There was a time to be the bigger man, but it wasn’t now.

He stepped up to bald head and swung. Bald head dodged the first punch but he didn’t see the second coming. Damian’s fist connected with his face and Damian kicked his feet out from under him. Bald head fell, hitting his head on the pool table first. Damian landed another kick.

“Damian! Damian, you don’t have to do this!” Talia screamed.

Damian was too overcome by his fury to stop himself. Hearing the man’s words echoing in his head stung. Rage blinded him. Damian stepped over bald head. He grabbed black hair by the caller and slammed him into the pool table. He bashed his head into it again and again.

“Don’t you dare say that word,” Damian growled, “Don’t you dare say it!” 

The bartender had finally noticed something was wrong. He had called a couple bouncers who were now making their way to where Damian was standing. He slammed the black haired man’s head one last time. Damian stepped back before the bouncers and the bartender had arrived.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving!” Damian announced. 

Damian dropped the black haired man to the ground. He stepped over both of them and approached Talia.

“C’mon,” He replied, “Let’s get out of here.”

Talia was shaken. She followed Damian, grabbing his hand as they left the bar. The bouncers and the bar keep weren’t too perturbed. Damian had a feeling the men he’d run into were regulars — and regular troublemakers. While they expected him to leave, no one caused him more trouble. 

As Damian and Talia exited the bar, he shook his fist. Throwing a punch hurt. And he hadn’t thrown one in a while. He tried to abstain from violence wherever possible.

“Are you okay?!” Talia asked.

Damian nodded as they walked towards his car which was in a garage a few blocks away.

“Yes. I’m okay. But really I should be asking about you.”

Talia wrapped her arms around her shoulders. The weather was cool enough for a light jacket, but not cold. Still, she was shaken from her experience in the bar.

“I’m… fine,” Talia replied.

Damian shook his head, “I can’t believe those assholes. I know I shouldn’t have blown up. But I couldn’t help it.”

Damian paused and then held Talia still on the sidewalk.

“It’s not okay for people to treat you like that.”

“I know,” She nodded.

“Are you cold?”

“A bit.”

“Take my jacket. I don’t need it,” Damian said.

He took his jacket off and wrapped it around Talia. She fit nicely in the jacket, except for her breasts which prevented the jacket from zipping up all the way. Damian linked arms with her and they kept walking.

“Think they’ll let you back in the bar?” Talia asked.

Damian shrugged, “Probably not.”

“Y’know, I appreciate it. But you didn’t have to do all of that for me. I can handle myself.”

“I know. But why should you have to.”

Talia felt her heart flutter. She hated to admit it to herself, but she found herself painfully attracted to Damian. And while she considered herself a pacifist, there was something sexy about seeing Damian defend her. He'd meant it when he’d said those guys deserved it.

“Well thanks. I appreciate it."

“No problem,” Damian grunted.

They approached the garage.

“Second floor?”

“Yup,” Damian confirmed that she’d remembered correctly.

They walked up towards his car. Damian knew the night was almost over and he’d ended the date on a strange note. Those bastards…

Once they were outside Damian’s car, a restored 1973 Pontiac Grand Am, he stopped Talia.

“I’m sorry that things ended the way they did. I really am.”

“It’s fine, I swear,” Talia replied. 

“No. It’s not fine. When Dwayne told me that you'd actually go out with me, I wanted to make a good first impression. That… wasn’t it. You might think ‘cause I’m military that I'm here to play around. But I’m not.”

“Oh?”

“I’m looking for the real thing Talia. And you’re something… something very fascinating to me.”

“Fascinating? Well that’s new.”

“Sorry,” Damian muttered, “I’ve never been too good with my words.”

He took a step closer to her, forcing Talia to lean up against the Grand Am. The old car, the hot date, Talia couldn’t wait for him to kiss her. Damian started slowly, running his hands along her hips and sitting them right above her bottom.

“You’re beautiful Talia Sherbert,” He whispered.

“Thank you.”

Damian then leaned in, slowly, calculating each motion. He kissed Talia on the lips softly. His lips pressed against hers and their eyes both snapped shut. Talia reached up to touch Damian’s face. Stubble peppering his chin rubbed against Talia’ hand as she kissed him deeply. Damian thrust his tongue into her mouth and supported her as she leaned back against the car.

When he pulled away from her, Talia’ brown eyes were wide open. She looked… pleased. 

“I’ve been waiting all night to kiss you,” Damian muttered.

“Same…”

“Well c’mon then. Let’s not wait here any longer so that those guys don’t come looking for me.”

“Good idea.”

Talia got into the passenger seat. 

“So… Night cap?” Damian asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Wanna head somewhere else?”

Talia fidgeted in her seat like she was contemplating her answer. The truth was, she didn’t want the night to be over, but she also didn’t want to go anywhere else with Damian. The bar had been enough drama for the night. Plus, she was getting more tempted by the second to invite Damian back to hers.

“Why don’t I show you my place. I can play one of my records for you,” Talia blurted out.

She’d gotten ahead of herself. But she didn’t mind. Damian was hot. Smokin’ hot. And even if nothing happened between them but a few kisses, she had a feeling it would be worth it. Plus, he said he didn’t like gospel and she was determined to change his mind.

There was a practical reason for this. Of course. 

“Fine. We’ll go to yours,” Damian muttered, trying to hide his smirk.

For a pacifist, it was clear Talia was turned on by his display. That was the thing with good girls. They always went a little crazy when they bounced up with a bad boy. 

Damian gripped the steering wheel tight and listened to Talia give him directions to hers. As a moderately successful but not-quite-famous gospel singer, she lived in a nice part of town. It wasn’t too far from Damian’s place either. On the ride home, Damian flicked on the radio. Talia changed it to the RnB station.

Alicia Keys’ song No One came on. Talia started to sing every word. It was hard to stay focused when she was singing. When Damian heard her voice for the first time, he was mesmerized. Notes came out of her mouth effortlessly. Her voice had a type of power, a deep soul to it. Soul that put Amy Winehouse to shame. She was clearly a diamond in the rough as her voice was better than most living stars Damian could name.

She even sounded better than Alicia. As Talia sang, she rocked and danced along with the music. Damian could see it written all over her face: her music brought her joy. It was hard for him not to be infected by it. When the song was over, Talia was all smiles.

“Whew! I love that song,” She said, beaming from ear to ear.

Damian was mesmerized. Drawn in by her intoxicating smile and her liquid gold voice, he couldn’t help but hope another song came that would bring Talia out of her shell and cause her to belt out another beautiful tune. But the last few songs before they arrived at her place were dull, unchallenging to her vocals. So Talia was quiet. But still gorgeous.

Of all the time Damian had spent with her, being alone with her had been the best. She’d morphed from “Imogen’s friend” into this full, complex woman and there was so much more he’d noticed about her that had nothing to do with her looks. And well, her looks were magnetic too.

Talia had noticed him looking at her. She noticed the way his eyes tried not to stray to her breasts, yet remained inexplicably pulled there. She noticed the way he gripped the steering wheel tighter when she sang and how much Damian Buckley seemed to be holding back.

Don’t hold back. She wanted to tell him. I feel it too. And I want you…

Talia was far too timid to say this all out loud. She’d wanted Damian from the second Dwayne Henderson had brought him to the bar a few months ago. All that dancing around each other and casual flirtation had finally led to a real date. And even if Damian was no stranger to her, this was all still very new.

It had been a while since Talia had poked her head up from work to notice a man, much less go on a date with one. And Damian wasn’t just a man. He had a stable career, albeit, one she disagreed with. He was athletic, spending hours in the gym with Imogen’s hubby. He had gorgeous blue eyes and a woody, leathery scent to his cologne. 

When they pulled up at her place, Talia felt nervous. If she’d jumped the gun with him, she’d feel like a fool. She still couldn’t tell how Damian felt about her. He felt strongly enough to take on two drunks in the bar, but how far did that extend? What if he was just being a gentleman? And when he found out how much she put her work above everything else, would that turn him away?

He parked the car.

“Your home is… massive.”

Heat rushed to Talia’ cheeks. She’d started off her career renting out a basement bedroom with mold so thick she’d developed permanent hay fever from it. This house was a recent upgrade, and one she was barely comfortable with.

“Thanks.”

“So… Gonna play me one of your records?”

“Unless you’ve changed your mind about coming in.”

Damian leaned over. His face was close to hers, like he was going to kiss her again.

“Trust me… I haven’t changed my mind.”

He pulled away and opened his door, stepping out. Talia exhaled. Damian barely said much, but when he did say something, Talia found herself wanting to know more. For a military guy he seemed more reserved than she expected. All the army guys that Talia had known from high school were loud douche bags. Nothing like Damian.

He was hot and he wasn’t a dick. Not in the least bit.

There was something behind his eyes that told her he’d seen a lot in life. But what was it? What was it that pulled her in, compelling her to know more, compelling her to take a risk for him?

Talia opened the door to her house and flicked on the light. She saw Damian looking around, trying to hide how awestruck he was. She’d looked the same when she’d first walked into the place and when she was first hit with the realization that she could actually afford to live in a place like this.

Crisp minimalism defined Talia’ house. She didn’t have much furniture and nearly everything inside was a stark ivory or a cool grey. Damian was surprised. Given Talia’ colorful outfits, he expected her place to be louder. 

In her living room, Talia had a white shelf, filled with records. Some of them were bargain bin jazz records from the 1960s. Others were brand new. Her Beyoncé record was propped up on the top of the shelf, against her brand new record player. Talia saw her display catch Damian’s eye.

“Everything sounds better on vinyl.”

“Oh really?” Damian replied.

Talia nodded, “If you don’t listen to records, you should start.”

Damian chuckled. He’d never met anyone as passionately into music as Talia was. Her record collection was beyond impressive.

“Got any rock’n’roll?” He teased.

“Of course!” 

Damian raised his eyebrows. Talia was full of surprises. He didn’t mean to hold onto prejudice, but he didn’t know any black women who were into rock’n’roll.

“What’d’y’got?”

Talia had everything impeccably organized. On the middle left hand side of her shelf, she flipped through her rock collection.

“Zeppelin. Beatles. Grateful Dead.”

Damian chuckled, “You listen to the Grateful Dead?”

“Why not?”

“You’re full of surprises.”

Talia ignored his request for the Grateful Dead and instead just flicked on her Beyoncé album. Pretty Hurts started to play. Damian had never heard it before. But it was an album Talia had heard a million times. As she swayed to the music, preparing herself to match Beyoncé’s notes, she felt Damian approaching behind her. He was close now. So close she could feel his warmth.

Talia turned around abruptly. Her logical brain made one last dash to save her from her impulses.

“Maybe… Maybe it’s getting late… And you should go now.”

Damian took a step closer to her.

“Is that what you want?”

Talia tried to hold true to herself. 

“Y-yes,” She whispered.

“Is that what you really want,” Damian replied, firmly.

His hands reached around her hips as he asked. He squeezed her tightly and kept his blue eyes locked to hers. His eyes were fierce, filled with the fires of his lust. He licked his lips like a lion about to pounce. Talia could feel her will getting weaker. Damian was fine. Far too fine. She’d made a mistake letting him this close.

There was no saying ‘no’ to a man like him.

“Yes… It’s what I want.”

Damian smirked, “I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?” Talia sassed.

“Because… I think you’re dripping wet. And I think what you really want is to feel my big cock sliding between your thighs. I think you want to cry my name out and sweat that gorgeous hair out ’til the sun comes up.”

“What if you’re wrong?” 

Talia knew how weak she sounded — how unconvincing. 

“I’m not.”

Damian leaned forward and kissed her. Talia wrapped her arms around him and kissed back. Damian pressed her body up against the wall. Her back tapped the wall with a gentle thud and she flung herself head first into kissing him. Screw it. His lips were baby soft. Each kiss was more tender and deeper than the last.

He was right. Talia could feel wetness pooling between her thighs as her desire for him heightened. Damian’s fingertips pressed against Talia’ skin. Fire surged through her body as he touched her. He pulled away from her for a moment and eyed her body.

“I want you…”

Talia took Damian’s hand and started leading him to her bedroom. She wanted him too, but not here.

“No,” Damian stopped her, and grabbed her hand, pulling her back to him.

“Here,” He growled, “We’re doing it here. Take your clothes off.”

His dominance made Talia wetter. She was used to being in control. At work, she called all the shots. On the stage, she was the center of the show and the center of attention. That’s what she was used to. And in one night, Damian had upended her need to maintain control.

Talia started to pull her dress up over her head. She pulled the printed dress up over her curves and struggled to get them over her large breasts. Once she was before Damian in her underwear, she felt a mix of vulnerability and excitement. She tried to cover her body with her arms.

“No. I want to see you… every last beautiful inch.”

Talia reluctantly let her arms down to her side.

“Fuck… It makes me so hard just looking at you.”

Damian rushed her again. He planted kisses on her lips and neck as his hands ran all over her curvaceous body. He squeezed her hips and her round buttocks and pressed his chest against her breasts. He couldn’t wait to get one of those supple blackberry nipples in his mouth. 

“Mmm, take your panties off,” Damian growled.

Talia took her panties off, exposing her plump, shaved pussy. Damian reached around and unhooked her bra with one swift motion. Talia shivered as the cool air of her living room teased her nipples to hard attention.

“Perfection,” Damian muttered. 

He bent his head to Talia’ nipples and took one into his mouth. Her bosom was warm and her flesh had a gentle vanilla scent. Damian knew he’d have to be gentle with her. The gospel singer with the molasses voice had flushed skin as he touched her. When he kissed her neck, she turned her face away ever so slightly. She was nervous to be like this in front of him. 

Damian planned to change that. He led her over to the couch and bent her over the arm.

“Stay put,” He commanded.

Talia stayed still, quivering as she felt Damian kneeling between her legs. He splayed her thighs apart and dove his nose between her legs. Mmm. Damian inhaled the scent of her freshly shaven pussy and then pulled his face away. Talia had never felt so exposed before, but heat curled down her spine as Damian’s face returned between her thighs.

He spread her pussy lips apart with his fingers and began to kiss all around her thighs, diving his tongue between her pussy lips only so often.

“Mmm, you smell amazing,” He groaned.

Talia shuddered. His lips flicked across her pussy lips again. She buckled, leaning against the couch with all her might. Damian squeezed her thighs and drove his tongue between her pussy lips. He lapped at the full length of her lips, tasting every inch of Talia’ flesh.

“OHHH,” She cried out as his tongue grazed her clit.

Damian began to lick at her folds with more vigor until her knees buckled and her thighs quivered in pleasure. Talia moaned and squeezed her eyes shut as a climax drove her body to orgasm. It was true what they said about white men…

Talia had never had her pussy eaten so passionately before in her life. Damian seemed to enjoy dipping his tongue into every fold and tasting every inch of her plump pussy. When he finally pulled away, her thighs were dripping wet and she was more than ready for him to take his cock and shove it into her.

Damian stood up and fished a condom out of his pants. He stripped naked and rolled the condom onto his dick. Talia glanced backwards, catching her first glimpse of Damian’s naked body. His physique was far more formidable than she imagined. Every inch of his body was pure, cut muscle. His hours in the gym had been well spent. 

Damian’s physique wasn’t the only thing impressive about him. His hardness protruded from his body like a monument. His thickness and hardness looked like it would stretch her wide open. Talia tried to hide her surprise. Damian had been so humble, that she’d never even thought about what he’d be packing between his legs.

But he was big. Really big. She braced herself against the couch as he positioned his hardness behind her. Talia was dripping wet and eager for pure pleasure. She was here for a good time with a good guy and so far ‘good’ was just the beginning of what she felt.

Damian began to press his hardness between her thighs. Talia gripped the couch and grit her teeth as he began to press inside her. His dick head sliding past her entrance was an instant mixture of pleasure and pain. Her knees buckled again and she wriggled her ass to allow him better access to her wetness.

As he pressed into her tight wetness, Talia moaned. Damian felt her pussy gripping him like a vice as he slid between her lips. It was a tight squeeze. Talia cried out again as he pushed his dick halfway in. He gripped her voluptuous hips and thrust the rest of his dick inside her with one swift motion.

“OHHH,” Talia cried. 

“Mmm,” Damian moaned.

He began to thrust into Talia’ tight little love hole. She gasped as his hardness stretched her wide and he started to pound into her furiously. Damian was pounding her pussy hard and fast. With each stroke, Talia could feel fire rising in her chest. Her heart raced and her skin flushed as she drew close to climax.

Damian continued to pummel her, stroking her soft ass cheeks and gripping her hips as he pounded her ferociously. As a big orgasm overcame Talia, she bucked her hips back. Her pussy exploded and juices flowed all over Damian's hardness as her wetness clamped down on his cock, throbbing as the waves of orgasm washed over.

She whimpered and gasped as Damian kept pounding her, close to a finish of his own. Her long hair was stuck to her neck as Damian kept pummeling her wetness. He was getting close too, Talia could sense it. Damian let out a loud groan as he finally finished.

He grunted with his cock buried inside her, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout her body. Damian pulled his dick out and then took his condom off, tossing it into the trash. He returned to the couch, fully nude, as Talia lay on her back, gasping for breath.

She turned to look at Damian who smirked mischievously.

“I can see you enjoyed yourself.”

Talia nodded weakly. She could tell Damian would be eager for round two, but she needed to catch her breath. Damian walked over to her and pulled her up off the couch.

“Round two is in the bedroom…”

“You can’t be serious,” Talia said with a grin.

(She was hoping that he was.)

“Oh, I’m serious. And if you don’t get up… I’ll have to carry you there myself.”

Damian reached for her and Talia playfully swatted his hand away.

“I can get there myself.”

“Perfect. Now which way is it?”

Talia stood up and grabbed Damian by the hand, leading him to her bedroom. Her bedroom was just as tastefully decorated as the rest of her house with a giant, four poster king sized bed sitting right in the middle.

Lace white curtains framed the windows in the room, giving it a sensual and feminine look. Just like Talia. Damian leapt onto the bed first and Talia followed. She kissed and caressed his hair and then his back. She trailed kisses down his back until she came to his lower back.

The tattoo was small but it caught her attention immediately, pulling her out of the moment and turning her stomach.

It sat right there on his lower back. The six lines, twisted into a shape that represented hate, genocide and white supremacy. Talia had just made love to him and she felt sick.

With a shaky voice, she asked, “What the hell is on your back?” 

* * *

🇺🇸HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY! 🇺🇸 I published this day to celebrate BBQ, cookouts, family time and all the other awesome times we have on this holiday. This BWWM military romance is not heavy on military action but you’ll find steamy hot scenes that will rile you up for an incredible holiday weekend.

The book has so many twists and turns you won’t even be able to predict from this sample. Luckily for you, the book is live NOW and you can get your copy easy as pie on any eReader platform of your choosing.

CLICK HERE TO BUY THE BOOK DIRECTLY FROM JAMILA JASPER

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Romantic Comedy Novels: Naughty Nurse (BWWM Workplace Romance)

Naughty-Nurse-Kindle.jpg

I republished a previous title with BIG changes and edits to better fit today’s audience. Today, Naughty Nurse is a super steamy high-heat romance novella featuring a goody-two-shoes nurse who meets up with a daring rebellious bad boy, Austin Romero. Playing by the rules hasn’t always worked out for Nereida. Her boyfriend is a total ass, her boss is in need of #MeToo exposing, and her best friend seems totally oblivious to all the ways her life is going down the drain. What Nereida needs is permission to be bad… or at least get a little naughty. Keep reading this free sample of the book to dive into Nereida’s story. By the end of the sample, you’ll be dying for this nurse to get a little naughty.

Romance Novel Excerpts: Naughty Nurse (Interracial Romance Novel)

Nereida enjoyed the usual quiet of the night shift. In their small sleepy city that hadn’t yet been discovered by hipsters of gentrifiers, there wasn’t much to disturb the peace. But on rare occasions where some hurricane level disaster managed to puncture through their regular world, the hospital could shift from as silent as a graveyard to a bustling ants nest. There would be screaming, nurses running down hallways, doctors yelling.

What was one peaceful would be thrust into furious chaos. Nothing could calm the angry energy except death -- the dull flatline of a heart monitor would be the cue for the chaos to stop. Out of respect. Out of defeat.

On rare occasions, when there was a late night emergency, the noise wouldn’t just cease but it would slow down to a quiet simmer. When a late night emergency was accompanied by a little bit of luck and instead of a casualty, the hospital was blessed with a miracle. 

Nereida Kelly sipped hot earl grey in the waiting room with her closest friend on shift that night. She never rushed her tea. The rule of a place like this was that you had to steal what little joy you could. The two women enjoyed a rare moment of peace in the hospital -- something rarely afforded to nurses. Krista was going on and on about her recent engagement and Nereida was listening attentively, longing for the time when she would have something equally inspiring to share. She wasn’t sure it would ever happen with Rashad. She was thirty-two, he was nearly forty, yet he’d still shown no interest in making an honest woman out of her. She’d been hinting for years. Nereida had gone so far as to stuff his car with old wedding catalogs that were about to get dumped from the hospital waiting room. Rashad hadn’t even noticed.

Nereida knew it wasn’t her looks that stopped him from proposing. Mahogany, red-boned, somewhere between dark and medium brown, her complexion was a perfect chocolate. Her kinky, curly hair was long and touched the middle of her back. At work, Nereida kept it pulled back in a ponytail for professionalism. 

With her hair pulled back you could see the bright round apples of Nereida’s cheeks which were further highlighted by the smile she wore plastered on her face. Nereida’s one way of spoiling herself was her french tip nails which she got done every two weeks like clockwork. Her eyes were a deep dark brown color that reflected the depth and darkness of her beauty. Nereida was most definitely beautiful and graceful whether or not she was aware of it. She had this near magical ability to make other people around her feel calm and safe with her. That’s why she made such a good nurse.

Nereida’s listening skills had a dark side, evidenced by the fact that Krista blabbered on without letting her girl friend get a word in. She knew that it was cruel to talk Nereida’s ear off about this constantly, but she just couldn’t help that her friend was such a good listener. Krista had blonde hair — natural, and she wouldn’t let you forget it —  that fell down the middle of her back and giant bright hazel colored eyes. 

As Nereida tried to actually listen to Krista’s words, a message from her boyfriend Rashad flashed on her phone. He was angry with her — again. These days their relationship was more hate than love. Nereida thought he was tripping, but Rashad always found a way to make their screwed up relationship her fault. 

Maybe he’d change, Nereida thought, despite no evidence that he would. Krista kept telling her that she should jump back out into the dating world, but Nereida couldn’t handle the cesspool of online dating. Swipe where?! 

Rashad was a pain in the behind, though. That  much was true. He was constantly complaining that Nereida didn’t care about anything except her work. What was she supposed to do? Her dream had always been to have a great job where she could care for other people and nursing just happened  to be what had called her. Nereida couldn’t help that she worked night shifts; she wasn’t even sure what Rashad wanted from her since he didn’t seem to want to marry her. Well she knew but it just wasn’t practical. Rashad wanted her to quit work and just start having his babies and caring for him around the house — without a ring. Nereida loved him, but she just couldn’t give up her dream for him. Not to be his baby mama. Maybe with a ring… 

Her mother had always told her, “Don’t let any ain’t shit mutha-fucka control the money in your house, girl.” 

Nereida didn’t often think her mother had the best advice but that piece had stuck in her head. In her adulthood, she just knew that she couldn’t resign herself to being a servant to Rashad. Somehow, she knew that Rashad couldn’t support her on his own. He certainly thought he could but even now, Rashad made less moolah than she did. It was another sore point in their relationship. He couldn’t handle the thought and he was in denial about it. 

Nereida tuned in to what Krista was saying. That chick still hadn’t realized that Nereida had just track of her conversation. Nereida shook her head, another gesture that went unnoticed as Krista prattled on.

“So, Nereida… What do you think? Should I let her come or should I just tell him that I don’t want his ex-girlfriend’s cousin’s ex-husband’s new girl at my wedding? And should I let them bring their huskies?” 

Before Nereida could give her input on Krista’s latest wedding planning drama, their beepers went off and the break cut short. Krista and Nereida leapt into action and made their way to the E.R. where two stretchers were going in. 

* * *

“Kelly!” Dr. Allen called Nereida to his side and Krista took her cue to follow Dr. Hatfield. Nereida followed the stretcher that surged down the halls at breakneck speed as she prepared to stabilize the patient that had just been wheeled in. It all happened so fast. By now, this ritual should have been swift and automatic. Nereida could never calm her nerves, the adrenaline that pumped through her veins as she rushed down the hall administering shots and oxygen as the doctor on call barked commands at her. You had to keep a cool head. You had to forget about all your problems going on outside: no weddings, no Rashad. 

The patient had burns, pretty severe ones too that charred his skin and peeled away his flesh. The kicker had been two gunshot wounds. He might not have called 911 without them. Nereida didn’t think this one would make it. She’d seen cases less serious than this one where the patient hadn’t made it to the operating room in time before conking out. We have to save him. The thought intruded into her head.

He was in pretty terrible condition and Nereida followed the doctor and yelled back information. The EMTs had managed to stop some of the bleeding but there was still quite a bit of work to be done before this patient was anything near stable. They moved him into the O.R. and everyone suited up to get to work on him.

* * *

It was well after two a.m. by the time the patient was stable. Throughout the surgery, Nereida learned that the patient’s name was Austin Romero. She wondered what on earth had happened to land him in the hospital with two gunshot wounds and third degree burns all over his body. She hadn’t even caught a look at his face but based on how well insured he was, there was no way he was a common street criminal or the type of guy you’d expect to be in here like this.

Nereida’s fascination with this patient was beyond normal and she knew it. From the moment she prepared to leave the operating room, Nereida felt a pang of guilt at leaving him behind for another nurse to wheel into recovery. She couldn’t figure out why he produced such a strange response in her. Austin Romero. The name sounded like it belonged to someone famous, someone who didn’t belong in a small nowhere city like hers.

Strange. Nereida was changing out of her operating scrubs in the locker room between the operating room and the hospital when she heard the surgeon on-call’s heavy breathing behind her. Dr. Finger tapped Nereida on the shoulder as she stood there in just her bra and her clean pants.

“Yes doctor?” Nereida answered politely.

Internally she was thinking, “Here we go again.” She knew that Dr. Finger didn’t have the world’s best established boundaries and he was constantly hitting on the younger nurses, even if he’d been married for over fifteen years.

“Well that was some great work in there,” he said, breathing heavily like a caged ox.

His eyes eagerly lingered on Nereida’s bosom. He licked his lips, not bothering to pretend that he wasn’t leering at her. She shot him a glare and threw her shirt on.

“Thanks,” Nereida mumbled.

She hoped that he would just leave her alone after that. She had a boyfriend and she was here to work… Not pick up guys. She knew that some of the younger nurses made the mistake in thinking that older doctors were “in love” with them and would eventually leave their wives. But it never happened quite like that. Nereida didn’t want a reputation at work. Or anywhere. And she didn’t want a creepy old guy leering at her like a piece of prime rib.

“So Nereida… What are you doing after this shift?” He shifted his junk in his pants. Nereida resisted the urge to scream at him and risk getting her butt fired.

“It’s two in the morning doc,” Nereida said.

Did he really think that she would be so easy to get in bed? She struggled not to laugh in his face.

“Uh, I know it’s two a.m. Nereida. You’re really filling out these scrubs well aren’t you. I like my women with nice bazookas. Great nipples too.”

He licked his lips again. Nereida’s heart raced and her mouth went dry as she plotted her escape route. Even if she reported him, Dr. Finger was the best surgeon in the entire state. They’d never get rid of him so long as patients wanted his gifted hands working on them. 

Nereida glared at him again and tried to push past.

“Not so easy miss. I’m not letting you leave until I get a date.”

“Please… I have a boyfriend, Dr. Finger. Let’s just forget this happened and I’ll head home.”

“Nereida. I’m very discreet. I know you’re seeing some young chap but can he really provide you with everything you want in life? I mean… I’m a doctor.” 

Nereida wondered for a moment if that line had ever worked. She was depressed by the fact that it probably had. Dr. Finger had probably convinced many poor nurses who were just looking to be cared for that he could change their situation or do something to improve their lives. Nereida had been around the hospital too long to even take him seriously. Who did he think he was? These doctors were too arrogant and all thought that someone owed them just because they happened to sit through school for a few extra years.

“Dr. Finger, it’s late and I would really appreciate going home right now.”

“So you’re playing hard to get?” He said. An impish grin broke out across his face.

Nereida was getting frustrated and she was already exhausted. She was about to head home to a boyfriend who was likely waiting for her angrily and she didn’t need this.

“NO! I’m not playing hard to get! I want you to get the hell out of here. I don’t give a damn how much money you have or how bad you think you are okay? This is unprofessional and I want you to let me leave!” 

Dr. Finger seemed taken aback. He wasn’t used to being rejected so flatly and Nereida could see a flash of anger blaze across his eyes. 

“Nereida. Let’s not forget I’m your superior here and I expect at least the basic amount of respect.” 

Nereida was about to lash into him again, fueled by anger at his entitlement when Krista knocked on the door and opened it.

Did you enjoy this free sample? Click here to finish reading the rest of the novella.

BWWM Books | Mr. Too Big (BWWM Hitman Romance Novella)

mr. too big billionaire hitman romance novellaMr. Too Big, a steamy hitman novella came from an idea that I had while talking to my husband. Yes, it sounds corny but it's true, my HUSBAND inspired "Mr. Too Big". Infer what you will from that one! I couldn't wait to get the novel written and I actually had it done two weeks before I published it. I had no idea what to do with the book and my mind was RACING with questions...

Will my readers like this book?

Is this book good enough to publish?

Will the kinks in this book be "too raunchy" for Amazon?

I can tell you right now that the book is HOT. It's almost too raunchy for Amazon. Oops. I guess I couldn't help myself. The book was definitely good enough to publish and to this day, I get emails about Mr. Too Big from readers who were pleased to stumble across my steamy novella. Sometimes it's better to believe in yourself than to cloud your head with doubts...

I don't want to spoil too much of this story for you, but let's just say our hitman JAY will have you drooling. I know you need a new book boyfriend, so dive into the sample ASAP

BWWM Books Novella Sample: Mr. Too Big

Jay 

One more job, and then I was out. 

Isn't that what they always say in movies, right before the shit hits the fan?

I guess maybe it was only too appropriate, then. Because things were about to go down for me like they'd never gone down before. 

As I would soon find, I'd gotten far too big to try and pull out now... 

I sat across the street from a towering skyscraper in the middle of downtown, outside a small cafe. In another lifetime, I would have been sitting with a newspaper pressed against my nose, trying to look inconspicuous in order to hide what I was really up to. These days, though, a guy like me reading a newspaper would have stuck out like a sore thumb- six foot one, jacked and rugged, occupying his time with a relic of the previous century. 

So instead I sat stooped over an iPad, blending in a lot better that way, a set of shades concealing my persistent glances toward the building on the opposite side of the street. I kept pressing my earpiece closer and closer like there might be something going on that I was missing. I'd bugged my target's car, then watched as he and his bodyguards made their way out into the building in question. I knew there was nothing that I should be listening for, but I guess I was just a little bit on edge. 

This was the job to end all jobs. The payday that was going to get me out of this shit once and for all. And I was going to do everything in my power to ensure that it went off without a hitch. That any one of a million different things didn't manage to fuck it up for me. 

I'd been following my target around for weeks, hoping to gain some insight into his schedule. A mister Ray Philips, one of the most contemptible sons of bitches I'd ever been assigned to take out. Day trader. Arms dealer. A major player in the pharmaceutical industry, who'd made a fortune jacking up drug prices for those who were most vulnerable, and most unable to afford them. 

I'd never been proud of how I made my living. It wasn't that I'd chosen the life of the assassin, so much as it had chosen me. Having enlisted as a soldier and seen things that no man should see, and doing things that man should ever do in good conscience, I found myself unable to reshape myself into the mold of a healthy, everyday life. The violence was in my blood. My soul craved peace, and a reprieve from all the horrors I'd witnessed and been a part of. But I still needed to make money, and at the end of the day, I realized there was really only one thing I'd ever been good at. 

I worked for a man called Hillary. Marlon Hillary. A rich jackass in his own right, he'd kept me around as his gun for hire for the past five years. I took care of his enemies for him. The business rivals who posed too much of a threat. Those who were willing to get their hands even dirtier than he was, and who seemed as though they might serve as a problem for him in the long term. 

I harbored no delusions about what I did. I was a murderer, pure and simple. But at least in this position, I had some say over who bit the bullet. I could say no to a job if I had to if my conscience started objecting too loud, unlike in my previous line of work. 

I did have a moral code, even if it wasn't much of one. I'd always refused to take out the innocent. To hurt anyone who didn't have it coming, and then some. I'd turned down a few high profile clients who'd requested such services of me- asking me to kill men and women who, obnoxiously wealthy and corrupt or not, had done nothing worthy of the death sentence that had been asked of me to impose upon them. 

I'd lost a pretty penny that way over the years, believe you me. I could have been done and out of this game by now if I hadn't shown such restraint, but here I was, still in the game, and only just now on the threshold of getting out of it. 

I didn't even want to think about how much of my soul I would still have left by the time I finally did get things wrapped up...

Thankfully, this Ray Philips was like the best of both worlds to me. He was both rotten to the core and worth a fortune in my pocket- easily the largest bounty I had ever made an effort to claim. 

Then, at last, the moment I'd put the bullet through his temple and washed the blood from my hands, I had plans to pack up my fortune, buy a first class ticket to Belize, and leave this life forever, spending my remaining time on earth making my best effort to forget that any of it had ever happened. 

Not that I would forget. 

I could never forget all that I'd done. The sins these hands were responsible for. The lives they'd taken. But at least, for once, I could try to rest. I could lay my head down in contemplation, and try to figure things out for myself. What I was meant for. What I was put on this earth to do. If, indeed, I really had any business being on this forsaken rock at all. 

The only problem right now with my ingenious plan was that Ray Philips didn't seem to stick to any kind of reliable schedule that I could make out. All the days I'd been following him, I had hoped to take note of a recognizable pattern of some kind. Something that would make it easy for me to catch him when his guard was down, and when I stood the lowest possible risk of getting caught. 

But of course, I really should have learned by now, nothing was ever really that easy for me... 

Apparently, having his fingers in so many pies at once kept Philips as busy as a bee, flitting from one flower to the next, his movements erratic, unpredictable. He must have done enough coke to never have to spend ten consecutive minutes asleep at a time. 

And so, I decided, I was just going to have to take the plunge one way or another. 

I made up my mind that today would be the day. I was ending this, tonight, as soon as he was at home and, with any luck, asleep. 

And then I was out of this, at long, long last. 

I'd lapsed into a reverie in the heat of the early evening sun, and let my vision fall out of focus without meaning to. I jerked awake at the sound of static in my earbuds, then footsteps clacking across the sidewalk toward the Mercedes in which Philips had been driven here. 

“Okay, men. We're done here today. If Esposito doesn't want to listen to reason, I'll just take things into my own hands. I'm done playing games with such a goddamn child. Now, take me the fuck home, I need some rest. I haven't slept a fucking night clear through this entire goddamn week.” 

So much of the time I kept my cool so well. Now, though, I let myself get too excited. I leaped up from my chair without meaning to, keen to follow after my target, even though there was no imperative need to do so just now. I knew where he was going. I should have waited a while instead of trailing them too directly, but I wasn't thinking. 

Across the street, Philips didn't notice me. Nor did the large, thuggish bodyguard opening the back door to the Mercedes for him. The one at the driver's side did, however. 

Through two lanes of heavy evening traffic, my eyes met those of the driver through his shade, making my heart skip a beat. 

Damn it... Damn it... Damn it! I thought to myself, freaking the fuck out that my cover was about to be blown at best, and that at worst I was about to wind up with a bullet in my own head. 

I thought fast, though, trying to minimize the damage. 

I stretched, as though my eyes meeting those of Philips' brute had been nothing more than a coincidence. Then I took the last sip of my coffee, and laid some money on the table, as though I'd become totally oblivious of all that was ensuing on the other side of the street. I sorted out some change from my pocket and left a far too generous tip for the young woman who'd brought me my coffee- if this worked like I hoped it would, it might have just been her that ended up saving my life. 

Then, keeping up the charade, I set off down the street, away from the Mercedes, away from where my bike was parked nearby, striding as though I knew exactly where I was going, and why I was going there. I really had no clue, except that I needed to get as far away from Philips as I could, as fast as possible. 

I didn't dare look back over there again, back over to the building where Philips had been. I did, however, squint into the glass windows of the building I passed on my side. The knot in my stomach unclenched at the sight of the Mercedes pulling away, the bodyguard's suspicion of me evidently minimal enough for him to let me off the hook. 

I let out a sigh of relief and decided I would circle the block once for good measure. 

There was no rush to get to Philips this instant. I would wait until tonight when conditions were more favorable, and then I would end this, once and for all. 

I could almost taste the fresh air of freedom on my lips... 

_____

Midnight. 

I'd parked my bike in the woods outside Philips' mansion several hours ago, then hiked over to a spot overlooking his place. I'd watched his house through the scope of the rifle I carried with me until every light had gone out, and a vehicle had pulled away out the driveway- the vehicle, I hoped, of Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum, his bodyguards. 

I couldn't be certain that Philips was the only occupant in the place but now felt like as good a chance as any. At that moment, it honestly felt like my only chance. 

I crept down to the house like a phantom, switching instantly into combat mode. I'd learned to turn off all of my inhibitions, to cast aside all of my doubts whenever the moment of truth arrived. I was no longer a human being anymore. But a machine. My actions swift and decisive. My decisions, my responses, purely rational. Dedicated to getting a job done, and nothing more, nothing less. 

I pushed a fist through the glass panes of his front door, and made swift work of disabling his security alarm- I'd cracked the code the previous week while he was away one afternoon. I stepped through the door with soft, but speedy footsteps, and glided my way up the spiral staircase for the second floor, heading for his master bedroom. 

I was normally so good about all of this. So skilled at making an entry, and doing my job, and disappearing without a trace. As I made my way down the hallway, however, and the door to his room came closer and closer, and so did my freedom, I felt my blood pressure rising. It all seemed too good, too perfect to be true. 

And suddenly, I realized that it must be. 

Something wasn't right... 

I stopped, dead in my tracks. 

I didn't know what was off. But something was. There was just a sense of it. A feeling in the air, that I couldn't quite seem to put my finger on. 

And then I heard the sound of a footstep, trying to be lighter than it could manage to be from around a corner. 

I spun on my heel, whirring back around in the opposite direction. 

I saw the flash of light before I heard the sound. 

BAM! BAM!

I hurled myself down to the ground as the bullets missed me by nothing greater than a few millimeters. Once I was to safety, I didn't even think about it. I lifted my gun up to what I calculated to be the man's knees in the darkness, and I fired. 

“Jesus Christ! Motherfucker!” 

He shot at me again as he was falling, but only managed to hit a vase atop the stand beneath which I'd taken cover. He hit the ground like a timbered tree and was already rushing to point the barrel of the gun back up at me, but I was too fast for him. 

I pointed at his head and fired, and that was the end of him. 

He lay there, motionless in silent in the middle of the hall. I waited, for just a fraction of a second, long enough to be sure that he was as dead as a doornail. Then I sprang up, and rushed over to him, and saw that it was the man from the Mercedes. The one who'd locked eyes with me across the street.

Clearly, the place hadn't been left as unguarded as I'd hoped. 

I'd largely been suspecting that, though. 

I let out a light sigh, not wanting to let myself be too relaxed just yet. My gut told me that this was the only guard in the place, but I still had Philips left to go. And something told me he would be on a high alert after I and Tweedle-dee had just made enough noise out here in the hallway to summon up the living dead. 

I hastily weighed my options at that moment. 

Retreat? Fuck no. 

I was getting this job done, dead or alive. 

Wait? For what? For Philips to have more time to get his guard up? To call the authorities? Not that I imagined he would, given the many dirty dealings he was connected to in some way or another. Still, though, the principle was the same. The longer I let that son of a bitch stay alive, the longer he had to come up with a plan to stop me. 

Time was of the essence here, and whether I liked it or not, I was all out of time... 

I stepped up to his door, staring at it for a moment with dread, instead of the naive optimism I'd allowed myself to feel at the sight of it, only a few short moments ago. 

I lifted my hand to the knob, and almost made the mistake of stepping inside. But then I checked myself. I twisted the knob, just enough to get it started. Then I stepped off to the side so that I was no longer positioned directly within the doorway. I lingered for a moment, then pushed my foot against the door's lowest panel, kicking it open from off to the side, still standing next to the hinges. 

Immediately once the door was open, a mad volley of automatic gunfire exploded through the door, the bullets pelting wildly against the opposite wall, tearing the drywall to smithereens. 

I heard Philips yelling over the sound of the bullets, his battle cry the sad mimicry of a middle-aged man who's never been in combat but who's watched Rambo on TV at least a dozen times. 

He moved slowly out into the hall, still firing, too blinded by the pulse of the gun to see that he was hitting nothing whatsoever, save for his own house. 

I waited until my shot was clear, then I jerked my gun up, and aimed it right for the side of his head. He became aware of me just as I started pulling the trigger, and started turning in my direction.

BAM!

“FUCK!” 

The bullet raced clean through his head, but he was facing too me way too much as he fell, and the gun was still going off in his hands as he fell. Streams of bullets whipped and whizzed through the air in my direction, seeming to leave these white hotlines in their wake like miniature chemtrails, fading only very slowly from my field of vision. 

And then I felt something hit me, in spite of my very best efforts to avoid the barrage.

I yelled out in pain and was sure in that moment that this spelled the end of me. The impact had been against my head, and no sooner had I felt it than I watched my life flashing before my eyes. All the horror. All the carnage. All the mayhem, and all the heartbreak. 

No! No! Fuck! Fuck! Please, please, don't let this be the last thing that I see before I'm ushered in through the gates of hell! I'll have all eternity to look at all that... Just please, don't let this be the end!

I was lying on the ground by the time it dawned on me that I hadn't been mortally wounded. A scalding teardrop was rolling down along my cheek, thick and viscous. It seeped in between my lips, and I felt it on my tongue, and I realized that it was blood from my wound. 

I touched my cheek, and it stung but realized with relief that I'd only been grazed. 

I wasn't about to die. Not yet, anyway.

It took a while past the ringing in my ears to recognize the sound of voices ringing out in the background. I leaped back to my feet, instantly on my guard again, and the adrenaline of survival the only thing that was keeping my legs from collapsing. 

I held my gun pointing into the room but thankfully didn't fire. The afterimage of gunfire finally faded away from my field of vision, and I could see that there were two naked women, cowering in fear in the opposite corner of the room. 

I sighed and lowered my pistol. Then I looked down into Ray Philips' wide eyes, the gaping red hole in his temple a sure sign that it was over at last. I'd done my job. And I was finished. 

“You two could really do better,” I said to the two of them, with a last look inside the room. Then I pulled the door shut again behind me, and took off down the hall at top speeds. I should have felt victorious, elated, freed at last from the shackles of this line of work. 

Instead, though, I just felt sick. My blood pressure was high. My pulse was skyrocketing. I never felt great after a kill, but this was something different. I wondered whether it was the fact that I'd come so close to death, or maybe that I'd taken a life I hadn't intended to take when I'd signed up for this job. 

I didn't think it was either of those things, though. 

I think, somehow, my body was trying to warn me. I think it was a sense of foreboding, to let me know what I had no way of knowing yet, but that I probably should have anyway- by instinct, if by nothing else. 

That, quite simply, this wasn't really over. It was only just getting started... 

Right now, though, I ignored all of that. I rushed into the woods, and hopped onto my motorcycle, and took off down lightless back roads like a bat out of hell, increasingly on edge. I could hear the sound of sirens blaring like mad from the highway, and could see the red and blue lights flashing toward the crime scene as I made my escape- Philips might not dare have called the cops when he was alive, but I was sure the two women he'd probably paid to sleep with him would have. 

I told myself I didn't give a damn. That there was no way in hell I wasn't getting away with this. 

I just kept going and going, the momentum perversely soothing, as all the while the whole world seemed to be crashing in around me. 

_____

I started taking my clothes off the instant I stepped through the door of my apartment, and I was naked in the shower within a minute, the water cranked up to full heat, filling the bathroom with steam. 

I leaned forward against the far wall, panting so deep and so hard I thought I was hyperventilating. I didn't know what the fuck was wrong with me. As often as I'd done this, I'd never reacted to the way that I was now. Was it the girls maybe? Was it that glimpse of something I could never have in my life, making me feel so guilty, so paranoid? 

I still couldn't say for certain. 

I looked down at my feet, gasping, and watched the blood of Ray Philips and his bodyguard swirling down the drain amidst the scalding whirlpool of water. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. And then, without totally being aware of it, I noticed my hand finding its way between my legs, grabbing a nice, firm hold on my cock. 

I'd been hard ever since I put the bullet through the head of the bodyguard. 

It sounds terrible. I know it does. Like I get off on killing or something. But that's not it. 

Ever since I'd started doing this, I always got rock solid from the danger of a hit. I think it was something to do with survival, and biology, and all that shit. Like my body just knew, instinctively, that it was in danger. That its chance to reproduce was drawing to a close, and it demanded that I give it one last shot before I turn my back on life. 

I always had to cum after a kill. And right now I was aching for it like I'd never ached before. 

I wrapped my fist around my rock hard cock and started rapidly pumping myself beneath the shower, grunting as my hand slammed back into my balls, needing so badly to get this out of me, thinking that once I did it would finally be enough for me to be able to react. I jerked my growing inches of solid manhood with a vengeance. Like the job wasn't actually finished until I'd completed this crucial, cleansing ritual. I was pulsing so hard, and my tip was getting unbelievably swollen, and I wanted to get this heat out of me so fucking bad. 

But the pressure wasn't building. No matter how hard, how relentlessly I pumped myself, how desperately I needed to see this through to completion, my mind wasn't where it needed to be. I closed my eyes and tried to think. Tried to conjure up whatever it might take to get my rocks off, but couldn't figure out what the hell that might be. 

I tried picturing the two girls back at Philips' place- taking both of them at once- but of course, that only made matters worse. Then I tried thinking about Julia, my ex-fiance, who I'd dated all the way back before enlisting. Sometimes, she did the trick for me. That woman knew how to screw a man like it was nobody's business, and sometimes I could still taste her on me if I concentrated hard enough. Still feel the tight, rhythmic pulsing of her tight slit around my cock as she rode me. 

But then I would start thinking about everything she'd done to me. How badly she'd broken my heart, once I came back from combat so profoundly changed, so different, like she hadn't known what she was signing up for when I enlisted. 

This took me in the opposite direction. I started feeling bitter, and resentful, and about as far away from turned on as it was possible to be. 

And so I thought again. I shifted my focus. I tried to draw forth a name from depths of my mind. A name, and a face, of anyone who still filled me with any sort of tenderness. Instead so much pain. All the crushing heartbreak that had been inflicted on me by nearly everyone else in my life. 

And that was when someone strange came to mind. 

Keisha Hillary. 

It almost caught me off guard at first. 

I certainly hadn't been expecting it. 

Keisha, the daughter of my boss, Marlon Hillary. The two of us had only met a handful of times over the years that I'd ben in Marlon's employment. There had certainly never been anything between the two of us, as such- Marlon probably would have had me killed if he even caught me thinking about it. But the couple of times we had run into one another, there had been something unaccountably striking about her. 

Poise, and graciousness, and of course beauty. There was something mature about her, for a girl who was only twenty-one years old. A bit young for a blondish silver fox in his mid-forties? I'm not going to pretend otherwise. 

But on the occasions I'd seen her, I'd thought I saw some glint of those rich, mahogany eyes of hers. An expression of longing, unspoken, but very clear, and very present. I want you, she seemed to say, without speaking, and at that moment, beneath the boiling water, and with the last of Philips' blood draining away beneath my feet, something seemed to click. 

I wanted her. Badly. Like I'd never wanted a woman before in my life. 

I groaned and started slamming my hand against my body, pumping my shaft again at double the rate of before, jerking my fist along all those solid tumescent inches of mine. 

I pictured my tongue in her throat. My hands on her perfectly portioned breasts, squeezing them, pinching those dark, luscious nipples. I pictured her thighs, just the right amount of wide, and her tight, juicy ass, and imagined how wonderful it would feel, kneading those buttocks between my greedy fingertips. 

I savored the imagined touch of her rich, ebony skin, and the contrasting cool and heat of her body, and how hot and how tight she would feel around me if only I could be inside her. 

Finally, I pictured her down on her knees, and my cock in her throat and her tongue twisting around me, sucking me off with a kind of urgent desperation like I just couldn't cum for her soon enough. 

I started roaring and pounding myself, and I felt the pressure building, at last, building toward its sweet, inevitable, perfect crescendo. 

Then I let out a yell at the top of my lungs. Every muscle in my body seemed to spasm. Every part of me was seized by orgasm, gripped from head to toe, the bathroom seemed to spin around me, the steam making me lightheaded, and my heart thundering to escape from my chest. 

My cock spilled over, pulsing, leaping, pumping its hot cum everywhere. It plunged across my shifting hand, and hit the wall of the shower, and poured along down the drain. And all the while, as I just kept cumming and cumming, the whole of my being on fire with pleasure, was how fucking amazing my cum would look all over Keisha's skin, and dripping from her mouth, and spilling down so slowly between her perfect breasts. 

At long last, I felt the thrill of climax dissipating. I gasped, and shivered, and felt a devastating emptiness wash over me. All of the sudden, I was reminded of just how far I was from the girl I'd fantasized about. How ridiculous it was for me to imagine that kind of thing in the first place, knowing that a man like me could never settle down. Never have anything even remotely resembling what I craved to have with her. 

Best just to put her out of my head, and be grateful for what she'd done to me. 

Getting the toxins of murder out of my system, and allowing my heart to finally settle down to something even remotely resembling a normal rate of beating. 

I gave my shaft a last few deep, slow pumps, then practically slid along the tiles of the shower to the floor, exhausted, in so many more ways than I could count. 

“Fuck,” I gasped, tilting my head back, closing my eyes, and letting the steam from the water sweep me away. 

I tried my best to ward off my looming depression. To tell myself that I was all okay. So, I couldn't have what I really wanted. I could never have it. But I was out of this life now. I'd made enough on that hit to be finished with it. Gone for good. 

No looking back. 

That, as far as I was concerned, should have been enough.

What do you think about the sample? Pretty wild, huh? I won't deprive you any longer. You can read the full-length novella here: https://amzn.to/2ryTq85

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Dark Romance Books | SEAL's Captive | Book #1 BWWM Captive Series

seals captive dark romance books bwwm bad boy military romance us navy seal romance novelThe first installment of the BWWM Captive Series, SEAL's Captive was nothing like what I had expected. I first published this book under the title Bringing The Heat. The only issue? There was no heat. I got everything wrong and the book was a total flop.

I could have given up, but I didn't want to. I loved the story, and I knew with some more work, I could bring you a book that you would love just as much as I did. I made big changes. I consulted with a cover designer and told her that I wanted the best look for my readers. She came up with this cover you see here. But that wasn't enough...

I had to tweak to the story so I did. I made it hotter. I added in details and I opened the story up to further exploration in Book 2 and Book 3 of the trilogy.

This is the beginning of a story that's about both love and sisterhood. Three black women are connected by a father that they barely know and his death sends the heiresses spiraling into a dark world that they'd grown up knowing nothing about. In this extraordinary world, they find men capable of loving them more than they'd ever anticipated and from the darkness that they are thrust into, they find a beacon of light...

These stories aren't "too serious" either... I made them plenty steamy with hot new locations for hanky-panky that will have you heading out to experiment with hubby TONIGHT. Don't believe me? Check out this free sample and read the available books in the trilogy. You'll have a WILD time, I promise.

Romance Novel Excerpts: SEAL's Captive | Book #1 BWWM Captive Series

DADDY'S FUNERAL

Gigi barely knew her father. She knew that he was wealthy and that her mother had been knocked up at nineteen years old by a man a decade older than her.

 

Jerome Jackson had always been a mysterious absentee figure. To Gigi, he was daddy, the person who paid for her education, the person who sent her to horseback riding camp,  he'd sent her on trips to Mallorca and Bangkok, but he'd never been there.

 

Gigi could count on her hands the number of times she'd seen him in person.

 

Gigi stood next to her two half-sisters looking down at the body of the man she barely knew. Jerome Jackson — born June 11th, 1958, died February 14th, 2017.

 

Dinah was the one who had found him. As she told it, he’d been sitting in his study with his hand clasped around a glass of whiskey.

 

Gigi stood next to the sister that she barely knew and slipped her hand into hers. Dinah was crying, but neither Gigi nor their third sister Tyra could muster up tears yet. Neither of them knew Jerome quite the way that Dinah did. Dinah was the only one who had grown up with him.

 

The funeral would start in forty-five minutes. Strangers would fill this room and gawk at her father’s body. Most of them would probably know Jerome better than Gigi ever had. Her father, the stranger.

 

Even if he had been a stranger, Jerome had ensured Gigi had the best of the best. She’d attended the best private day schools in New York and then she’d been shipped off to a New England boarding school for high school. All on her father’s dime.

 

In her community, Gigi’s life had caused whispers. Despite her expensive education, she had grown up in a small two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. Her mother’s job as a public school teacher could never have afforded her all the luxuries she had growing up.

 

She’d only met and hung out with her sisters three times in the past. When Gigi was eighteen years old  — Tyra, sixteen, Dinah, fifteen — Jerome persuaded Gigi’s mother to let Gigi join him for a special summer vacation. He thought it was important for all his daughters to know each other. After much pleading, Gigi remembered her mother reluctantly allowing her to go.

 

She remembered being eighteen and standing in line at JFK, ready to meet her father in person for only the tenth time in her life. She remembered the image she had constructed of him from his letters alone and filled in by her active imagination. She remembered picturing her sisters in her head; she imagined they would all be perfect copies of her, the best friends she’d been searching for her whole life.

 

Gigi cracked a smile as she recalled that vacation. It had been far from perfect. Tyra and Dinah were nothing like her and they were used to being “only children”. Jerome hadn’t been the perfect father either on that vacation. Instead of spending time with them, he’d given them each a credit card and sent them off on their own. Gigi and her two sisters had an insane month in Paris together followed by a month in London. There had been laughter, shopping... and more fighting than ever.

 

Those were some of the best and worst memories Gigi had of Jerome. She reached out and touched his stiff hand in the coffin. Those tears finally found their way out of her eyes. Dinah squeezed her hand tightly and rested her head on Gigi’s shoulders.

 

“I don’t know if I can do this today,” Tyra whispered.

 

“Well. We have to.”

 

“I know,” Tyra replied, “But I think I’ll need a drink.”

 

“Don’t drink too much,” Gigi warned.

 

“Easy for you to say,” mumbled Tyra.

 

“I think I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

 

They walked into the other room. It felt strange having the funeral out of Jerome’s house, but that was what he requested. He'd been specific too. He wanted the viewing, the repast, and funeral in the foyer downstairs and then he’d be cremated later that week. Each of his daughters would get 1/3 of his ashes and 1/3 of his assets.

 

He might have been more absent than not, but he’d always provided financially, even in death.

 

Dinah had hired an event coordinator to manage the entire affair. They approached Jerome’s bar and each ordered a drink. Tyra ordered a stiff whiskey on the rocks (Jim Beam, just like her father drank).

 

Dinah ordered a glass of white wine. Gigi ordered cranberry juice with a splash of vodka in it. She wanted the presence of mind throughout this entire affair. She wanted to remember — even if remembering would hurt like hell.

 

She felt sad that Jerome had died but not from missing him. Heck, she’d grown used to missing him her own life. What really gnawed at Gigi’s heart was all the time she didn’t get to spend with her father. She realized all the things she didn’t know about him. She knew that he’d made millions of dollars in investment banking and investing in technology. She knew that he was a renowned womanizer who hadn’t just dated their mothers but a number of celebrities.

 

But Gigi didn’t know how he liked his coffee. She didn’t know what her father liked to do in his downtime. All she knew was that he’d worked, provided and then died. His personality would always be a mystery to her. His death was so painfully final. She downed as much of her drink as she could manage, her racing mind causing her to rethink her abstinence from alcohol.

 

“What happens next Dinah?” Tyra asked.

 

Dinah morosely took a sip of her wine before answering. By some cruel fate, the youngest of them had been completely responsible for putting all of this together. She was the only one of them who really knew Jerome. She’d grown up in this very mansion and ultimately, she’d been the one to find her father’s body. It was like Dinah was suffering just for being the only one of Jerome’s children he’d paid any mind.

 

“I meet with the estate lawyer and the accountant. You guys don’t have to stay here. Once you send me your banking information and addresses, I should be able to sort it all out.”

 

“Jesus,” Tyra mumbled.

 

“It’s a lot of money,” Gigi confirmed.

 

Dinah smiled, “I guess it is. I’m just so used to all this, you know?”

 

Tyra nodded, “Lucky you. I grew up in East L.A. Daddy provided for me but mama would have never let any of this get to my head.”

 

Dinah furrowed her brow a bit.

 

“Don’t mean any offense.”

 

“None taken. It’s just… Sometimes I wonder how daddy could have left y’all across the country. Why me?”

 

Gigi shrugged, “My mama had me at nineteen. It was a long time ago. Maybe with you he just wanted things to be different.”

 

“I guess. But it still bothers me. Doesn’t it bother you? That we didn’t grow up together?”

 

Tyra and Gigi exchanged glances. Yes, it did bother them. Of course, it did. Their father was internationally renowned and incredibly wealthy but for a reason, neither of them knew, he’d only picked the youngest of them to take care of properly.

 

To them, Jerome was a more of an idea than a person. Dinah was the only one of her sisters who had grown up with a real father.

 

“I guess it bothers me,” Tyra mumbled.

 

“Well, we have a chance to get to know each other now,” Gigi offered.

 

Dinah sighed, “But how? After this… you’ll head east and Tyra’s going to head west.”

 

“And then you’ll be the baddest bitch left in Costa Rica,” Tyra grinned.

 

The three of them laughed. It was the first time that the three of them had shared a proper laugh since they’d arrived at Jerome Jackson’s tropical mansion. This was the country that Dinah had grown up in while Gigi was away at boarding school and while Tyra had attended a private day school in California.

 

“Well, since we only have a few minutes, why don’t we just have another drink,” Dinah said.

 

They were starting to realize that like it or not, they would have an emotionally exhausting day. They ordered second rounds of their drinks as time ticked towards the start of the funeral service.

 

“Do you remember Paris?” Gigi asked.

 

Dinah cracked a smile.

 

“Yes, I remember Paris. It was insane… The drinks, the shopping…”

 

“The fighting…” Tyra finished.

 

“What did we even fight over?”

 

“Everything,” Gigi smiled.

 

“It all seems so silly and so far away,” Tyra replied.

 

Dinah nodded, “Daddy barely even spent any time with us that vacation. We had no clue about anything but we ran around the streets of Paris like little African princesses.”

 

Gigi had never really thought of herself as African, but Dinah wasn’t wrong to refer to them as such. Their father, Jerome Jackson was an African immigrant who changed his name when he was eighteen years old to the alliterative, Americanized name Jerome Jackson.

 

Gigi had no clue who her father had been before he’d changed his name. Growing up in Brooklyn, she was utterly cut off from her Nigerian heritage. She never even thought about it. As far as she was concerned she was just a regular African American girl. Tyra felt the same way.

 

“Have you been to Nigeria?” Tyra asked Dinah, letting Gigi know that they were probably thinking the same thing.

 

Dinah pushed the hair from her wig out of her face and she nodded.

 

“Yeah. I went last year to daddy’s mansion in Maitama. It’s beautiful out there.”

 

“I can’t believe I’ve never gone.”

 

Dinah shrugged, “Maybe we should go there sometime. After the funeral.”

 

“If I can get time off work,” Tyra answered.

 

Gigi wondered if Tyra was serious.

 

They would each be inheriting something to the tune of $42 million dollars each. They would co-own his mansion in Costa Rica, his apartment complex in Chicago and the mansion in Maitama.

 

For the rest of their lives, they could sit back and relax. With a team of investors to manage their portfolios, accountants, and lawyers, they would never have to work again. Gigi always knew her father had money, but she didn't realize it was this much until he'd passed.

 

Once learning about the inheritance, she struggled to imagine working again and heading back to the daily grind.

 

She’d struggled in her adulthood since graduating from college and she didn’t feel ashamed about putting an end to that struggle, whether or not she earned the money to do it. Tyra was different.

 

Maybe things are easier out in California, Gigi thought to herself.

 

They sat back and they reminisced about Paris. They reminisced about the boy that Gigi had fallen for in France — a black twenty-year-old Parisian named Christophe. They reminisced about the time Dinah drank so much they had to sneak her into the apartment through the back entrance. They reminisced about how Tyra had almost had them kicked out of a nightclub because she tried to fight a loud-mouthed bully on Dinah’s behalf.

 

As they reminisced, they did everything to try to forget the fact that their father’s body was dressed up in a custom Italian designer suit only a few feet away.

 

They tried to forget the fact that this might be the last time they all saw each other. They tried to forget about all their anxieties about growing older, about love, happiness and the lot of it.

 

“Are any of you married?” Dinah asked.

 

Gigi and Tyra both shook their heads.

 

“Nope.”

 

“Nah.”

 

“Do you ever want to be?” Dinah asked.

 

Tyra shrugged and Gigi nodded.

 

“I do. But I’ll need to meet the right guy. Maybe I’m getting too old though.”

 

“Nonsense!” Tyra said, “There’s no such thing as too old.”

 

Dinah replied, “Well, I don’t think I want to get married. I watched daddy go through three wives in my childhood. None of them could have kids and none of them lasted very long.”

 

They were silent again. Even if they tried, they couldn’t help but think of Jerome. The good, the bad, the ugly — they were forced to confront all of it now in his death.

 

“I never knew he was ever married.”

 

Gigi knew about her father's other children but she didn't know enough about him to know he'd had spouses.

 

“After I turned eighteen,” Dinah said, “But I still lived here after college and during vacations. So I got to see a lot of it. I wonder if any of them ever really loved him.”

 

“Are any of them coming today?” Gigi asked.

 

Dinah shook her head, “They all made excuses when I called.”

 

They were silent again as they were forced to confront another unpleasant truth. Jerome had a string of women on his arm but his actions had also made him many enemies throughout his life.

 

They talked until guests started to pull into the driveway. Black cars manned by mixed race Costa Ricans with thick dark curls and walnut brown skin pulled up and then all manner of Americans and Nigerians descended upon the Jackson mansion for Jerome’s funeral.

 

Gigi, Tyra, and Dinah waited by the door, playing the part of perfect daughters and loving sisters. They greeted everyone who came. A man gripped Gigi's hand with tears in his eyes and told her that her father was the most loving man he'd ever known. Gigi couldn't muster up tears in response, but it moved her to know that her father had impacted someone like that.

 

Maybe he wasn't all bad. Maybe he just couldn't do family the traditional way, she mused.

 

The house was filled with upwards of 100 guests who all fit into the viewing room. The priest arrived somewhere in the middle of the pack and Dinah pulled him aside to discuss the proceedings. Gigi took in the room before making her way to the reserved seats in the front.

 

The room smelled like new leather and designer perfumes. Gigi had never been surrounded by so much wealth in her life. The odd venue for the funeral bothered no one. The ultra-wealthy are accustomed to eccentricity.

 

Gigi's mind wandered as she waited for the priest to begin. She'd never understood what Dinah’s life had been like until now. In Paris, she remembered thinking Dinah was clueless, some barely-black Oreo who couldn't possibly understand what she'd been through. Now, she empathized with Dinah, for having to be enveloped in such a cold, stiff world.

 

The start time of the funeral drew near. Tyra joined Gigi in the front and their eyes moved over to Dinah as they waited for her to join them. The priest stood in the front of the room waiting to officiate and Dinah stood off to the side talking to a short, gently tanned latino man.

 

When Dinah finished speaking to him, she joined the duo.

 

“Who was that?” Gigi whispered to her.

 

“Luciano.”

 

“Who?”

 

Dinah whispered, “A friend of my father’s. He helped me get everything together today before you guys arrived.”

 

“Oh. I see.”

 

Before Gigi could ask any more questions, the funeral service started. The priest began to speak about her father’s life. Gigi started to learn things that she’d never known about Jerome. She learned about his childhood in Nigeria, where he'd been the smartest of his brothers who were now all dead.

 

His parents had pegged him out for success and he'd attended Oxford for two years before dropping out to begin his enterprises.

 

Enterprise was a good word for it, Dinah thought to herself. Neither her sisters nor the guests knew as much as she did about what her father had done to make his money. Except for Luciano, of course, the bearer of her father's secrets, the guests were ignorant.

 

When it came time for Jerome’s eulogy, Luciano was the one who stepped up to the podium to speak. Gigi drew her eyes to him, hopeful that she could gain some final lasting insight into the man her father was.

 

Luciano spoke with a thick Spanish accent, but he eulogized Jerome well. He spoke about their memories together in Costa Rica and all the times that Jerome bailed him out of trouble. He spoke to the heroic image of her father that Gigi had always carried with her (whether intentionally or not).

 

The image Gigi had of her father persisted as a Nigerian man that loved laughter, liquor, and making love with equal vigor. He had been boisterous, untamable and loyal to a fault once he decided you were worthy.

 

Gigi could feel tears spilling out of her eyes involuntarily. Dinah was weeping softly and Tyra sat up stone-faced. She never allowed her grief to be on display in the room full of people. Dinah and Gigi couldn’t help it. They all gripped each other’s palms as Luciano said his final words.

 

“…And I want to say a final goodbye to you, amigo. I promise that I will carry you in my heart forever and I will make sure that nothing happens to your beautiful daughters. Adios.”

 

Luciano left the podium and Gigi watched as a single tear streamed down his face. The room was filled with people who were either weeping or looking sullenly forward. The priest continued with the rest of the service and when the collection box was passed around, people dropped $100 bills into the box as if it were nothing.

 

Everything about that day had felt utterly surreal, including the ease with which a room full of people parted with what would total up to a year’s worth of her rent.

 

Gigi made mental notes of everything going on so she could remember to tell her mother. Her mother had declined the invitation, but Gigi promised her she'd spare no details about what happened.

 

Towards the end of the service, they sang and a friend of Dinah’s played the piano. And just like that, the funeral service was finished. The gangly events co-ordinator led the guests to the other room for a small wake while Gigi and her sisters said their final goodbyes to Jerome.

 

The end drew closer. Jerome's requests would be followed and carried out by his team of assistants. Their lives would change and three regular black women who barely knew each other would become heiresses overnight. Jerome would be cremated and the ashes would be split in three and shipped priority mail to Gigi and Tyra. This was it — their last time with their father.

 

Gigi’s chest balled up like a fist as she stood above her father’s body for the last time.

 

“Goodbye,” She whispered through her tears.

 

Tyra handed her a handkerchief which she used to dab beneath her eyes. Dinah planted a kiss on their father’s forehead and Tyra just stood there staring at him. Gigi thought her head seemed like it was swimming with thoughts. There was a lot to think about and a lot to mourn.

 

When the funeral home arrived and the coffin closed for the final time, Gigi felt the fist around her heart clench even tighter. They had to go back out there and face the folks who had all come expecting to see the three of them after the funeral.

 

“I’m starting to think the next part is what’s going to be the hardest,” Gigi said.

 

Dinah sighed, “You’re right. But… We can do it. I know we can.”

 

“At least we’ve got each other for this next bit.”

 

“Let’s go then.”

 

They pushed open the doors into the next room and walked out into the…

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