Romance Novel Excerpts | Book #7 | Parisian Billionaire Brotherhood - Interracial Billionaire Romance Novel
If you enjoy a gentle, calm female voice reading to you, you'll enjoy my collection of interracial romance novels, novellas and short stories on audio.
I've expanded my narrators so even if you haven't been fond of past narrators, there are multiple beautiful, dulcet voices that will make any erotic romance audiobook journey a pleasant and titillating experience.
Indulge in my complete collection listed below and remember to sign up for my email list (bit.ly/jamilajasper) to get updates on my upcoming audiobooks, Cocky Cowboy and 9-Inch Addiction.
Bookmark this page so you can come back to it. I'll update as soon as new audiobooks are available so you'll always have this "quick stop" when you're looking for fresh books to listen to.
Take the plunge:
Stripped Bare => http://amzn.to/2D66etL
Mad Mafia Love [COMPLETE trilogy] => http://amzn.to/2DsiAKE
Cocked & Unsheathed => http://amzn.to/2r0cPkz
Blue-Eyed Hunk => https://amzn.to/2rpRm1V
BWWM Dark Fantasy Series
THE HANDYMAN SERIES
The Poolboy Audiobook: https://amzn.to/2QidmKZ
Hello everyone! This free sample of Killer Love is shorter than what's available on my Patreon. If you would like a longer sample, you can sign up to my Patreon for as little as $1.49 a month. [[CLICK HERE TO GO TO PATREON]]
Keep reading to get to your free sample. KILLER LOVE is a BWWM mafia romance and is slated to be my first gripping romance between a black woman and white man for the year.
Check out the description:
Ryan’s been my best friend since 7th grade.
Nothing has happened between us.
Nothing can ever happen between us.
His family runs the local Italian mafia
I know he’s done things he isn’t proud of.
His rough life isn’t for me…
I prefer “playing it safe”.
Gina’s like a sister to me.
Lately, she’s been getting protective.
I’m done wondering “what if” about us.
I’m going after the woman I want.
I need her in my bed. I won’t take “no” for an answer.
I’m done playing it safe.
FREE Romance Novel Excerpt | Killer Love by Jamila Jasper
“She sounds like a psycho.”
I couldn’t help being honest with him. Ryan chuckled.
“She’s not a psycho,” he responded.
I leaned back in my chair, pulling the blankets up to my neck. The cold front blowing across the Eastern seaboard was no match for my parents heating system.
“OK,” I gave him a little wiggle room, “Tell me the story again.”
“We went out for a date at Dino’s, then we went back to my car… we… you know…”
“Had sex?” I filled in.
“Yeah we had sex,” Ry chuckled, “You don’t have to say it like its an accusation.”
I rolled my eyes. The last thing I wanted to think about was Ryan Maggio having sex. Ew.
“Go on,” I prodded him.
“Then she told me she loved me.”
“And that’s a perfectly normal response to you?”
He shrugged, “I’ve never had any complaints.”
“Enough!” I shrilled.
Ryan chuckled then kept on with his story.
“She showed up at my house the next day and was like all into it saying she loved me and she wanted us to get married. I dunno, it’s a little fast but she’s cute and I think she’s just one of those intense girls.”
“Intensely crazy…” I grumbled.
“She has issues okay,” Ryan defended her, frustrating me even more, “She called me the other day all drunk and confused to pick her up… I can’t just leave her.”
“Ryan,” I huffed, “Listen to yourself. You’ve only been on dates with her. And if I recall correctly, you found her two blocks down from your place. She barely seemed drunk. Read the signs!”
I could tell Ryan was boiling on the other end of the line.
“You don’t know everything,” he huffed.
“I don’t,” I replied calmly, “But I know a crazy ass basket case when I see one.”
Ryan replied gruffly, “Some women are just intense. Not every girl’s all cold and restrained like you Gina.”
I stood up.
“How. Dare. You.”
Ryan and I never fought. Ever since he’d started seeing Kate, that had changed. Two dates had been all it took for him to fall under her spell. I could spot a woman like her a mile away. She uses pity to get her way, all the while playing men around her like a fiddle.
I blew up at him. Perhaps the living room wasn’t the best setting for the conversation because my parents eyed me with concern as I imagined Ryan’s were on the other end of the line. (I’d heard his mom Nicki shush his father at an alarming volume earlier.)
“You know what Ryan, I don’t have to help you. You can keep dating batshit crazy girls and when they ruin you, you’ll have only yourself to blame.”
“Bit harsh Gina.”
“No, it’s not harsh. You need to pull yourself together Ry! I’ve known you for decades and you keep chasing after all the wrong girls. I’m getting tired of it.”
“As I said,” Ryan’s voice grew cold, “Not all of us can be emotionless like you.”
“I have to go,” I huffed.
“Yeah?” He replied, “So do I. I’m going to call Kate.”
“You do that. But when she gets your ass into trouble, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I pulled my smartphone away from my ear and slammed on the red “end call” button.
“Ugh!” I huffed.
BOOK IS LIVE NOW!! You can buy this book for the discounted price of 0.99cents. Finish reading the story here:
📱 Amazon: http://amzn.to/2Dl4PfM
📚 Paperback: http://amzn.to/2rqYJJk
❤︎❤︎❤︎Join the mailing list❤︎❤︎❤︎:
Find me on social media:
🎥 YouTube: http://bit.ly/2CdKJUM
📸 Instagram: www.instagram.com/bwwmjamila
🐦 Twitter: www.twitter.com/jamilajasper
💰[PAID] Patreon: www.patreon.com/jamilajasper
👍 Facebook: www.facebook.com/bwwmjamila
Wild Winter Lust is available now at a discounted price!
Below, you can read a 3000-word sample of the story weeks before it's released! If you love romantic stories, enjoy interracial romance novels and you're looking for a gripping new read this winter, check out the sample below after the description of the novel.
If you want to just get to the story, here's the link on AMAZON!
BUY NOW => http://amzn.to/2C9NB3T
GET THE PAPERBACK => http://amzn.to/2yvP42k
This book will be available wide in 90 days.
I never expected my Swiss Holiday to end up like this…
In his arms…
In his bed…
A killer on the loose, and a suspect in my bed will make this holiday more interesting than I bargained for.
I trust him.
I love him.
It can’t be him… can it?
Dream’s Swiss holiday takes a turn for the worse when her new lover Axel is accused of a murder she knows he didn’t commit.
Take a peek inside this ultra-steamy BWWM romance for the intriguing, page turning, panty-dropping romantic suspense you’ll need to stay warm this winter.
Excerpt | Wild Winter Lust:
VOSS SKI RESORT:
“The avalanche means we will be here another two weeks,” Camille sneered, “This will be at no additional cost to you Meess Weelleeyums.”
“Except the cost of my time,” I snapped.
The Swiss indifference conflicted with my American sensibilities about punctuality and efficiency.
A man peered out from the back office.
“No Axel,” she huffed.
“Will I at least get to eat for free or do I have to buy two more weeks of these overpriced prison meals?”
“Non mamzelle, you eat for free,” Camille muttered.
She glanced up from the register with cold, swampy green eyes. She tucked a few strands of blond hair out of her face. Tiny pink lips pouted in my direction.
“Would that be all ma’am?” Axel asked in her stead. Camille’s eyes cut daggers and neither of us wanted to talk to the other for much longer. The prospect of another two weeks in Switzerland sent worry shooting through my chest.
“There’s an awful noise in my radiator, can I get that fixed?”
Axel rounded the counter, “I can come and help you now, mademoiselle.”
He stretched out the French word long and slow, then he smiled at me. My face still scrunched in rage, I could only muster a grimace.
“Show me to your room. Camille will get you sorted.”
Axel’s commitment to appease me caused me to look upon him with greater favor than Camille. I hated her brusque attitude and constant pout. I sound harsh, bear with me. I’d seen the way she looked at me, one of two black guests at the resort. She didn’t think I belonged. The other guests hadn’t had to go through half the trouble I did after the storm passed. I’d had to revisit the front desk three times to stop the excess charges. I’d started to think she inconvenienced me on purpose…
Her co-worker, the ski instructor Axel Olson, was far more agreeable. After two tumbles with him down the bunny slopes, I’d decided skiing wasn’t for me. I needed to stick to what I was good at — writing. Axel didn’t agree with me and each day he pestered me about taking another ski lesson with him. If the lessons he gave had less to do with skiing, I would have accepted his offer gladly.
“Third floor?” he asked as we stepped into the elevator.
“Oui,” I replied.
I hadn’t learned much French besides the basics. German and Italian lay beyond my scope too. A few phrases were all I could muster to converse with Axel in his native tongue.
He pushed the button and the doors shut. Being alone in an elevator with Axel made my palms sweaty. He was far too good looking to be tucked away in the Swiss Alps. In my younger, more reckless days, I would have spent every minute flirting with him. Now I admired from afar — an appropriate distance.
“You speak English well,” I complimented him as the elevator pulled to a stop.
“Around here, we get a lot of Americans and English.”
He pronounced the words Ameri-canes and Een-gleesh. My stomach flipped as I heard his husky voice enunciate the vowels with that gorgeous Swiss French accent.
“I’m the last room on the left,” I muttered.
He followed me down the hallway, then he muttered something to himself in French.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Axel spoke.
I slipped my card key into the lock and pushed my door open. Axel brushed past me as he entered. As he brushed past me, a strange tingling erupted in my chest. The scent of his cologne, the culprit for my emotional spike, was a fresh pine and dry cedar scent with leather base notes. The wintery outdoors mixed with his cologne to create… heaven.
“Mmm,” I blurted out unwillingly.
I slapped my hand over my mouth the moment the sound came out.
“What was that?” Axel asked, grinning at me from ear to ear.
I scowled and didn’t respond, rushing over to the radiator on the back wall of my room against the window.
“It makes this awful banging sound all the —“
On cue, the radiator began its clattering noise. BONGBANGBINGBINGBONGBONG.
“Ah, this is easy to fix,” Axel assured me.
I nodded, “Great. Then fix it.”
I fluttered away from him, keeping my eyes on him as he got to his knees and pulled a couple tools out of his belt.
“This room has this problem a lot,” he told me.
“Oh?” I feigned aloofness.
“Can you help me grasp this pipe?”
Our eyes met as he asked me. Color rushed to my tawny cheeks.
“Right here,” Axel gestured to the pipe he held in place with one hand, while wrenching with the other hand.
I crouched next to him, so close I could smell all the notes in his cologne. The pine sap smell was from his hands. As I grazed his hands to hold the pipe, a few sticky bits of sap pressed into my fingers. I gripped the pipe and he continued to screw it shut.
“Are you enjoying Switzerland?”
“I was only supposed to be here a week.”
I shrugged, “I’ve got trouble back home, that’s all I can say.”
“What kind of trouble?”
He let go of the pipe and stood up.
“Are you finished?”
He folded his arms, still staring at me.
“What kind of trouble?”
“What’s it to you?” I narrowed my eyes, wondering why he cared.
Axel shrugged, “I am curious. America is another world. I imagine you have city girl troubles — troubles that are lightyears away from me.”
I smiled — I couldn’t help it. His arctic eyes gleamed as he fantasized about life across the Atlantic.
“Book trouble, that’s what I’ve got.”
“I’m here ‘cause I’m a writer. My second book didn’t get picked up by my publisher and I need to figure out how to fix it.”
“So you’re a real writer?”
I glanced at my door, not wanting to converse too closely with a hotel employee in my room. It seemed gauche. I walked towards the door and opened it. Axel held the door and ushered me out of the room.
“I want to hear more about this writing.”
“Because… you’re interesting.”
He stared at me as he said interesting. I saw a flash of desire in his eyes (or perhaps imagined it). He brushed his chestnut brown hair out of his face.
“Tonight, come down to the lobby. You will tell me about it.”
I shrugged, “There’s nothing else to do here.”
He took my hand and kissed it. As he released my hand, I wondered if he was flirting, or if this was European politeness.
He turned and walked down the hall towards the elevator. I didn’t follow him, but I watched as he walked away. Axel’s tall body was formidable and bulky from his hours on the slope. I’d never noticed how much of a giant he was until he disappeared down the resort’s hallway, ducking to avoid the light fixtures as he approached the elevator.
I re-entered my room and sank into the chair at my desk, appreciating the silence — welcome relief from the cacophonous radiator.
I shot off an email to my editor. Paul recommended I go on this pricey retreat in the first place. I wondered how he’d react when he found out I’d be forced to stay here another two weeks. The storm served as both a pain in my ass and a blessing in disguise.
After I sent out the email, I sniffed and took in the lingering scent of pine from Axel standing in my room. Mm. Now that was a good smell — much better than the Axe body sprays my exes used to douse themselves in.
I shook the thoughts of Axel’s alluring Swiss frame out of my mind. My stomach grumbled and I left my room in search of a meal. I pushed my door open, sliding the keycard into my pants pocket and securing my denim jacket around my curvaceous frame. The jacket, snug at first, had loosened since the storm.
As I neared the staircase, I saw one of the other guest. A small bunch of us had been stranded together and I felt it best to make myself familiar with the names and faces. It was too cold outside for me not to be warm. Her face pouted miserably and tears stained her cheeks. Her blonde hair whipped around her shoulders like a ferocious mane.
“Good afternoon!” I greeted her with a cheerful smile.
Bunny Wharton sniffed and glared at me, curling her upper lip in disgust.
“Yes,” she replied, “I suppose it was.”
She stormed past me, leaving the distinct scent of her Chanel No. 5 perfume in her wake. I turned to watch as she stormed past.
What a rude person. I thought to myself.
She continued clomping down the hall as I made my way to the stairs. Since I was trapped for two more weeks in this wintery castle, I figured I should keep my heart rate up and exercise. Lord knows my trainer back on the mainland would be happy that I did something while I was away.
I pushed open the door to the stairs and started to walk down the flights of stairs. The distance between each floor was immense. I didn’t get one floor down when I ran into Charlene Frost — the only other black woman at the resort.
“Hey Charlene,” I greeted her.
Charlene smiled and widened her eyes, looking nervously from left to right before replying.
“H-h-hi,” she said.
She swallowed and nodded.
“Mm, yes. Quite creepy isn’t it? The whole avalanche… being trapped… I won’t get in these elevators either. Nuh-uh not me. My aunty from Queens got into one of those and she was stuck between floors for two days. Can you believe it? Two days. No one thought to look for her. I take the stairs whenever I can.”
“How are you? Did they sort out your room?”
“Yes, finally. That front desk chick has a bit of an attitude.”
Charlene glanced over her shoulder, then returned her fickle attention back to me.
“Uh huh. She don’t like black folks much. I can tell. Something ‘bout the look in her eye. Reminds me of this black woman my cousin told me about down in Georgia. She had a white maid from Slovenia — one of those countries. The woman got so jealous that she killed her.”
Charlene let out a loud and awkward laugh. Haw-hee-ha-ha!
“Can you believe it?” she finished, “Racism can push people so far.”
“I guess so.”
“See you around, Dream.”
“See you Charlene. Take care.”
“You too. This place is spooky.”
She stepped up past me and then pattered off down the hall to her room. I worried for that woman. Charlene, despite her dark eyes and her beautiful, cocoa colored skin struck me as an unwell woman. It wasn’t just the sallow deep bags under her eyes, but the way conversing with her reminded me of being on a merry-go-round.
I continued my descent. One floor above the lobby, I heard hushed voices. I slowed my movements so that my feet barely made a sound.
“If I don’t have this abortion, it’s over!” The voice hissed.
“Can you calm down?”
“No, I cannot calm down! Pregnancy was never part of the agreement.”
I stopped. This I had to hear. Call me nosy, but I’m a writer. The resort had no new entertainment since the blizzard and being stir-crazy meant I’d do anything for something new and different. The search for my next story turned me into an amateur sleuth, like the leading lady, Annette, in my novel.
The voices hushed.
“You’re crazy!” The woman huffed again.
She shouted, “Stay away from me. Stay away from me or I swear you’ll regret it!”
Footsteps away. Then I heard heels coming in my direction. I had no time to hightail it back the way I came. I proceeded down the stairs, trying to keep my expression aloof. Four steps down and I ran into the female voice.
“What the hell are you doing here,” Nari Long sneered at me.
The woman’s appearance was stunning, in stark contrast to her attitude, which was worse than Bunny’s.
“Headed downstairs,” I replied, “Is that okay with you?”
“Were you listening in on a private conversation?”
Her black eyes were shiny buttons in her deep sockets. Her cheeks flushed scarlet.
My face blanked.
“Good,” she hissed, “If you’re lying to me, and you did hear any of it, remember that I’m not the kind of woman you want to mess with.”
Her raven-black hair cut into a blunt bob framed her face and highlighted the sharp angles of the Korean woman’s cheekbones. Her deep tanned skin glowed in the dim light of the staircase.
“I told you,” I replied coldly, “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Good. Then we have no trouble here. I can’t believe they let just anyone stay at a place like this,” she sniffed, before storming up the stairs past me.
The true colors of the guests started to emerge since the storm. I knew some of them tossed snide glances my way, not appreciating that “their” luxury resort was occupied by someone they didn’t think belonged there. I kept the success of my first novel a secret from all who I spoke too and no one connected the dots between me and Dream Williams, the successful author.
Good. I liked when people kept their dirty, rotten personalities right near the surface where I could see it. When hatred lies covert, that’s when you really get hurt. Bigotry on the surface had always been a part of my life. I couldn’t let it bother me — not while I was supposed to be coming up with the next award-winning idea.
After Nari stormed off, I hurried down the stairs to the lobby. There was no sign of who she might have been talking to — I assumed it was her husband. The couple appeared mismatched from the first time I saw them. Mortimer Long was around thirty years older than her with a raspy, shaky voice. It was clear their arrangement was financial. Poor Mortimer hadn’t wised up to that fact. Charlene had mentioned speaking to the man and how desperately in love he was with the cold woman I’d just spoken to.
I couldn’t imagine why.
In the dining room, I ordered a veggie burger with a healthy serving of French fries. I knew my trainer would kill me if he could see this. But I was in Switzerland. On vacation. I couldn’t deny myself every bit of pleasure now, could I?
I ate alone this time. Across the dining room, Axel sat in an engaging conversation (in French) with the two married detectives who were guests on the second floor. I couldn’t help glancing over at him. Axel’s French, although incomprehensible to me, sounded so… spectacular. After Switzerland, I’d be eager to learn the language — if I made it out of here alive.
Satiated, I returned to my room for an evening writing session. I sat at my computer like a prince about to slay a dragon. A mystery novelist must meet certain expectations that her readers have. My first book had done that spectacularly. The publisher hated my second book. They wanted a series. I wanted to leave my main character, Annette, right where she was.
I toyed with ideas for finishing up the series for an hour. Nothing stuck out to me. My riveting African American female detective was just as stuck as I was — balanced precariously in the world of fiction. I closed my laptop. As if on cue, as the laptop shut I heard a blood curdling scream.
My heart stopped.
The scream reminded me of a pig sent to slaughter. I leapt out of my chair and rushed to the door, sticking my head into the hallway to discover the source of the screams.
No stuck pigs or damsels in distress. Teenagers. An American doctor, Vanessa Sullivan, brought her twin boys Jay and Kyle to the resort. As the youngest guests, they were often the most annoying. Two more weeks of their antics could push me to the bank of insanity.
Seeing my head peering into the hallway, they slowed their gallop to a trot.
“Hi Miss Williams,” they muttered politely.
“Good night. Quiet evening?” I asked.
Kyle brushed his brown hair out of his face, “Uh… Yeah. This place sucks now.”
“Yeah it’s lame,” Jay grumbled, brushing his wheat colored hair from his face.
“Right,” I replied, “Mind keeping it down a bit? I kind of like boring.”
“Yes Miss Williams, sorry,” they grumbled in unison.
“No worries,” I continued, “You boys are reminding me I need to get some air. But don’t let your mama hear you.”
I walked out of my room and past the boys whose heads lowered sheepishly. Their mother Vanessa was friendly enough, but she ruled her sons with an iron fist. They took any minute away from her to rebel — loudly.
I left my room to head downstairs. The dining room lay in silence. A fire crackled and the dark wood enveloped the room in a comforting mahogany scent. I’d been hoping for a night owl to spend some time with. I sat alone, pulling my notebook out of my denim jacket in an attempt to brainstorm my way out of writer’s block. Dream became lost in a daydream.
A voice whispered into my ear, “Can’t sleep?”, yanking me from my day dream.
I whipped my head around, ready to yell at whoever had disturbed my peace. Then I saw Axel.
“You scared me.”
“Sorry,” he replied.
“Not with that grin on your face you’re not.”
“Accompany me outside?”
“Outside? It’s cold.”
“Take my parka.”
He took his parka off and stood before me in a grey henley shirt that hugged all his muscles. (Muscles that I hadn’t realized existed).
“Okay, sure,” I replied, desperate to get a break from my failed brainstorming.
“Perfect. We can go to the balcony off the lobby.”
I slipped into his parka. I gasped as the coat hugged my curves. I did a poor job of avoiding time alone with Axel. As long as I didn’t act on my urges, my attraction to him couldn’t hurt.
“Best parkas for the slopes.”
I agreed and followed him outside. He pushed the door, letting me slide past him. I caught a whiff of his pine and leathery scent again. Mm.
We stood on the balcony. I shoved my hands into the pockets of his coat and looked out at the Alps. Switzerland had given me mixed feelings, but I had to admit, the beauty was unlike anything I’d experienced in the United States. The crisp air was manageable.
The mountains stood potent and erect, surrounding the resort with protective strength. In the distant village at the base of the mountain, warm orange lights flickered. Cold wind whipped around us, forcing me to sink into the fluffy parka. Axel stood stoic and unbothered by the cold. This was his element.
I turned to Axel and asked him, “What do you want to know about me?”
Thank you for reading the free sample of Wild Winter Lust.
Join Jamila Jasper's mailing list if you want to be the FIRST to know when the full-length novel is released. Joining the list is free and gives you access to exclusive deals and discounts unavailable anywhere else.
Click here => http://forms.aweber.com/form/35/1718585035.htm
Read another BWWM Romance Novel excerpt for the recently released novel Extra Stuffing by clicking here => http://jamilajasperromance.com/2017/11/23/free-romance-novel-excerpts-extra-stuffing-by-jamila-jasper/
YouTube: Jamila Jasper
Steamy hot holiday romance Extra Stuffing coming soon to Amazon! Scroll down so you can check out the description and read this lengthy free sample of this interracial romance story launching in a few days.
Extra Stuffing has been an intense book to write, filled with so many twists and turns plus a satisfying ending.
If you enjoy sports romance stories with HOT alpha males and SPICY love scenes, you'll enjoy this read.
Check out the description and then the sample below.
We broke up… For a good reason too.
So why did I fall into Peter Roman’s arms so easily?
OK, it might have something to do with the fact that he’s smoking hot and plays for the NFL now.
But there’s something I haven’t told Peter — something that could change the way he looks at me forever.
I want Gracie back. I don’t care what I have to do to keep her.
I’m not the dumb a$$hole I was in college.
I’m different and I have the bank account to match.
No matter what, I’m going to make her mine.
This time, we’ll last forever.
Romance Novel Excerpts: Extra Stuffing
New York City
“I want to fuck you.”
His gruff, husky voice weaseled its way across my neck and into my ears. My pussy throbbed. I couldn’t believe I was here again. Ten years after college and here we were again in each other’s arms. Except this time things were different. Trust me. Peter Roman clutched my hips and pressed me against the wall. I giggled as my back smacked against the drywall and I submitted my weight to his powerful grasp.
I giggled, always light in Peter’s arms.
“Just take those fuckin’ panties off,” He growled.
I couldn’t say no. I eased out of my panties, giving Peter access to what he wanted.
“I’ve missed that beautiful pussy of yours,” He muttered as he rolled a condom on his cock.
I imagined for an NFL player, that was quite the compliment. Yes, ten years later, Peter Roman wasn’t just my college ex-boyfriend he was a starting quarterback for the New York Giants. He’d grown a lot since then, in so many ways. There was part of him that had stayed exactly the same and at that moment, that was the only part of him I cared about.
Peter hoisted me up against the wall again and tilted my neck to the side so he could graze his tongue along the length of it and press his lips to mine. He’d become a much better kisser over the years. He smelled different now too. He’d ditched his cheap Axe body spray for Armani cologne. His scent drove thrills down my spine. I felt Peter’s hardness pressing against my wetness. I gasped as he began to slide into me… and I slid back into 2007.
Memories of ecstasy flooded me. This part had never been bad between us.
His cock pushing past my entrance forced my tightness to stretch. Making love to him always felt sinful, like a betrayal of my common sense. (This time, it really might have been.) I moaned as his full nine inches thrust my pussy lips apart, sending pleasure shooting through my body.
“Ohhhh,” I cried out.
“Easy babe,” He moaned.
Peter thrust one last time hard into me. I gripped his back and he began pumping into me furiously. Our loud banging against the wall meant all his other house mates (you know, New York Giants) could probably hear every last whimper and moan. With Peter’s thick cock plunging between my folds, I couldn’t bring myself to care. I moaned as I climaxed. No one’s home anyways. Right? My eyes rolled far back into my head. Black spots in front my lids threatened my consciousness. Peter pumped into me a few more times until I climaxed again. My thighs shuddered. I pressed my heels into his buttocks, securing him closer.
Then we were done with the wall. I wrapped my lithe legs around him and squeezed tightly as he moved my slight frame from against the wall of his large, Tribeca bedroom to his king-sized bed. Peter and his teammates might have had to share an apartment in the city but trust me, this was not the type of apartment sharing that goes on between broke post-graduates.
As my head touched the pillow of Peter’s bed, he wasted no time before plunging into me again. I couldn’t even appreciate the down pillows or the cozy firmness of the mattress. Maybe that was for the best. Peter thrust into me deep. I cried out and arched my back to meet his ardent thrusts. He pushed my hair out of my face and planted a long kiss on my lips as his hardness penetrated my damp cavern and forced me into another climax.
“Cum for me baby, cum all over my big dick,” He grunted.
I exploded, juices leaking from my wetness as Peter continued to slide between my hot folds. I dug my nails into his back as I quivered beneath him. I ran my hands through Peter’s hair again. From college, his hair hadn’t thinned at all; his blond strands were just as thick as I remembered. He kissed me again and whispered into my ears. The sound ticked the hairs on my neck.
“You’ve gotten hotter Gracie… I wish I could cum right inside your tight little pussy.”
I cried out again as I came. The thought of Peter emptying his seed inside me was both terrifying and thrilling. My toes curled as shivers of pleasure forced my thighs to quiver with desire. I almost begged him to take the condom off. But I was different — responsible now. I wrapped my thighs around him as he continued to pound into me. Peter always got too dirty when he was hard. The heat of the moment subsumed him.
“Fuck me Peter… Harder…” I whimpered.
Peter obliged, pressing his cock into my little honeypot deeper than before. I gasped as his cock reached untouched depths of my wetness. My pussy gripped him like a vice as he kept pumping me with those slow, deep strokes. He couldn’t hold back any longer. His touch had sent my brown skin ablaze with desire and he responded to it. My writhing and moaning beneath him had forced an eruption. Peter grunted as he came.
I felt his monstrous cock pulsing with startling rhythm whilst buried deep between my legs. I couldn’t help but whimper again as he forced the walls of my pussy to tremble. Peter pulled out of me with a big, bad, naughty look in his eyes. He could see how climaxing had shaken me loose. My shoulders visibly relaxed and my breathing slowed.Peter pulled me up so I could sit up in his bed, my perky breasts hanging down whilst my dark nipples pointed at him. He tilted my chin up to kiss him as he rolled the condom off.
“I’m not finished with you yet.”
He disposed of the condom and then ran his fingers through his long blond hair. That was another way he’d changed. His blond hair now hung down to his shoulders, like Thor in those old comic books I used to steal and then sell to the boys in my elementary school class at a mark up. As I ogled Peter coming back into bed to join me, the only thing on my mind was that I was so glad I’d left Hell’s Kitchen for this.
I’d gone south to this man from my past, to the man I hadn’t spoken to in nearly a decade up until two weeks ago.
Peter joined me on the other side of the king-sized bed. His apartment’s cavernous size reflected so much of how I viewed him: larger than life; fantastical almost. I hadn’t known Manhattan made bedrooms that could accommodate a king.
“So,” Peter started, running his hands through his hair again, “Why can’t I come to your place. What are you so afraid of?”
I looked into his green eyes and told him the truth.
“Stop bullshitting,” Peter chuckled.
I wasn’t “bullshitting”. Peter and I hadn’t exactly ended on good terms. While he’d become an NFL player, I’d lived a whole life too. He didn’t know me anymore and I didn’t know him. I’d pursued my dreams and I’d made a hell of a lot of them happen. What I hadn’t done was figure out how to let a man back into my life the same way I’d let Peter in so many years ago. I was finished with that. Falling into bed with him scared me because it didn’t feel like progress. Chronic high achiever as I was, I needed to feel like I was heading somewhere.
I preferred things this way: my world was mine and his world was, well, a place I could visit every once in a while.
He could sense my discomfort. I didn’t hold out hope that he could grasp why I was so uncomfortable. So much time had passed since Michigan. We hadn’t spoken since the day of our breakup. Then again, we’d fallen into bed with each other again within two weeks of reuniting. It was as if no time had passed at all in the bedroom. I had to be careful. Could I really have casual sex with Peter Roman? Not after our history together. Casual was all he could do. That had spelled trouble for me before. I had to force myself to be wary of him. So no — no seeing my Hell’s Kitchen studio.
Bed was the last place I wanted to talk about the past. It had been six months since I’d even seen a man’s junk and the last time I had, trust me, he wasn’t nearly as attractive, successful and skilled as my ex-boyfriend.
“You have nothing to be afraid of,” Peter lied. (I assumed he was lying.)
I grinned, masking my discomfort, “I’m too old to believe that.”
“Well if you don’t believe me, let me at least try to prove it to you.”
He leaned in and kissed me. A kiss proved nothing.
“How on earth would you do that?”
“Shhh,” Peter hushed me and then pressed his warm lips to mine.
He pushed me onto my back and spread my legs wide, urgent and sudden. I thought Peter would slide between my legs again but I was wrong. He kissed the fleshy mounds of my bosom and then my flat tummy and then he spread my legs apart and ogled my dripping wet pussy that he’d just been buried inside of.
“You look… delicious…”
He paused as if pondering something serious.
“I can’t wait to eat you ’til you scream.”
Maybe Peter had changed. Giving oral hadn’t exactly been his biggest passion when we were dating. (Had he changed in other ways?). He spread my legs wide and ran his finger along the length of my wetness. I shuddered as the soft pad of his index finger flicked across my clit. He spread my pussy lips apart, ogling the engorged, purplish brown lips before diving his tongue between them.
I gasped as Peter’s tongue went deep between my folds. Pleasure exploded from my core and I slammed my head back into the down pillow. My hips thrust upward, following my body’s natural undulations. Peter pressed my thighs into the bed forcefully and continued to slip his tongue between my inner and outer pussy lips. He wrapped his lips around my engorged clit and began to suck on the hardened nub until I yelped in pleasure and faded into soft moans.
“OHHH!” I moaned, “YES! YES DADDY!”
I could practically feel Peter smirking. He began to lap at my folds faster, getting me wetter and wetter. I moaned and whimpered in pleasure, my mouth twisted into an opera singer’s perfect “O” as I belted out notes of pleasure. I climaxed hard, forcing juices to ooze from my honey pot and onto Peter’s lips. Sweat pooled at my forehead and every inch of my skin flushed a deep mulberry. He seemed to be savoring the taste of my juices as he stopped to lick his lips and then dove hungrily between my legs for more.
His greed meant my pleasure. I cried out and climaxed again as he began to thrust his hardened tongue into my entrance. He used his tongue to make love to me, to squeeze out every last drop of desire that he could while he could. My body dripped in sweat, my thighs trembled and my pussy quivered as I came again. Peter’s tongue and lips were relentless. Just when I thought I would be free from these non-stop earthquakes of pleasure, he would nibble gently at my folds and dive his tongue in again, slipping between dripping folds.
It took him hours and over twenty climaxes before he tired of pleasuring me with his tongue. My pussy was dripped, swollen with desire and reddened. Desperate for a fresh breath of air, I pulled away from Peter as he lifted his head from between my legs. He ran his hands through his hair with a dopey little smile on his face. I pressed my elbows into his firm mattress and then raised my back.
“What?” I asked.
“I’ve never seen you cum like that before.”
I rolled my eyes. I was pretty sure he had seen me cum like that before. Many times. It’s just that each time, it was new to him — exciting.
“Don’t make me blush,” I teased.
“I’m not joking.”
A decade had passed and I knew that Peter Roman was dangerous for me. Still, I was drawn to him. Less of a cynic and I would have blamed fate. When we’d broken up, a bomb had gone off in my dating life. I still hadn’t finished picking up the shrapnel. I picked at my nail beds, waiting for him to say something else, or maybe waiting to come up with something to say that sounded witty or flirty.
“Thanks for answering my call,” Peter said, still grinning like a high schooler who stumbled upon his first PlayBoy.
Two weeks ago was the first time I’d talked to him since our break up. It didn’t take long for us to take reminiscing to lovemaking. It had switched in an instant as if the lack of closure alone had forced us together. The major difference was that now we were older and in theory, wiser. This was just supposed to be two old friends in their thirties meeting up to scratch each other’s itch. It happened sometimes. Dating was hard.
At first, I’d thought that I was the only one who had showed up to Peter’s apartment with lingering, decade-old feelings. Then he kissed me again.
It wasn’t the kiss that changed my mind though. It was what he said afterwards.
“I’ll be in Tribeca when I’m not playing out of state. If you won’t let me see your place, I’d better let you know that you’re welcome at mine.”
“It’s not that I don’t want you to see it,” I lied.
Okay, it wasn’t a full on lie. But it wasn’t a full on truth either. I didn’t want to let Peter in because letting him in had proved dangerous. I didn’t want to let him in because my studio apartment in Hell’s Kitchen that I’d worked my ass off for looked mediocre compared to his six bedroom penthouse in Tribeca. I knew it was absolutely stupid to compete with my ex who played professional football, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to prove I’d thrived after the breakup. Doing better than him meant I won — after all, he couldn’t break me.
At least that’s what I told myself. I wasn’t broken.
Then the scary thought entered my head: What if he’s right? What if he has changed, and I’m the one stuck in the past. How did that place me in my unspoken contest?
“I just can’t take you back to my place okay? The neighborhood’s shit.”
Peter chuckled, “Gracie, we grew up in Queens for fuck’s sake. Don’t be fooled by all this bullshit.”
“Oh so what? You’re a down to earth guy?” I teased.
I knew from the tabloids that Peter was likely not a down-to-earth guy. Not like I resented him for it. Hell, if I had millions of dollars from throwing a ball around a field, I’d be pretty cocky too.
“Yes,” Peter replied, “I am. If you read the tabloids, you’ve got the wrong idea about me. I’m Peter Roman from Queens. Just a regular guy.”
I looked away from him, worried that if I looked into his green eyes he’d read my thoughts again. The blond strands that framed his face were caught in my peripheral vision. He exhaled warm and deep. The peppermint on his breath wafted over to me.
Fine. According to him, the tabloids were lying. But that didn’t mean we hadn’t broken up on horrible terms and then never talked about it. That made this sort-of-romance unusual
“Why did you call me?” I asked.
There goes Gracie, always looking for trouble.
“Because I missed you. Plus, you’re the only person in this fuckin’ city who doesn’t look at me funny.”
Right. Poor him. As an NFL player, Peter couldn’t go anywhere without people going gaga over him. I still went gaga over him, but it wasn’t because of the NFL thing. I guess he wasn’t adapting well to fame.
“So I should feel sorry for you because you’re famous?”
Peter chuckled, “No. You should feel sorry for me because I’m a man in my thirties who plays for one of the most popular football teams in America and I still get lonely.”
A rare moment of vulnerability for Peter. I stared into his eyes again. He was genuine. He pulled me in for another kiss. Trusting him had been too hard for me. I was the one who had ruined things, ruined us. I’d pushed him into someone’s arms.
“I can tell you’re over thinking,” Peter whispered.
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
I picked at my nails again and looked away from him.
“Listen Peter, I need to go.”
“Right,” Peter nodded, “Why exactly?”
“Because,” I lied, “I have work in the morning”
“Uh huh. I’ve got practice. So stay over and I’ll have my driver get you to Hell’s Kitchen in time for work.”
His driver? Peter and I really did live in two different worlds. Panic settled in my chest, forcing my heart to push against my ribs. My nail beds ached.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll enjoy the walk.”
He stood up, always ready to step in and take charge.
“Only to the subway.”
“Bullshit. I’ll pay for a cab.”
“You don’t have to,” I argued, dressing quickly.
Peter dressed faster and he was far more stubborn than I was.
“Stop messing around Gracie. I’ll get you a cab home.”
I was reminded of our petty arguments from our university days. A smile warmed my face and this time, I decided to let Peter win. We walked out of his room and thankfully, none of his other bachelor housemates were around. I didn’t get along well with them. If I thought Peter could be an asshole, I thought his house mates were the supreme creators of asshole-ry.
We took the elevator down. Peter kept looking at me as if he were trying to read my mind. I kept trying to stop him. My mind was spinning, over thinking, over worrying, absolutely terrified. I’d just had the best sex of my thirties (I wasn’t very far into my thirties, but still) and the only thing I could think about was something that was buried a decade into the past.
The doorman tipped his hat to Peter and I as we left. I wondered if I’d get the same reception on my own as a black woman in this neighborhood. Peter hailed a cab. Cabs couldn’t ignore all 6’5” of him and instead of waiting a yellow cab skidded over to us. Peter took out a wad of cash and directed the driver toward Hell’s Kitchen.
Before opened the door to the cab, he held my waist and kissed me.
“Don’t be a stranger, Gracie.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back.
“I won’t be.”
Peter opened the door for me and I slid into my free cab ride to Hell’s Kitchen. When I got home, I couldn’t sleep. I knew I had to bring up the awkward, ugly, elephant in the room with him eventually, but I didn’t want to. I knew I was making the same old mistakes I had been in college. I knew that communication was important. But I couldn’t help it. Peter Roman made me scared. Whenever he was around, I always had to face those ugly parts to myself that I’d kept hidden.
Being in love with him had made me crazy. I didn’t want to risk that happening again.
I can't WAIT to share the full story with you.
Join the list so you can be the first to hear when it launches: http://bit.ly/2yawYnp
Watch the BOOK TRAILER: http://bit.ly/2zhY6RZ