our best contemporary romance novels

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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Okay, I told you this book was going to get BUCK WILD and I will 100% deliver on that promise. All you have to do is click the link to keep reading: https://amzn.to/2rrCeRu 

If you're not an Amazon customer, you can get the book on iBooks, Nook and Kobo by clicking on this link instead: smarturl.it/sealscaptive

Do you want to check out the rest of the trilogy too? Bookmark this page and come back so you can read the next two books:
Book 2 | Ex Con's Captive: smarturl.it/exconscaptive

Book 3 | Hitman's Captive (available after Dec. 21st 2018): smarturl.it/HitmansCaptive

Romance Novel Excerpts: The Engineer's Baby

Romance Novel Excerpts The Engineer's BabyRomance novel excerpts featuring attractive full-figured black women and gorgeous white men are our raison d'être at Jamila Jasper Romance. The Engineer's Baby is one of our best contemporary romance novels and a perfect read for anyone who enjoys interracial romance books. 

This story incorporates some massive reader input! A few weeks ago, we conducted a survey amongst BWWM Romance readers to figure out what they wanted to see in these stories and here are some of the points that were included in The Engineer's Baby. 

1. Heroine is a full-figured, dark skinned black woman with a professional career. 

2. The Heroine's relationship with her family is important to the story! We wanted to acknowledge the role family plays in the black community. 

3. The H/H are married to each other! More people wanted to see how BWWM married couples solve problems together. 

Here's the full description below: 

Dale is a top-tier engineer and his wife Monique is a successful African American financial manager. Monique is a gorgeous, full-figured, dark skinned woman who finally completed her life's dream to become the true definition of success. 

Together, they are unstoppable except for one little problem. No matter how hard they tried in the past, Monique can't have a baby. 

Dale and Monique decided to start a family the non-traditional route through <i>in vitro</i> fertilization. As they proceed with their choice, both of their families push back against their decision. Dale and Monique are forced to face their families or risk ruining their relationship.

Matters get more complicated when Dale's long-lost ex girlfriend comes into the picture with a secret she's kept for years that could change their lives forever...

A devastating event pushes them all over the edge and puts the Dandridge family to the ultimate test.

**NSFW Steamy BWWM Scene In This Excerpt!** 

Romance Novel Excerpts: The Engineer's Baby

Chapter 1

 

Monique lay next to her husband Dale as he half-heartedly flipped through The New Yorker. Their fifth wedding anniversary was approaching in a day or two and as usual, they were going to throw the “Dandridge Anniversary Dinner”, a formal dress affair where their closest friends and family gathered to celebrate their love.

 

“It feels silly to do a fifth anniversary dinner don’t you think?” Dale asked.

 

Monique scoffed, “You say that every year Dale.”

 

“Well we haven’t really been together five years, have we?”

 

“Twelve this December technically. But it didn’t really count until we were married.”

 

“Seven years didn’t count?”

 

“You know what I mean,” Monique said.

 

Dale smiled, “Okay fine… I guess I’ll have to get used to this five year event. It’s almost a milestone I guess…”

 

Monique leaned over and kissed her husband, “Almost.”

 

Monique looked into Dale’s gorgeous, aquamarine eyes. From the moment she’d met him, she’d fallen completely in love with him. Dale was handsome, well over six feet tall with a thick, body builder’s body. He had a shock of brown hair with blond streaks and the most beautiful aquamarine eyes that allowed Monique to read him like a book.

 

“I’m glad we got married Monique,” Dale said.

 

Monique hugged her husband tightly, “Me too…”
 

There had been a time when Monique had assumed she would never marry Dale and she would have to be his girlfriend for years. He’d taken seven long years to be sure that she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Monique eyed the giant ring on her chubby finger. It looked beautiful… Dale had selected a gold band and a gorgeous square cut 2 carat diamond. Monique loved looking at her engagement ring even if now it was just another fixture in her life. It reminded her of the freshness of their romance and the beauty of everlasting love…

 

There was a point in Monique’s life when she felt like no one would love her. She had many failed relationships in her late teens. Black guys she’d dated would always say she was too dark or they’d string her along until they found someone better and lighter. At first, Monique had believed the lies they’d told her, the lies that broke down her self-esteem one hateful comment at a time. When Monique met Dale, things started to change for her. She saw the beauty that emanated from her skin. She saw the perfection that existed in just being fat, black, dark skinned and full of love.

 

Monique was shorter than Dale, standing at 5’8”. She was a proud size 18 with copper colored skin that got over three shades darker in the summertime. Monique’s smile lit up her whole face, highlighting her chubby cheeks that softened up her facial features. She had big, downturned eyes that were a velvety black color and absorbed light. Monique’s figure was shapely, and perfect for the man who could handle and appreciate a full-figured woman. Monique had smallish breasts and a nice, round butt that she loved to show off to her husband alone.

 

“It will just be nice to do something besides work,” Dale said.

 

Monique agreed. Both of them worked too hard and they knew it. Monique wondered if a part of it was the pressure they both felt to succeed from their parents or if they overworked to avoid dealing with some of the more difficult problems in their lives. Monique worked as a financial manager for a corporate bank in the city and Dale was an engineer at a clean energy tech company. Together, they made over $300,000 a year and they hadn’t had any money troubles since they’d been married.

 

“Agreed, I can’t wait for dinner…” Monique whispered. She kissed her husband on the cheek suggestively.

 

“Oh?” He asked.

 

Monique grinned. They had been together so long that they each knew the other’s subtle signals for indicating desire.

 

“Pretty please?” Monique whispered breathily.

 

“Your wish is my command…”

 

Dale rolled Monique onto her back as she giggled. It took only a few seconds for her to ease her way out of her slip and allow her husband to position himself on top of her.

 

“I guess my hormones are raging,” Monique said.

 

“Oh baby…” Dale whispered, kissing Monique on her neck.

 

No matter how many times she’d made love to Dale, it never got old. Their passion for each other hadn’t died in the seven years they’d been together before marriage and it hadn’t died after marriage either. For a long time, Monique had believed the myth that sex vanished after marriage. Now, at thirty five, she realized that might have just been something said to scare her by a generation of women who were afraid to ask their husbands for what they wanted. But Monique wasn’t afraid to ask…

 

She reached her hand down and slid Dale’s boxers off. She could feel his large cock resting against her thigh and smell the sweet scent of his Burberry cologne. Monique gripped Dale’s ass cheeks, taut and muscular from years of squats and lunges. He kissed her neck again and said, “Are you ready for this?”

 

“Always.”

 

Dale began to thrust into his wife slowly. Monique was dripping wet with anticipation and eager to receive her fill of her husband. As Dale’s large dick began to press inside of her, Monique let out a loud groan and threw back her head. Her beautiful brown skin was becoming slightly flushed as Dale eased his dick halfway in. Monique’s hands gripped Dale’s back, massaging his thick muscles as she pulled him in. His body had only gotten more attractive the longer they’d been together. His sinewy flesh rippled as he dove his dick all the way in.

 

Yes…

 

This was perfection. Dale held still for a moment and then he began to plunge in and out of Monique. She closed her eyes and let her body take over. With each of Dale’s thrusts, she let out an unwilling, high-pitched gasp of pleasure. She could feel that orgasm wasn’t far off. Dale’s dick was thick, long and filled her up completely. Every cell in her body responded to his thrust and gooseflesh prickled over her skin almost instantly. Monique heaved and with each breath, she drew in more of Dale’s animalic scent.

 

“You want it harder?” Dale growled.

 

“Yes… Harder… Please…” Monique gasped.

 

Dale’s face took on an impish grin and Monique knew she was about to receive the full brunt of her husband’s domination. He took Monique’s arms and pinned them above her head. Monique tried to struggle and resist, but at usual, Dale’s grip was far greater than her ability to wriggle out of his erotic restraints. He kissed her deeply and then began to pound into her harder than ever before. The combination of his restraints accompanied by his hard body pounding into hers drove Monique nearly over the edge.

 

“Don’t stop… Don’t stop…” She implored.

 

Of course, she knew that Dale had no intention of stopping until he’d taken his fill of his wife and enjoyed every inch of her flesh to the maximum. Dale released his grip on Monique’s arms, allowing her to pull him in deeper and deeper. Her wetness gripped him tightly, forcing Dale to exert extra force with each thrust. He grunted in pleasure as he squeezed his cock into her tightness repeatedly.

 

“Whose pussy is this?” Dale growled.

 

Monique was lost in pleasure and ignored his question.

 

Dale began to make love to her deep and slow. He asked her again, “Whose pussy is this?”

 

Monique moaned, trying her hardest to emit an answer, “Yours…”

 

“Yours who?”

 

“It’s yours daddy… Oh daddy fuck me!” Monique cried out breathily.

 

Dale was starting to drip with sweat as he pumped hard into Monique. With each thrust, her voluptuous breasts and the rest of her fleshy body jiggled. Just the sight of his arousing wife bouncing to the rhythm of his thrusts was enough to drive Dale wild. Monique shuddered as a climax washed over her body. The inexplicable pleasure set her limbs on fire, sending a tingling sensation from her wetness to every inch of her body. She was engulfed by her desire for her husband, entranced by yet another beautiful union between them.

 

Dale started to slow down his rhythm as he approached orgasm. He kept his blue eyes locked with Monique’s, taking in the shifting expression on her face with each thrust. As each emotion shot past her face, Dale consumed all of it. As he looked at her and plunged into her slowly, their bond became stronger and stronger. Throughout everything they’d been through, making love was the one thing that healed them, restored their passion and reminded them of why they were together.

 

Dale couldn’t hold back any longer. He could feel the muscles in his body tensing as he came closer and closer. Monique could always do this to him, she could always bring him to the edge with ease no matter how many times they’d made love in the past. A surge of emotions combined with a spike in pleasure pushed Dale over the edge. He grunted as he released a hot sticky load inside of Monique. They were both breathing heavily, panting desperately for the next breath. As hot skin touched hot skin, their minds were both crowded with one unifying thought, “I’m happy I get to spend the rest of my life with this person.”

 

Dale pulled out of his wife and lay on his back.

 

“Cigarette?” He asked.

 

Monique shook her head, “No thanks... I thought you quit?”

 

“I did quit, until this big deal came through. Randy wants me to send him my designs by Wednesday and I don’t know if I’ll be able to impress him.”

 

“I’m sure you will,” Monique said, kissing her husband on the cheek. Dale leaned over to his bedside table, frantically searching for his cigarettes and a lighter. Holding the cigarette stick in his mouth, he took a long drag and then exhaled. The smell of tobacco still initiated her cravings, but she’d given up smoking a long time ago; now she was well practiced at resisting her desires.

 

“So… Are we going to talk about it again?” Dale asked.

 

Monique pulled their blanket up over her naked body and shifted uncomfortably in the bed.

 

“What’s there to discuss?”

 

“Come on…” Dale said, blowing O-rings as he waited for his wife to engage with him on the subject he knew she’d been avoiding.

 

“Fine… I know I agreed to it but I’m having second thoughts Dale. I mean… Maybe I’m just not meant to have kids.”

 

“That wasn’t part of our plan though,” Dale countered.

 

Monique sighed, “I know. I guess I can’t help but wonder if what we’re doing is wrong. You know… If it goes against nature.”

 

“Monique…”

 

“No, I don’t want you to comfort me Dale. Maybe this is my cross to bear and IVF is just cheating.”

 

“It’s not cheating.”

 

“Well then we’ll set the appointment for the implantation.”

 

“We’ve already come this far Monique,” Dale started, “But if you’ve changed your mind and you think we should back out, I’ll support you.”

 

“Or you’ll hate me forever for not being able to have kids.”

 

“I wouldn’t,” Dale said, trying to soothe his wife’s insecurities.

 

Monique sighed, “Fine. It will be fine then. I’m probably just hormonal and having cold feet.”

 

“Are you sure?” Dale asked. He was puffing on that cigarette like his life depending it, already keeping a second one in mind.

 

“Yes, I’m sure. We’re going to do this and we’re going to have a baby.”

 

“Or babies…”

 

Monique nodded, “Right. Or babies.”

She kissed her husband on the cheek, hoping he didn’t notice the terrified look in her eyes. Monique had agreed to IVF but the truth was, she was scared. No matter how many times her doctor explained it, she couldn’t get over the fact that this was a bizarre procedure from start to finish. How could she be sure it would work? What if she got someone else’s baby?

But with Dale’s work pressure mounting and the stress of their anniversary party, Monique had no time to reveal a hint of her panic. That would only make things worse and the last thing Monique wanted was for everything to get worse…

This story will be available on Kindle soon! 

Books Similar to 50 Shades of Grey: European Billionaire's Baby

books like 50 shades of greay sugar milanIf you are searching high and low for books similar to 50 Shades of Grey, check out Sugar Milan's debut novel, European Billionaire's Baby. This book is one of our best contemporary romance novels and you'll definitely want to add it to your romantic novels list... If you love pregnancy romance books featuring sexy billionaires and confident African American women, check out the excerpt below.

This story follows Ginger Blair, a black woman in a rut with her long distance boyfriend. Her best friend convinced her to use a dating app called “Find Your Flame” to try meeting someone knew. Ginger Blair doesn’t think using a dating app will go particularly well for her as an African American woman but she gives it a spin…

She meets a handsome man named Zachary Vanderbilt with a few secrets of his own…

Zachary has billions of dollars to his name and appears to be the perfect guy except for his hidden addiction that has the potential to drive him to the pits of despair from which he might never return…

Ginger decides to take the plunge with Zachary… 

She gets thrust into a whirlwind world with more drama than she ever wanted. Ginger is in over her head; her love affair with Zachary seems to be the only thing keeping her going. 

Just when things have settled down, she meets Mrs. Olga Vanderbilt, Zachary’s mother. Olga has it out for Ginger because of her “lower class” status and the color of her skin.

Can their love overcome all these barriers or will they continue to face obstacle after obstacle…

 

Books Similar to 50 Shades of Grey: European Billionaire's Baby

 

Chapter 1

 

Six months after finishing college, Ginger Blair was completely stuck. It was harder to find work than she imagined and she didn’t have the money or interest in going to graduate school. Ginger had never really dreamed of putting her degree to use anyways. She wanted to do something bigger and better than being chained to academia. She had dreamed of being a model most recently, not necessarily a runway model, but at least good enough for a boutique or modestly-sized clothing line to use her for their catalogs. It wasn’t like she was unfit for modeling anyways.

 

Ginger was five feet eleven inches. She had rich henna colored skin and an amazing body without a hint of extra fat on her belly. She had medium sized breasts and a round booty. Ginger knew she had the body of a video vixen, except a little less thick. But where she lived, there were no opportunities for a girl who looked like her. Despite the fact that she felt her modeling dreams were hopeless, Ginger still took impeccable care of her appearance. Her “signature look” was always her hair. She wore it differently nearly every week. She went from faux locs to natural hair to waist length weave at a moment’s notice. Wherever she went, all eyes were on her hair; with people desperate to either copy her or praise her bold new look.

 

Looking good had no bearing on Ginger’s current burgeoning problem: she was unemployed and her student loan bills were soon to be approaching fast and furious. Ginger knew if she worked as a waitress, she was unlikely to make enough to pay the bills. So she was trying desperately to get a job that paid better. It was more difficult than she could have imagined. At least she didn’t have to worry about rent…

 

Ginger’s mom was a professional escort. As a single mother it was the only thing that had allowed her to provide for Ginger’s every need. Because of her lifestyle, she was always traveling around to meet various clients. Unfortunately even if she made a lot of money, Ms. Blair was unable to support Ginger completely. Back in 2006, her mother had a major disease that they were still paying hospital bills for. These bills made Ginger’s student loan look miniscule. But it wasn’t miniscule to Ginger.

 

The only light at the end of the tunnel was her long distance boyfriend Tobias Berkowicz. They had never met but he had promised Ginger that someday, he would come east to be with her. Ginger was far more attractive than Tobias, but he seemed to be the only guy who had ever really cared for her as a person and not just for her looks. Tobias was thirty, a full eight years older than Ginger.

 

He tried never to make their age difference a problem but Ginger could tell that he was desperate for marriage, children and to have a life she wasn’t ready to lead. Tobias was also “culturally Jewish” and his mother strongly disapproved of his long distance relationship with a “gentile” - as she ever-so-kindly referred to Ginger. It was an okay relationship, and most of all, it felt totally safe. Ginger wasn’t sure she was in love with Tobias, but she did really care for him, and at this point in her life she felt like that was enough. Plus, she was unemployed and Tobias had a job working for his father. He had a lot of potential to take care of her.

 

Of course, Ginger’s best friend Latika absolutely hated Tobias’s guts. She thought he was a “balding little chubster with a small dick”. Ginger thought Latika was too obsessed with sex. Her connection to Tobias had nothing to do with his baldness, his chub or his penis (which Ginger had never even seen). Latika Sethi was Ginger’s Indian American bestie. They’d been the only women of color together in their school’s theater group and they’d taken to each other like two strips of velcro.

 

Latika was short with a voluptuous body and waist length black hair. Her family was somewhat traditional, but they’d eventually come to accept Latika for the out and proud lesbian that she was. Latika had an extremely feminine style and attitude, so the misinformed tended to believe she was straight at first glance. In fact, Ginger was the first person who Latika had come out to and since Ginger had encouraged her to embrace who she was, she took that advice to heart. Since high school, Latika had slept with over forty women and she had a string of ladies she cycled through who she called her ‘harem’.

 

When Ginger’s doorbell rang, she knew it was Latika right away. That girl was so damned impatient! The doorbell rang at least three times before Ginger could even get up to answer it. She opened the door and Latika burst into her house screaming greetings and blessings. Latika hugged her tightly as if they hadn’t just seen each other the day before. “Ginger my beautiful princess! Ah!! How are you sweetheart?” Latika squealed. Ginger hugged her back, rolling her eyes at Latika’s over the top behavior.

 

“I’m alright girl. Let’s head up to the living room to talk. My mom isn’t here this weekend,” said Ginger.

 

The two sat in the comfortable chairs of the house’s living room and immediately poured glasses of wine. Being able to drink freely still felt like a novelty to Ginger, only twenty-two. Latika was slightly older, but she was always ready to drink.

 

Once they sat down, Ginger began to tell her friend about her day.

 

“... I have no idea how the hell I’m going to pay this student loan Latika. I would do y’know, some kind of sex work but it feels wrong. My mother hustled, she’s still hustling so I wouldn’t have to live like her,” Ginger finished.

 

“There’s no shame in it K,” Latika said, whipping out her phone and taking a few selfies. #DrinkingWithBae

 

“I know… but I feel like I should be able to do more for myself,” Ginger sighed, taking a sip of her moscato.

 

“Girl, I know what you mean. Aaand I don’t. Money’s out there just waiting to be made! I needed some extra cash so I hit up Mike. I’ve been selling for him to college kids around here. Bam. Money,” Latika said, downing her entire glass and pouring herself another one.

 

“Latika, you don’t mean…” Ginger hesitated.

 

“No hard stuff. Only ADD meds, Xanax. Nothing that they wouldn’t find from someone else if I weren’t around. It’s good money,” Latika shrugged.

 

“It’s illegal,” Ginger said, hating how she always seemed to be lecturing Latika about one thing or another. It was like the girl knew nothing about how risky the world was.

 

“Come on K. You know how hard it is,” Latika pleaded. She felt bad that Ginger always worried so much about her.

 

“I know. Just be careful. You don’t know what that life could lead to,” Ginger replied.

 

“You need to get laid girl,” Latika said, drinking a bit more. Maybe that was why her friend was so uptight.

 

“Latika?! I have a boyfriend remember?” Ginger said.

 

“Baldie ain’t shit,” Latika scoffed.

 

“I think I love him,” Ginger said weakly.

 

“You don’t sound too confident. Girl, you should download this app Sparks and get yourself a little something something to pass the time while you wait for the old guy to finally decide you’re worth moving cross country for,” Latika said.

 

Ouch. That hit Ginger where it hurt. The entire time she thought she was lukewarm about Tobias, maybe he was the one who was lukewarm about her. Latika always knew what to say to spur her into action. The two drank, and Latika began singing a lullaby to Ginger in Hindi, something from a Bollywood film. They laughed together, sang and downed drinks until well into the night. Latika needed to go home to put her younger siblings to bed and to help her parents close up shop so she left Ginger’s house before her tipsiness had worn off.

 

Ginger was alone and a little drunk. She started to consider the advice that Latika had given her. Should she really be out there exploring her options? What was she really missing out on? Most men her age didn’t have any ambition. Their lives weren’t together at all.  Ginger realized the irony behind her reasoning. She was arguably far behind. Just like these men she denigrated mentally. Ginger figured, what could it hurt. She could go out on a couple dates, maybe play the field. If things looked much better out there, she and Tobias could respectfully part ways. No harm done.

 

Sparks was a popular dating app that everyone around her seemed to be using. It was “the straight version of Grindr” according to Latika. The app uploaded your social media profile and you could swipe left on guys you hated and swipe right on guys you liked. If you matched up, then they might message you or you could message them. The concept seemed a little shallow to Ginger, but in the game of appearances, she never seemed to lose.

 

She uploaded her best profile pictures, where she truly looked like a model and not just a wannabe and she figured what the hell. It was a Friday night so the app seemed abuzz with activity. She matched with a few guys who weren’t that attractive, but it was an ego boost just the same.

 

A notification flashed on Ginger’s phone. It was an email letting her know what her student loan bill would be that month. When Ginger saw the number, her mood spiraled downward into an immediate depression. It was well over five hundred dollars.

 

How the fuck am I supposed to come up with this money? She wondered what Latika would do under the same circumstances. Latika would certainly not allow herself to panic. She deserved to enjoy the night alone for a change.

 

Ginger tried to push the number out of her head and return to her dating app. She felt so wrong but she couldn’t help look at the veritable buffet of men before her eyes. And chances were, if she liked them they would like her too.

 

While scrolling through the profiles, Ginger felt as if she were slipping into a state of hypnosis. Nope. Nope. Nope. None of them seemed to have any appeal to her. All of a sudden Ginger came across one profile that stuck out to her. She felt magnetically drawn to this man for some reason and he was online right now. She’d clearly never met him before, but he seemed somehow familiar. His name was Zachary Grunewald. He had light brown hair and lightning-blue eyes; he looked like a young Leonardo DiCaprio. Maybe that was why he looked so familiar. Ginger swiped right to indicate her interest.

 

Her heart beating faster as she waited to see if they were a match. Why did she care so much? She was beginning to get distracted as she continued swiping through other profiles when she saw a notification pop up. You and Zachary have matched! Modern romance was funny. Ginger wasn’t sure if she should message him first or not.

 

But she didn’t have to wait.

 

“Hey, After checking out your profile I would like to get to know you better. I would love to call you and see if we are compatible,” the message read.

 

Confident, short and sweet. Ginger was instantly hooked. She couldn’t wait to receive a call from Zachary. He seemed antithetical to her boyfriend already. The fact that she was thinking that way should have told Ginger that it was already over between her and Tobias. She gave Zachary her number and waited eagerly for him to call her.

 

Within a few moments her phone rang.

 

“Hello, Is this Ginger Blair?” he asked.

 

“Yes. I assume this is Zachary?” Ginger responded.

 

That was all it took. They spent the rest of the evening on the phone flirting, chatting and getting to know each other better. It was the best and most unconventional first date that Ginger ever had.

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Romance Novel Excerpts: Love Over Envy

romance novel excerpts love over envy jamila jasper This post includes one of Jamila's best romance novel excerpts. Love Over Envy (based on the best selling short story Ain't About The Money) is one of our best contemporary romance novels for people who love romantic stories and can't get enough of them!

This book is a best-selling romance novel which ranked #19 in African American romance.

Genevieve Mauricette -- the main character -- is an ambitious French Creole black woman from the South who has just moved to a Northern city to fulfill her dream of becoming a famous editor. Genevieve's friend from work Greta drags her along to a salsa club where she meets a sweet talking white man named Sam Andover.

Genevieve is initially unimpressed by Sam's smooth talking ways, but when he fends off an assailant, she starts to wonder if he's more than what he seems...

Sam isn't the man Genevieve thought he was. Although he is an incredibly wealthy CFO for Apex Development, his humble roots make him more down to earth than anyone Genevieve has met since she moved North.

Sam and Genevieve seem like the perfect couple, until Genevieve's life starts mysteriously falling apart. Who could possibly be so envious that they would try to destroy everything Genevieve has worked for, including her new relationship?

While Sam and Genevieve try to figure out who is playing puppet master with their lives, an unexpected contraceptive failure makes a resolution more urgent than ever.

There are more than two lives at stake and the envious villain will stop at nothing to get their way...

Romance Novel Excerpts: Love Over Envy

 

Chapter 1

 

When was the last time you heard of a black woman named Genevieve? That was the obnoxious question that had plagued  Genevieve Mauricette  her entire life. People seemed unable to wrap their minds around the facts but not all black people originated from the United States.  But for most of her life, Genevieve’s peers didn’t care about anything except the fact that Genevieve was different and they could make fun of her for it. They mocked her for her “white” sounding name, even if where her parents came from, there was nothing “white” about the name Genevieve.

 

Her peers were unable to broaden their minds and accept that some people just had a different culture than she did. Genevieve’s father, Jean Luc,  was a black Frenchman. Her mother, was Haitian Creole from the Bayou. Their names all sounded excessively French as if they had hailed from Paris itself. Genevieve’s parents were self-made business people. While their small businesses were not always the most successful, they managed to give the Genevieve the very best with regards her education. They had managed to pay for Genevieve to go to a great university and then for her to spend two years at an elite writing program tucked away in the middle of the Vermont wilderness.

 

Now, Genevieve was pushing 28 and she had just landed an excellent job out of graduate school for her MFA. Well, the job was only excellent in theory. In reality, Genevieve felt unfulfilled. Even if there was potential for her to make a lot of money it was embarrassing to explain to people what she did. See, Genevieve worked for one of these click bait news sites. She came up with articles like:

 

“10 Ways To Dress Like A Kardashian.”

 

“23 struggles that women with long hair know all too well.”

 

“14 prayers to improve your relationship with your boyfriend.”

 

The list went on. Genevieve found the work really uninspiring, but she was working towards something greater. She wanted more than anything to become a senior editor at the online magazine she worked for. That kind of position would give her a huge pay raise, a lot of prestige and it would make her parents proud. Sometimes you had to work as a grunt for quite a long time before you could get to the big leagues. That was something Genevieve had a hard time with as time went on. Patience wasn’t exactly one of her virtues and she felt like she had worked too hard for too long. Where were the results? This current position felt like it was headed nowhere  But now she was trapped in a city where the rent was too high and she was too stressed out even think about moving on. She had committed to this life and she would have to deal with it.

 

At first, Genevieve had been excited to move to the big city. She had never lived in a tall building that contain hundreds of other people before. She had never lived anywhere that seem to keep going and going and going even after dark. But the reality of the city ended up being much different than what Genevieve had expected. The city kept going and going, but not in the good way. Genevieve was often rushed or overwhelmed.  There was no time to stop and contemplate. Personal development took a backseat to the daily grind. She had no time for any meaningful social life. She has become one of these women she swore she would never become: a woman who only has time for her job. She had kept chasing and chasing her dreams to the point where she forgot there was more to life than a new job or a promotion.

 

All of Genevieve’s friends had settled down already. She knew it was ridiculous, but she was starting to feel like an old maid at 28. She could see the highlight reel of everyone’s lives and not the reality.  Those standards were crippling. Screw these standards! Who says a woman has to settle down and start popping out babies second she hits 23?  Genevieve tried to keep herself afloat by pointing out to herself that most of her friends didn’t have to go through what she went through to make it big. All they had to do was find a nice man to marry.  Genevieve had always wanted more than just a man at her side. A part of Genevieve resented society's pressure for her to have a child early, but another part of her felt as if she was somehow incomplete for not having at least a long term boyfriend. She wasn’t on a path to meet anyone you either. Genevieve felt like she should just settle down and get herself a cat… If only her apartment allowed it.

 

A part of Genevieve thought that she was broken because she was single. She wondered if perhaps she was too hideous for words or had a terrible personality. But none of that was the case. Genevieve was quite beautiful,  just not in the way the magazines wanted you to think of beauty. She wasn’t very tall but despite that she had a very feminine gait with perfect posture. All these years of dancing ballet as a child clearly paid off. Although Genevieve didn’t remember what a plie was, she still remembered to stand up straight and tall.  Genevieve had dark walnut colored skin with earthy golden undertones.  

 

Genevieve had a sweet round face, with high cheekbones and a dimpled smile. She had a large forehead, which was highlighted even more by her thin eyebrows. She never wore much makeup because her mother had forbid it when she was a child. Although she hadn't  been to church in a minute, Genevieve was raised a staunch Catholic. Makeup and revealing clothing had never even been an option as she was growing up. As an adult, it was just habitual for her to dress modestly and wear nothing more than light mascara and a tiny bit of lipstick.

 

Her face emitted a warm and friendly glow, just like you would expect of a woman from Louisiana. One of Genevieve’s best features where her obsidian colored eyes. It was funny, many people in Genevieve's  family actually had those catlike green eyes you occasionally saw on black people, but Genevieve was an odd duck. She used to be awfully jealous of these bold green eyes, but she eventually came around to loving her eyes and face the way they were. Who said there was anything wrong with dark colored eyes anyways?

 

Genevieve's body wasn’t bad to look at either. She was short and extremely curvy. Her H-cup breasts made bra shopping difficult. Her thick booty meant leggings were a blessing.  Genevieve wasn’t a woman who you could describe as “slim thick” either.  She had a little pooch that never seemed to disrupt her daily activities. Genevieve was a curvy, thick woman and over time she had become proud of her curves. People were always trying to say one thing or the other about women’s bodies. First everyone was into staying paperthin. Then you had to have big breasts. Now you had to have a big ass to be considered “hot” according to the media. Genevieve learned that all these little trends that try to fit women into boxes were meaningless. All that mattered was loving the body she was born in.

 

As she took a break from writing at her computer, Genevieve looked into her little pocket mirror. Her plump carnation pink lips  were getting a little parched from the air conditioning in the office. Genevieve was wearing long thin braids and she used the mirror to help her clip them back out of her face. As Genevieve was about to return to work, her work friend Greta popped up out of nowhere.

 

She had severe vocal fry that linguists write articles about every month or so.

 

“Hey Genevieve,” Greta rasped. She leaned over Genevieve’s desk almost knocking over her coffee mug. Genevieve was nearly scared out of her skin. Something about Greta was a tiny bit unnerving to Genevieve. She just couldn’t put her finger on what it was exactly.

 

“Hey Greta,” Genevieve answered. She tried to be polite to Greta because they were coworkers after all. Sometimes Genevieve considered Greta a friend. Plus, Greta seemed to have a vested interest in spending time with Genevieve. Genevieve hated to admit it, but Greta was the closest thing she had to a best friend since she had moved to the city.

 

Greta Hansson was the type of woman who never spent a weekend alone. Her “body count” was somewhere well over fifty. As Greta leaned over Genevieve’s desk and she began recounting a grotesque sexual exploit, Genevieve took the time to truly examine the woman’s features under the guise of providing a listening ear. Greta had slightly wavy bright red hair; she pretended it was natural but her blonde roots let Genevieve know that Greta was a liar.

Greta had skin that was the color of evaporated milk. Her eyes were giant and icy blue. Just making eye contact with Greta was hypnotizing but not necessarily in a good way. Another creepy thing about Greta was her staring habit. Sometimes, Genevieve would look up from her desk and see Greta just watching her from across the office. These startup internet companies never seemed to learn that open floor plan offices were not the way to go. Greta could be so distracting too. Like right then…

 

Genevieve was lost in her own thoughts when Greta snapped her fingers in front of Genevieve’s face.

 

“Helloooo? Earth to Genevieve! I asked you a dang question!” Greta hissed. She laughed awkwardly afterwards and then stared into Genevieve’s eyes waiting for a response.

 

“Um… Yeah… It sounds… Great!” Genevieve said, pretending she knew what on earth Greta had been talking about.



Greta gushed, “Oh my gosh! Yay! So you’ll come!”

 

Shit. Genevieve had just agreed to something. What on earth was it? Greta always seemed to drag her along when some crazy idea popped into her head. Last time, they had driven to the Jersey Shore and it was absolutely terrible…

 

Greta had abandoned Genevieve to hook up with an actual cast member of Jersey Shore. Meanwhile, Genevieve had languished in their motel room alone with a her favorite Raven Ferrari romance novel. The novel was captivating but it didn't make up for that loneliness Genevieve had experienced.

 

Greta continued babbling on; Genevieve was trying to piece together what exactly she had just agreed to do. After a few sentences, she finally figured out that she had agreed to go out for drinks after work with Greta. It wasn’t the best news, but Genevieve was just glad she hadn't gotten dragged into another road trip. Genevieve had an after work ritual that she hated to deviate from. In fact, Genevieve hated to deviate from any of her rituals. She was the type of woman who had her way of doing things and she did accept anyone else’s.

 

After work drinks were a waste of time in Genevieve's view. All you got was drunk… And distracted… Genevieve had goals and going out after work to get wasted every night wasn’t going to get her any closer to accomplishing them.

 

When Genevieve arrived home, she would first take a long hot shower and wash away the day's worries as well as all the dirt from using public transportation. After a shower, Genevieve would tie her hair in a silk scarf. Then she would climb into bed with a hot cup of chamomile tea and her laptop so she could watch Netflix. She would watch a movie, maybe two and then she would drift off to sleep. There was absolutely nothing wrong with this ritual. Sure, sometimes she wished there was sexy dark skinned dude in her bed like Morris Chestnut… But for the most part she was content to do things alone. Most people her age came with too much drama. Genevieve absolutely hated that petty nonsense. Now all her plans were completely squashed because she hadn’t been paying attention and she had agreed to go out with Greta for drinks.

 

Genevieve tuned back into what Greta was saying.

 

“You know what Genevieve? We’re also going to meet tons of hot guys. You obviously haven’t been laid in a minute and I think you’ll find a guy to give you some much needed release. You’re too wound up! It’s actually crazy. Oh my god, speaking of crazy…”  

 

As Greta went off on another tangent, Genevieve zoned out again. She didn’t know  What to make of Greta’s comment. Sure, it had been a while but that wasn’t any of her business. Genevieve knew she didn’t like the type of guys that Greta liked anyways. Genevieve took dating seriously.  Greta saw guys as nothing more than one night stands. Genevieve couldn’t help but take Greta’s comment to heart either way.

 

Was it really that noticeable that she didn’t have a man in her life? Genevieve was insecure about her complete lack of romantic prospects. Since moving to the city things had gone from bad to worse.

 

She couldn’t figure out what was going wrong. Genevieve thought she knew exactly what she wanted. She knew boisterous outgoing men were not her type. These men had no values. They were the type of men to run around behind your back going through women like crazy. These were the men who would get up and leave you for another woman the moment their fickle minds decided it was time. Despite her beliefs, Genevieve had a few doubts about how well her dating convictions were working out for her.

 

Despite Genevieve’s constant pursuit of beta male nice guys, she found they treated her no better than the alpha males she avoided. Another woman would have decided that it was time for a change, to start giving guys a chance based on who they actually were as opposed to who she perceived them to be. Genevieve just figured she should swear off men for a while. Her guard was up and she was tired of getting her heart broken.

 

Finally, Greta decided to leave Genevieve so she could get back to work. She was more than excited about the chance to go out with her new bestie.  Greta might’ve been a little off, but she was genuine about how much she liked Genevieve. At least that's what Genevieve thought. There was something about Greta that could cause you to open up and tell her all your secrets. Sure, Greta might’ve been a little odd but everyone needs that one odd friend right? Genevieve was starting to work herself up to being excited to get to know Greta better over a few drinks and a hot sweaty night of salsa dancing.

 

The rest of the day at work seemed to drag on. Genevieve was forced to think about her past, both her romantic past and otherwise. There was a point in time when Genevieve was the life of the party. She was the girl you could always rely on to show up with 10 of her hottest best friends. She was the girl you could rely on to say from opening of the club to the close. Of course, that was college. After college and after struggling through grad school while try to work two jobs, Genevieve had calmed down quite a bit. She was no longer the last at the party. She was the person that couldn't wait to go home at 5 o’clock to eliminate the stress of the work day. Her social life was nonexistent.

 

Genevieve used have great dreams. Just want to be a famous editor. She wanted so much out of life and now it seemed like there was no moving up as quickly as she wanted to. All of Genevieve’s old friends had started families. They didn’t care about career advancement; they didn’t have any of the lofty goals that Genevieve did. Genevieve felt like she was being punished for her position. She could either have one thing or another, but she couldn’t have it all.

 

Chapter 2

 

Evening. After work. Genevieve had pulled herself together in less than an hour and despite that, she felt what she has looked good. She had bought the dress off an Instagram boutique.  Even if she hadn’t tried it on before that night, it fit her perfectly. The dress was a deep cocoa brown, nearly the color of Genevieve skin. It hugged her curves in all the right places. She was one intense makeup look away from being a model. But as usual, she only added a little mascara. Still, Genevieve felt out of place in the salsa club once she got there. This just wasn’t her scene at all and she couldn’t believe she had agreed to go out with Greta like this.  What the hell was she doing in a club trying to meet guys? Genevieve knew she would never find any man worth her time in a place like this.

 

A popular, overplayed salsa song La Vida Es Un Carnaval  blared through the speakers. Celia Cruz’s baritone sounded phenomenal, but Genevieve was too uncomfortable to pay her voice much attention. The lights in the club were dim except for a couple flashing green and red lights. It looked like a scene right out of Havana or Santo Domingo. Except no one in the club cared if you were Latino or not. In the dim light, anyone who could speak Spanish was Spanish. Anyone who could dance salsa belonged.  The club was filled with Cubans, Dominicans, Panamanians, Puerto Ricans and more.  Anyone who bumped into Genevieve’s thought she was their Dominican cousin or something. Negrita! Negrita! She  she couldn’t count how many times she had the word hurled at her as some suave Latino man tried to have his way. If only it weren’t for the language barrier, Genevieve would’ve found plenty of them physically attractive. But Genevieve knew a serious man like the one she wanted wouldn't get caught dead here.

 

It was still early in the night, but the smell of sweat was already starting to permeate the room. Dancing salsa was a workout no doubt.  Genevieve couldn’t help but wonder why on earth Greta brought her here. Genevieve didn’t know much salsa. She had taken one class and she was absolutely terrible. Despite all her years of childhood ballet, when she got on the dance floor with an instructor who expected her body to know movement intuitively, she had two left feet.  Genevieve wanted nothing more than to plaster herself against the walls and not move until Greta decided was time for them to go home.

 

Genevieve looked over the dance floor at the scene before her…

 

The men populating the club seemed confident to the point of arrogance and had no qualms about feeling up every woman they danced with.  Their hands wandered over hips and cupped butt cheeks confidently.  Each man knew that once a woman agreed to dance with him, it would be far too difficult for her to get away. They touched and felt their curves as if the women were their property. At least that’s how Genevieve saw it.

 

Genevieve wasn’t a prude (in her mind), but she considered herself to be too classy to be felt up by a guy who’d spent the entire night feeling up ten other girls just like her. She didn’t want to be a notch in some guy’s belt. Greta ordered them both cosmopolitans and they sat at the bar. Genevieve didn’t like cosmpolitans as much as she liked a simple rum and coke but she didn’t want to piss Greta off. After all, she was already being a party pooper and she could tell Greta was getting tired of babysitting her.

 

Greta decided to stimulate Genevieve into action.  She wanted that girl to get some dick! “Look at that guy damn he’s so fucking hot!” Greta yelled loud enough for the guy to hear her if he’d been listening. It was amazing how her raspy voice seemed to carry even over blaring speakers. Genevieve looked over at the man Greta was trying to point out to her. Meh. Sure on the outside he was pretty attractive. He was taller than average and oozed sensuality which Genevieve interpreted as being sleazy. She hated guys that walked around thinking they were God’s gift to earth. Whatever happened to a little humility?

 

“Looks like kind of a sleaze ball,” Genevieve mumbled dismissively. But Greta wasn’t listening to her. She was just staring at the man making his way around the dancefloor like a pro. The suave gentleman's name was Sam Andover. He was tall, tanned lightly with green eyes that seemed to gleam even in the dimness of the bar. He was clearly muscular and athletic, an all around gorgeous guy.  Sam Andover had been coming to this club for over 10 years. It was his usual after work way to let loose. He was extroverted and charismatic; he fit in well amongst the more commonly found Latino people despite the difference in culture. He could move on the dance floor better than anyone, and for that reason alone he was accepted with warmth. Genevieve didn’t know this as she watched him, but he was a man could trust; the frequent visitors of the salsa club could sense how trustworthy he was. Every single woman would let him dip her low so much so that her head would almost touch the ground. He was the kind of guy you could trust not to let go.

 

But Genevieve had already determined he was a sleaze and as they continued to stare at him, both her and Greta noticed that he had flirted intensely with maybe five or six of the girls he danced with. Probably trying to sleep with all of them. Genevieve had thought to herself.  Even if Genevieve was judging him, she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him. He hooked her in. He had a magnetic personality and every single woman in the room was becoming more and more aware of him. He dominated the room like it was second nature.

 

Women were trying their best to strut their stuff, but they didn’t decide whether or not Sam Andover approached them. It was all up to him. He was choosing from the pack of ravenous broads. That's why Genevieve was surprised when Sam approached her and asked her to dance. Although "ask" is a strong word for what happened. Sam reached for her hand and before she knew it she was in his arms. Genevieve didn’t even know his name…

 

Sam had sought her out in a crowd full of women were more dressed up and more conventionally beautiful. He had looked past the blondes, the brunettes, the beautiful Latina beauty queens. He had looked past the girls who belonged on the covers of magazines and locked eyes with Genevieve. In that moment, he decided that he needed to dance with her. It wasn’t love at first sight or anything. But she have a look in her eyes that said she was different. She looked a little bit out of place. She was clearly unfamiliar and that added an aura of mystery to her. What’s more, Genevieve wasn’t like these other girls. It wasn’t like the way these other girls were was wrong… Her differences just made her stand out. What kind of woman goes to the club with no makeup on? What kind of woman goes to the club without skanky heels on? Why haven’t I seen this woman before? Those were the strange kind of traits that drew Sam to Genevieve when he first stood 2 feet in front of her face and asked her, “Quieres bailar?” His accent was atrocious and he broke out into the biggest smile as if he knew just how bad it was.

 

Maybe he thought she was Spanish, maybe he didn’t know and didn’t care. But before Genevieve knew it, she was holding on for dear life in trying her best to keep time with the music.

 

His hands were little bit sweaty, but within a few seconds Genevieve found that she didn’t care. She just wanted him to Put. Her. Down.  There was no time to protest though. The music was speeding up faster and faster. Damn you Marc Anthony!  Genevieve was hustling back and forth and spinning around and around. She almost felt sick to her stomach. The smell of the room and the smell of Sam specifically filtered through her nostrils. She couldn’t tell which was which. Was he sweet or bitter?  Why the hell did he have to spin her around so goddamn fast?

 

A brief moment to catch her breath emerged as the song slowed down. Sam looked at her with a devilish grin on his face as if he enjoyed making her work hard to keep up with him.  He tried to maintain eye contact with Genevieve but she looked away in silent protest. His hands clasped hers tightly. She couldn’t help but notice how strong he was. Even if she wanted to just be let go, she couldn’t ignore how safe she felt in his arms… But who did he think he was?

 

As he swung her around like a rag doll, Sam was actually trying to start a conversation with Genevieve. It was hard to imagine. She could barely catch her breath and here he was trying to talk with her as if this were a stroll through the park.  It wasn’t that Sam meant to be rude. He was infused with energy from the beat of the music. This was his favorite after work hangout and he wanted to share the excitement with everyone. Manners escaped him sometimes… He had grown up rough around the edges. Deep down, he was a good guy, but he lacked some finesse. Genevieve couldn’t see any of that. She just saw him as an attractive man, and most certainly a womanizer. She vowed to remain closed off to him even as he swung her around for a second song…

 

Sam tried to ask her, “so what do you do for a living?

 

Genevieve narrowly avoided stomping on his feet she huffed, “I’m a writer…”

 

Maybe she would have elaborated if she had enough oxygen in her lungs.

 

Sam was still trying to make eye contact with her. He asked Genevieve more, “Yeah? That sounds like kind of a lonely career for a woman as beautiful as you are…”

 

How corny! Did that guy really think that cheap line would work on her? Genevieve was miffed that he had even tried it. He probably approached her because he saw her as some ugly desperate low-self-esteem having woman he was trying to get in bed with because he perceived her as easy. Genevieve’s face turned sour.

 

She had read it all wrong again.

 

“It’s not lonely…” Genevieve lied.

 

In time with the music, Sam pulled her in close and whispered into her ear, “A woman like you could never be lonely…”

 

Another corny line. Really? Genevieve was starting to wonder what she did to deserve such a cheese ball. Sam dipped her low to the ground. Genevieve’s heart didn’t miss a beat. Even in her anger she implicitly trusted him not to drop her.

 

After they had danced for a couple more songs, Genevieve felt like she’d overstayed her time in his arms. Plus, she wasn’t very good at dancing salsa and she felt a little seasick from all the spinning. She gently pulled away from Sam, thinking and hoping that he wouldn’t try to approach her again. Genevieve was starting to feel the liquor anyways. She always knew she was getting drunk when the urge to drink Henny crept up. She fumbled until she got to the bar but Greta was not where she expected.

 

The entire time that Genevieve had been dancing with Sam, Greta was stewing. She couldn’t believe Genevieve had the hottest guy in the bar come up to her. Greta was the one who had been eyeing him and she felt entitled to at least a moment of his time. Of course, when he sauntered over to Genevieve, Greta thought he had been coming over to her.

 

Maybe it was a pity dance or something. Greta thought to herself. But it didn’t look like a pity dance. Greta was envious. Greta downed three more cosmopolitans while Sam and Genevieve danced. The way that guy was looking at Genevieve made it seem like he was actually into her. Greta was baffled! She didn’t think Genevieve was that ugly, but she was acting like a shrinking violet the entire night. She didn’t seem like the type of woman who would attract someone like that emerald eyed adonis who was touching her waist ever so gently…

 

Greta was pissed off. Whenever she didn’t make “her kill” she worked it off by finding one or two more guys to take home that night. By the time Genevieve returned from her sweaty dance with Sam, Greta was gone…

 

She was meeting up with her “man for the night”. He was the guy that every woman has… That guy you can call whenever you’re feeling lonely and he’ll come right over and warm up your bed no matter what. Greta had no real interest in Erwin. He was pasty, underweight and blond with no backbone whatsoever. He had been pining after Greta for ten years. Of course she slept with him, but she never agreed to go the distance with Erwin no matter how desperate he was to marry her.

 

Erwin was one of those guys who thought he deserved everything because he was “nice”. But that’s all Erwin was. He was just a “nice” guy with no interests. All he wanted was some woman to become completely consumed with. Greta had no intention of ever becoming “consumed” by the little shrimp. But during times like this when she felt rejected by better prospects, Greta returned to her old watering hole.

 

While Genevieve kept herself steady against the bar she saw Greta flirting with Erwin in a corner. She had no idea who Erwin was. She just assumed that Greta was off flirting with some man who was twice her age. She was just glad she hadn't lost sight of Greta in the crowded club. Genevieve felt like the liquor was taking hold of her. She ordered a glass of Hennessy. She was already out, getting a little tipsy would at least make the club more bearable. Between the time she had ordered and received her drink, Genevieve had already turned down three other guys.

 

She felt clumsier on her feet than she had with Sam. She chugged back the Hennessy and suddenly felt like she was going  to throw up. I should not have done that… Genevieve mused. But perhaps she would be alright despite having had too much to drink. All she needed to do was keep her eye on Greta. That was her ride home and as long as Greta was in her line of sight, everything would be okay no matter how much she had to drink.

 

Genevieve whipped her head to the spot where Greta had just been standing. She felt her tummy turn even more. Greta was nowhere to be seen. Genevieve scanned the salsa club over and over again. There was no sign of Greta or Erwin.

Where on earth were they…?

 

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