Black And White Ops: A BWWM BBW Military Romance
Read Black And White Ops: A BWWM BBW Military Romance Online
Authors: BWWM Club,Aaron Steel
And White Ops
A fast moving military romance
A fast
moving military romance, brought to you by Aaron Steel of BWWM Club.
If
Monique knew her teaching job in Russia would end in her fleeing for
her life, she just might not have taken it!
Caught
up in the middle of a US military assassination attempt, she now
finds herself fighting her way out of Russia and back to safe
grounds.
With
only agent Rick Wilson by her side, a hunky agent on a black ops
mission, at least she has a capable and surprisingly caring man
looking out for her.
Rick
Wilson is an independent operative for a secret American government
intelligence agency.
During
an operation to take out a hacker threatening US security, he’s
forced to seek shelter with Monique Harrison, an English teacher at a
school in St. Petersburg.
Despite
their obvious life threatening situation, he can't help but be drawn
to this curvy beauty.
What
follows is a fast moving whirlwind romance, with feelings between the
two greatly enhanced by their life threatening situation.
But will
they be able to survive long enough to give this romance a real
chance?
Find out
in this new and exciting black ops romance by Aaron Steel of BWWM
Club.
Suitable
for over 18s only due to sex scenes so hot, you'll want to find your
own military man!
Tip:
Search
BWWM Club
on Amazon to see more of our great books.
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©
2015 to Aaron Steel and SaucyRomanceBooks.com. No part of this book
can be copied or distributed without written permission from the
above copyright holders.
Chapter 1
The cold winter
nights near St. Petersburgh were a constant reminder of how far north
the city was located. Built by Tsar Peter in the seventeenth century
it had the same latitude as the Hudson Bay in Canada. Canada had no
major cities in Hudson Bay. Russia needed a port opened to the sea
and the only place Tsar Peter could find was Finland Bay, where St.
Petersburgh would soon be constructed. He willed a great city to be
created at this location and today it is the most modern of Russia’s
larger cities.
Monique Harrison had
taught English at St. Michael the Archangel Gymnasium in St.
Petersburg for the past five years. She had accepted a job with the
school after graduating from the University of Pennsylvania in
Philadelphia and not been impressed with any of the teaching jobs she
was offered in the state. The Russian Gymnasium, a private school for
older adolescents, was willing to pay off her student loans and give
her a stipend to teach English to the children of the new business
class which was emerging in Russia. A curvy black woman from
Philadelphia, Monique was looking for a new adventure after
graduating.
So she had to get
used to being called Devoshuka Harrison by her students. Monique had
only heard Russian in the Northeast part of Philadelphia and never
had a reason to learn the language. But soon after taking the job,
she found it important to learn it unless she wanted to appear lost
and confused to the people she lived around. The school found her a
place to stay in an apartment building next door, where many of the
other teaching staff found themselves housed.
Over the years she
had learned what she needed to know and could converse on a need
basis with the average Russian on the street. She became used to the
stares she would get from the average person, but the people who
lived on her street knew who she was and didn’t bother her.
Every now and then a drunken day laborer might start yelling at her
and any other foreigner, but there were plenty of people who would
intervene on her behalf. It didn’t bother her any more than
being shouted out by uneducated rednecks in the county areas outside
Philadelphia.
As time went on she
had added the curves to her already tall body. Monique had played
basketball in high school as she was one of the tallest girls in her
class. Her mother had seen to it that she was the best student in her
school and in line for a scholarship when one became available. Her
financial aid money hadn’t paid for everything and she was
forced to go into debt to support her education. This is why the job
with the school was such a Godsend.
It was late in
December when she heard the familiar sounds of an English speaker in
a coffee shop off the Nevsky Prospect. It was a tiny little place
which reminded her of some of the Center City Philadelphia places she
used to hand out in Philadelphia. Monique was sitting in a chair at a
table reading her smart phone’s news report. She was in the
process of sipping a cappuccino in a small cup when she heard the man
talking. She turned her head to look at the speaker on the other side
of the room. She nearly fell out of her chair at the gorgeous man who
was conversing with a Russian woman.
The shop wasn’t
large and was filled mostly with Russians who were getting up for one
reason or another on a cold Sunday morning. From the look of it, many
of the couples had just met the night before. Monique stayed as far
away from the club scene as she could. She wasn’t the standard
rail-thin ice queen beauty most of the local men were searching for.
Furthermore, she had no desire to end up on someone’s bucket
list. She had overheard enough men in St. Petersburg talk about
capturing an “African Flag” to keep her away from them.
Once she had enough money saved up, she planned to resign and return
to the United States. No matter how messed-up America might be at any
given moment, it was still the only home she knew.
The man appeared to
be in his early thirties and had a two-day growth of beard on him.
Like the woman he was with, the man was white, but he had the look of
someone who had spent a lot of time outdoors. His head was almost
shaven to the point of a military haircut. She wondered about the
relationship between him and the young woman he was with, but unlike
the other couples in the coffee shop who were crawling all over each
other, he was formal and keeping his distance. She tried not to stare
too closely at him as just being in his vicinity was giving her a
little bit of excitement between her legs.
The woman he was with
looked to be about twenty years of age and had long blond hair with
ice blue eyes. She couldn’t weigh more than one hundred pounds
and was hidden in a tight sweater with stylish ski pants on her legs.
Monique noted with approval the Coach handbag she had slung around
her shoulder. It was impossible to understand what they were
discussing at her distance, but it had to be important from the
hushed tones he was using with her. Her nails were manicured to
perfection and she wore a set of designer glasses on her face.
Likewise she had time to put on her makeup and the woman’s face
was a walking advertisement for a cosmetic supplier.
As she sipped her
drink and looked at her phone, Monique saw the man’s hand slide
out of his pocket and hand the woman something that was green.
Whatever the amount of money, it was substantial as she slipped it in
her ski pants pocket the second he gave it to her. They talked for
another five minutes and then the man kissed her on the cheek. She
gave him a hug and left the shop while he continued to drink the
coffee he’d ordered for himself.
Monique watched the
man get up from where he had been sitting and turn to look at her.
She tried her best to stay invisible, but didn’t succeed. He
had noticed her. She had been living in St. Petersburg so long that
it no longer bothered her when someone stared, so long as they didn’t
make a racial remark. Monique went back to her smart phone. Then she
saw him with her peripheral vision rise up from his table and begin
walking in her direction. Damn, she thought, I’m in a tight
spot. No way to ignore him now. The man walked over to her and pulled
up a chair across from her. She could feel the warmth from his body
where she sat.
“Are you an
American?” he asked in a smooth baritone voice. The way he
rolled his letters made her wet between the legs.
Monique looked up
from her smart phone and smiled. “Yes I am, by way of
Philadelphia,” she told him. “And what brings you here?”
“Business,”
he told her. “I saw you looking up at me when I was talking to
Tatiana, the woman I was with. Not that many Russians speak good
English. I didn’t think you were from here, so I assumed one of
the East African countries when I stepped in the door with her. But
that doesn’t seem to be the case. Do you work here or are you
just visiting?”
He wore a leather
jacket over an expensive pair of pants. Monique stayed on top of the
styles in the US and noticed the label on his jeans. It wasn’t
one of the cheap brands. His boots were tooled western wear, not
cheap either. She saw a pair of gloves in his side pocket which
matched everything else he wore.
“Working,”
she told him. “I didn’t catch your name Mister….?”
“Rick,”
he told her. “Rick Wilson. I didn’t get yours either.”
“My friends in
American call me Monique,” she replied. “Monique
Harrison. I teach English on the other side of St. Petersburg at a
private school.”
Monique suddenly
became aware of the condition of her hair. It was almost impossible
to find a cosmologist in St. Petersburg who knew how to take care of
African hair, so she was forced to do her own hair most of the time.
The only one who knew how to cut and style her hair was around the
corner. She had made and was going to keep an appointment at Mr.
Serge’s in another hour. It was the one indulgent thing she
allowed herself.
“So what kind
of business are you in Rick?” she asked him, putting her cup
down. He was leaning toward her, making Monique feel very sexy. A
sensation she hadn’t had in a long time.
“Believe it or
not, I deal in coffee,” he told her. “I hook up the small
distributors in Russia with big suppliers in the gulf states. I can
get them the best quality roasted coffee they can afford. I see you
like your coffee strong. The brand you are drinking was supplied by
my firm.”
Monique leaned back
and gave him a sultry look. She hadn’t been with a man since
leaving Philadelphia. The only time she had been back was for a
family visit two years ago and didn’t have the opportunity to
look up any of her old boyfriends. It appeared this man was being
handed to her on a silver platter. But she had to be careful. Her
momma didn’t raise a fool and the wrong decision could mess
everything up for her.
“So, Rick,”
she said. “How do you like your coffee? I like my coffee with
lots of cream and sugar.”
“Black,”
he told her. “I like my coffee dark roasted and with a flavor
of rare oil in the background. I like to take my time sipping it too,
that way I know I’ve got the full enjoyment out of it. I like
to put the cup to my lips and slowly feel the flavor on my tongue. I
like to use my tongue on my coffee to make sure I can tease the
flavor out of it. I like my coffee strong too, so strong that it just
swallows me up. How do you like yours?”
Rick Wilson had been
in St. Petersburg for the past three weeks. The agency had contacted
him last month about the latest job they had waiting. It would pay
well and not involve the kind of risks he'd had to endure when he was
in Argentina ten months ago. Rick didn’t care about the risk so
long as it paid well. He was hoping for Brazil this time as the women
down there were legendary. He’d never fallen in love once in
his life and hoped it might change if he went down to Rio. But no
luck this time. To Russia it was to be.
