COWBOY ROMANCE: Justin (Western Contemporary Alpha Male Bride Romance) (The Steele Brothers Book 1) (133 page)

Chapter 5

James picked me up the next day, as promised. I closed the shop and turned around to see his Rolls-Royce parked out front, with him leaning against the door in sharp-looking dress shirt and slacks.

“Are you crazy!” I shout-whispered. “Are you trying to get robbed? You do realized people get killed for their shoes in this neighborhood, don’t you?”

He laughed his warm laugh, and I calmed down. “Alison, don’t worry,” he said, seemingly tickled at my distress. “We’ll be fine. We’re right next to the freeway, so we’ll be on the road in no time.”

“Where are we going anyway? I’m a mess.” I hadn’t felt like a mess until I saw him in his tailored outfit. Suddenly, my nicest clothes, which I’d worn for this occasion, were an embarrassing disaster.

“Nonsense! You look lovely.”

I blushed and got in the car, which was cavernous and pristine.

“See?” he said. “You fit right in. You look like a million bucks.”

“It looks like you would know,” I said, immediately regretting my rudeness, but being set at ease by his now-familiar chuckle.

“So, to answer your question, we’re going to a little Italian restaurant in my neighborhood. It’s not too far from here, actually. I know the owner, and he promised to treat us right.”

It wasn’t far at all. Before I had time to worry about what I would talk about at dinner, we were there. It was a small place, in a nice but modest suburban neighborhood, probably not fifteen minutes from my shop. It always amazed me how close the ritzy neighborhoods were to the projects. It was as though a series of bombs had torn apart only select sections of a wealthy, verdant township.

The place was small indeed. Had he not been driving, I would have missed it entirely. It was a brick building with white trim. It looked, actually, like a one-story Brownstone. James parked in the back, and a server showed us in. Immediately, I felt out of place. My clothes and shoes were far too informal, which was to say nothing of the fact that I was the only person of color in the building—and probably the block. Living in my area for years, I had forgotten how it felt to be the only minority somewhere. Anxiety made my face hot and my breath short. Would I spend the entire evening acutely aware of my skin? Would I spend the entire evening worrying about my hair and whether my natural curls would look too radical? Would I spend the entire evening paying extra attention to how I behaved with the knowledge that I was an unwilling representative for my entire race? I couldn’t order chicken—even if I wanted it and even though it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to order—because I didn’t want to confirm any stereotypes. I would be sure to tip well for the same reason. And I would keep my voice down.

Fortunately, my worries were soon pacified. James was talkative enough that I didn’t have time to overthink the situation.

“So!” he said, removing napkin from his wineglass and spreading it over his lap. “Have you always been interested in books, Alison? Were you a born reader?”

“I suppose I was more bookish than the average kid. I was a latchkey kid, so books provided a companion for me when my mom was out working and when my brother was out doing his thing. It became more of a focus for me during high school though. Watching my brother and so many friends drop out because they undervalued education put things in perspective. Having friends and family die because they thought it was more important to build a reputation than to build intelligence helped me to set my priorities. It’s a pretty unexciting life, relatively speaking, but I feel like I’ve had enough excitement already. A little quiet? A little routine? Those suit me just fine.”

“Where is your brother now?” he asked, with a little hesitation, probably wondering if he was one of the dead ones.

“He’s in prison. His street success finally caught up with him. To think that I envied him for his money and friends for years, and like that, it’s all gone. I visit him sometimes, usually on holidays, but we were never that close. My mom refuses to see him. She says she’s angry, but I think she’s ashamed because she did nothing to keep him from that life. If anything, she encouraged him because she benefited from the money and the local glamor.”

I was amazed to hear myself talking so openly with James about my private life. Over the course of the magnificent dinner, I found myself sharing things I had only shared with Lucy. Something about him made me feel safe, made me feel open. His hazel eyes had so much kindness in them, and it was clear that when he looked into mine, he was looking deeply. Those eyes, big and bright, crinkled when he smiled his gorgeous smile and it filled me with warmth in all the right places. When I spoke, he nodded and waited, really listening instead of just hearing me. I dropped all defenses, ones that had been there since childhood, ones that were well-fortified and had protected my heart from ache, but also from closeness, for as long as I could remember.

When he talked, I couldn’t help but focus on his lips, pillowy and pink, peeking out from his well-manicured stubble, which was sandy and turned red in the right light. More than once, I missed what he said because I was so entranced by his mouth, as if I were willing it to find any of my lips and do as it wished there.
Too much talking
, I thought, as I pictured his lips and tongue fluttering on my panties, which were already growing wet from the imagining. Briefly, I chided myself for being a bad listener after he had been such a good one, but my endorphins won out, and all I could do was nod as I felt my face and neck grow hot. I felt momentarily grateful that blushing is nearly invisible on a black girl, especially in a dimly lit restaurant. I allowed myself to embrace the flow of heat as it moved from my face down to my tingling nipples, which, without a bra, were visibly pressing against the fabric of my shirt. His quick glances at my breasts made me smile, and I chose not to hide my desire. Instead, I removed my right foot from my pump and teased my toes under the cuff of his pants. His smile grew, and his blush was much more visible than mine.

I ran my foot up his leg, leisurely, taking mischievous pleasure in his shortness of breath and increasingly red face and neck. I meant to slide up to his lap, but I was met shortly after his knee by his swollen manhood. Pleased that I had inspired such hardness and in such an impressive package, I felt a current of electricity run from his groin to mine, as though my leg were the conduit. Goosebumps ran over my legs and arms as my toes explored his substantial length, and judging from the pleasurable contortions on James’s face, I was sure he felt his hair stand up too.

When the waitress came to deliver and pick up the check, I delighted in stroking James pulsing bulge, in his inability to keep a straight face or speak clearly. I hoped she knew what was going on, and I hoped she touched herself later to the thought of us.

This was all so new to me. It was unlike me to be so bold with a man, and especially in public. My inhibitions were dissolving. I wanted him, and I wanted him to want me.

Wordlessly, we stumbled out of the restaurant, weak with sexual hunger. Even the movement of my legs against one another, in my tight dress, served to heighten my arousal. I tightened my pelvic muscles rhythmically.

James struggled to keep his eyes on the road as he drove us to my house. I had one foot on the dash board and one on his crotch while I played with myself for both of our pleasures. My panties were pulled to the side, and my skirt was up. He had a perfect view of my pussy, slick and desirous. Two of my fingers parted my lips and cradled my clit. I moved my hand in circles, rubbing the ache that had been building ever since I first got in his car.

At a red light, our faces moved like opposing magnets, drawn powerfully to one another. I finally found my lips against his. He sucked on my lips, and I explored his mouth with my tongue until the car behind us honked, notifying us that the light had changed. We found ourselves in the same embrace at every red light, feverish as we were with urges, and every time, we needed reminding from annoyed cars to turn our attention back to the road.

Dizzied by desire, I didn’t bother feeling self-conscious about the smallness or the messiness of my house. He couldn’t have seen much anyway, involved as he was in sucking gently on my neck and earlobes. His hands palmed my ass, and I walked backward to the bedroom, where I fell on to the bed.

No sooner had I laid down than he lowered himself to the bedside so he could bury his face in my lap, pressing his tongue against the thin cotton of my underwear. His hands, strong and sure, moved my skirt up to my waist. His fingers hooked my panties on the way down. His kisses charted the landscape of my thighs as he lowered my panties and pulled them over my feet.

Melting waves of pleasure ran over me as he lapped thirstily against my pussy lips. Already wet, my slit was dripping as soon as his tongue probed its way between my folds. He licked in circles before sucking my lips gently between his, the pulling teasing my yearning clit, and making me moan.

I moved my hands through his wavy brown hair as he pressed his tongue against my hole, urging it to want him more, as if that were possible. Gasping with sensitivity, I almost kicked him off when he slurped my clit into his mouth. He pulled it in and out of his lips, causing my hips to churn against the bed. Tapping his tongue against my swollen clit made me hum. It was all I could do keep from releasing all that I’d been holding into his welcoming mouth, but I wanted him to share in my pleasure.

Trembling from a withheld climax, I urged him onto the bed. We removed each other’s clothes, kissing and sucking all the while. I held my palms against his muscular chest and hardening nipples as he licked and sucked on mine. His nibbles sent chills from my head to my pelvis as I unbuckled his belt and pulled his handsome cock from his zipper. Had it not been rigid, I could tell that it would be heavy in my hand. It was, simply put, handsome, and large enough that I couldn’t fully grip my fingers around it. He smirked at my inspection, but his smile dissolved as soon as I ran my fingers along his shaft. I kissed him, and he panted as I explored his throbbing head with my fingertips.

It felt good to have power over a powerful man, and I took joy in watching him squirm with pleasure at my hand. Lowering myself to the side of the bed, I pressed my lips against the bottom of his head and sucked against his tender spot. He cooed and stretched his legs. I could feel his shaft grow harder as I ran my tongue along its base and up its length. James pushed his fingers into my hair and pulled it when I finally opened my lips around his head, sucking gently. Wrapping my fingers around his impressive girth, I massaged his tensest muscle, running my tongue under his foreskin and around the crown of his head. His precum left my lips sticky, and in a moment where I was lost in the sensation of rubbing my slick lips together, he pulled my hips over his face.

At first I wanted to protest, and my thighs tensed slightly. He kneaded my thighs and ass, relaxing them, and he continued clutching my ass as he moved his dexterous tongue against my winking asshole. I had never experienced any anal attention from myself, let alone from a man. After a few moments of his licking, though, I found I loved the sensation.

Running my hands like pistons along his length, I returned to sucking his handsome dick as he licked my ass and pussy. My pleasure was multiplied when combined with his, and the pulse I felt in my pussy grew quicker with his cock in my mouth. The rhythmic movements of our hips increased, as did our panting breaths. We both moaned and pressed our hips into one another’s face as we neared mutual climax.

We pressed hard once more, smothering one another with our sex, before explosive waves of pleasure shot through us, rocking us and causing our hips to buck. With the little willpower I still had, I held onto his pulsing shaft as it sent burst after burst of his warm juices over my lips and throat. He too continued to lick as my convulsions weakened, licking my tender clit until the sensitivity grew to be too much.

When we both gained enough power and breath, he turned me so we could kiss each other, our lips still wet with love. After minutes of tender, exhausted kisses, I laid my head on his chest, and it rose and fell with his breath as we both fell into deep sleep.

Chapter 6

“You are such a slut!” cried Lucy at our coffee date.

“Shhhh! God, Lucy, people can hear you!”

“What! You’re suddenly a private person? You suddenly want to live a quiet, unassuming life after you spent all of last night swapping fluids with some guy you just met?”

She was teasing, mostly. Lucy had always given me a hard time for being a prude, so I knew her criticism was just masking approval.

“C’mon,” I said. “For years you’re telling me I need to get laid, and when I finally do, you’re suddenly the morality police?”

“No way. I’m proud of you girl. I just wish I met the guy first. Anyway, I mean ‘slut’ in a good way. You do have to tell me all the dirty details though.”

“Well, he just came into the shop to look around. I thought he was a cop because, you know, well-dressed white guy in the hood.”

“White guy, huh?” she said, clearly holding her tongue.

“Yeah, why?”

“Oh, no reason.” She always made me work to get her to talk straight. “It’s just that white guys only have a few reasons to be going after black girls, especially if this guy is wealthy. How much money would you say this guy has?”

“I really have no idea. He had a really nice car and took us to a nice restaurant, that’s all.”

“Alison, come on. I know you’ve thought about it. How much money do you think he has, considering the car, the clothes, the restaurant, whatever. Ballpark it.”

I was almost ashamed to admit that I had thought about it. I hated to be looked at as a gold-digger, but a well-off man was attractive. “I guess, maybe a million? He carried himself like a millionaire, not that I’ve met many.”

“No, you said this guy was well-dressed, right? Does that mean suit and tie?”

“More like shirt and slacks,” I said.

“See? I think this guy has more. The really wealthy guys don’t advertise. They don’t have to. What kind of car?”

“You know I don’t know anything about cars, Lucy. I know it was a Rolls, though.”

“A-ha. Fancy but not too fancy. This guy must be loaded. A millionaire shows off, but a billionaire? They know they got money. They are more understated. It’s confusing, I know.” Lucy loved playing expert. “Anyway, as I was saying, white guys go for black girls for only a few reasons.”

“He said he liked me because I was a book-lover like him. And Lucy, I’m plenty attractive. Can’t that be enough?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “You’re smoking hot. I mean psychologically, though. On a deeper level, he wants something else.”

“And what is that?” I was getting annoyed. And despite myself, I was also beginning to worry that she might be on to something.

“Number one is least troubling. He might be a fetishist. He might be into the idea of a sister as an exotic beauty from a far-away land, ready to teach him all of her interesting sexual ways. He might love nappy hair and a fat ass. He might, in short, have a taste for chocolate. Do you know if he’s ever dated black before?”

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling a little disheartened. “We didn’t talk about that stuff.”

“That’s right. I forgot, he couldn’t talk with you sticking your pussy in his mouth all night.”

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself, you insatiable sex-monger,” she said, laughing. “Anyway, on to number two. Number two is white guilt. This one makes me roll my eyes. He thinks that he can prove he’s not racist by fucking a black chick. He can walk with you on his arm, showing all the other sisters that he’s not a bad guy. Maybe his ancestors owned slaves, but he is doing his part to make reparations.”

“I really don’t think that’s it,” I said, not knowing if I believed myself.

“Who knows? Not me. Number three!” she continued. “He has a savior complex. This rich, white motherfucker sees you as a poor, black woman, damaged by the system, and he sees his opportunity to play Good Samaritan. He can save you from yourself. He can save you from the cycle of oppression, since you can’t save yourself.”

I didn’t even know how to reply to that one. I felt hurt, and her confidence made me worried that she might know what she’s talking about.

“Finally, and worst-of-all, this guy might have a master-slave complex. Instead of trying to erase a history of slavery like the white-guilt guy, he’s trying to bring it back, mostly in the bedroom. It’s kind of like those guys who are only into Asian women. They like those girls because someone taught them that Asian women are naturally subservient to men, that their culture tells them to bow to men and meet their every need. Master-slave guys are like that. The big difference is that they know black women are strong and resilient, often moreso than the white guy himself, and he is intimidated and wants to
make
her subservient.”

“Where did you learn all this? It sounds a little farfetched.” I was trying to convince myself as much as her.

“I learned from
life
, sister. You think I’ve never fucked a white dude?”

“Yeah, but haven’t all of your white guys been johns? Haven’t they been paying you?”

“What difference does that make?” she said, offended and more convinced than ever. “Johns aren’t like guys you date. They’re honest. They don’t have to be polite or worry that you’ll dump them. They’ll tell you what’s really going on, and I’m telling you, they all fall into those categories. Every one of them.”

I tried to tell myself she didn’t know what she was talking about, but I couldn’t focus for the rest of our girl-date. She was laughing and talking about her life, but it was all distant noise to me. I couldn’t bear to think that this wonderful man could have ulterior motives.