I hope she is. I hope she’s never had to fake an orgasm with me.
Now, it’s my turn.
Knowing it, Camille reaches for the other strap-on and puts it on. I hate to admit it but she looks even hotter with those lace stockings and that fake cock around her sensuous hips. To make it worse – or better – she gives a little dance, lifting her arms and swaying her hips to some inaudible music before coating the toy with lube.
I lie down on the bed, spreading my legs as wide as I can for her. She slips her tongue inside my mouth as she caresses my other pair of lips, putting one finger in, and then another, stretching me. I am so wet there is no pain, only pleasure that is slowly but surely building up, like the lava inside a volcano, waiting to explode.
When Camille removes her fingers, I whimper at the loss, but then the strap-on takes their place. It is large, stretching my virgin pussy more than ever. Still, I feel no pain, just moaning at the delicious invasion and letting the pleasure fill me up little by little.
After I have been filled to the brim, Camille stops for a moment, then begins to move. Unlike me, she goes at a hard pace from the start, pounding into me so that I can feel my breasts bounce and the folds of my skin jiggle.
She reaches for my breasts, squeezing them and sending heat through me anew, then reaches for my clit, rubbing it.
It is my undoing.
As desire explodes from inside me, my breath escapes me. Tears escape the corners of my eyes, as well, as I squeeze my eyes shut while a cry is ripped from my throat, one of pure delight as I reach the peak of ecstasy.
When it has passed, my eyes are blurry, my heartbeat is like a runaway train, and I am just about ready to pass out—but we are not yet done.
Not yet.
I lie on my side and crook a finger at Camille. She takes off the strap-on, tossing it aside, then lies down beside me in the opposite direction, her face against my curls and my face pressed to her pussy. I start licking first, gathering what’s left of her divine nectar with the tip of my tongue. She follows suit, both of us cleaning each other up only to make a mess again as we reach our second orgasms, not as intense as the first, but still satisfying, like a light and sweet dessert after a heavy meal.
Afterwards, we are both exhausted, so we lie on our backs, panting as we stare at the ceiling, not bothering to get aligned.
“Well?” I speak up first.
“A-ma-zing.”
I smile. “I’m hungry.”
She chuckles. “Me, too.”
While she takes a shower, I prepare sandwiches. Just as I have finished, though, my phone rings.
I stare at the screen, surprised to see Chloe’s name on it. What does she want now?
“Hello.”
“Thank goodness I’ve finally reached you.” Chloe is clearly mad. “I’ve been trying and trying…I even tried to get in touch with the TV station trying to get a hold of you, only to find out you quit. What do you mean you quit?” She sighs. “Anyway, never mind. I need you to come home. It’s Sam. He was in an accident.”
“An accident?” The phone nearly slips from my fingers.
“Anyway, come home. Bye.”
The line goes dead. I keep my phone against my ear, frozen. And I still am when Camille finds me.
“Stacey, what happened?”
I turn to her, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I need to go home.”
Chapter 9
During the whole trip back home, I feel like I’m walking on a tightrope. If I close my eyes and take a deep breath, I’m okay, but then I think of Sam again, my traitorous brain conjuring the worst scenario, and I’m paralyzed by fear again.
Please. Let Sam be alright.
Sam is my stepbrother, Vivian’s child from before she met Dad. We don’t share a single drop of blood, but strangely, I get along with him well, better than with Chloe, definitely. And it’s not just because our ages are close. We have this understanding of each other. We don’t judge each other. He doesn’t mind my weight, and I don’t mind his tattoos or his piercings. We just love and support each other, which I think is what siblings ought to do.
The last time I heard from him, he was in New York, drumming for a band. When he got back to Lafayette, and how he got in an accident, I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. I just want to hear that he’s safe.
Beside me, Camille squeezes my hand and gives me a smile. She says nothing, but she doesn’t need to. Her presence is enough.
I wasn’t sure at first that bringing her home with me was a good idea, especially at a time like this; but Camille had refused to be left behind, saying she wasn’t going to leave me alone when I needed her the most. I couldn’t argue with her, so here we were, on our way back to Lafayette, not knowing what awaited us there.
We head straight to the hospital, where I learn Sam was on a motorcycle and was hit by a drunk driver, a college student, who also sustained injuries. Sam had suffered a concussion, a dislocated shoulder and a fractured leg as well as multiple bruises, but at least he’s stable now.
Vivian refuses to leave Sam’s side, so Camille and I fit ourselves in the small room.
“Hey.” He smiles at me. “Nice to see you again, sis.”
“It would have been nicer if you weren’t in a hospital bed. You’re a mess, you know.”
“Finally, someone honest. I’ll be alright, though.”
“You better.” I turn to Camille. “This is Camille. She’s my…”
I mouth ‘girlfriend’ so Vivian won’t hear.
“Oh. Hello there. I’m not sure my eyesight is the best right now but as far as I can see, the two of you are a perfect fit.”
Camille smiles. “I like him.”
“I told you you would.” I plant a kiss on the top of Sam’s head. “Anyway, get some rest. You need it.”
“Thanks.”
After we leave the room, Camille holds my hand. “He’s a nice guy. Your stepmother, though, is like the wicked one from fairy tales.”
I laugh. “Wait until you meet my evil half-sister.”
“I can’t believe you quit,” is the first thing Chloe says when we meet back at the house. “I mean, you’re already there. Couldn’t you have tried harder?”
“You don’t know what happened, Chloe,” I tell her.
“And I don’t even want to know.” She sighs. “I thought you still at least had brains but it seems your--”
“Is that how you talk to your sister?” Camille interrupts. I can tell that she’s fuming.
Chloe places her hands on her hips. “Who are you? Wait. Let me guess. You’re from that reality show, too, but you got eliminated.”
“I quit, too,” Camille corrects.
Chloe’s eyebrows crease.
“Chloe, this is Camille,” I introduce. “I’ve met her before, and it was thanks to you – and that’s the only thing I’ll ever thank you for. I met her again at the show. She’s my girlfriend.”
Chloe’s jaw drops. “What?”
“Your girlfriend?”
At the sound of my father’s voice, I freeze.
Oh, shit.
I didn’t expect things to turn out like this at all, but since the bomb had already been dropped, there was no turning back.
“Yes, Dad. This is Camille, my girlfriend.”
“You mean your best friend?”
“No. My romantic partner.”
“But she’s a woman.”
“So?”
I can see the disapproval in his eyes.
“Get out of my house.”
I bite my lower lip and reach for Camille’s hand, but she jerks it away, stepping forward.
“She’s your daughter. Why can’t you accept her?”
Dad glares at her. “How dare you speak to me like that?”
“No, Dad. She’s right.” I step beside Camille, swallowing my fear. “All my life, I’ve tried to make you proud of me. I’ve done everything you ask. But it’s never enough. I’m not pretty enough to be y
our daughter. I’m not slim enough--or slim at all. I’m not good enough. So, you know what, Dad? I give up. I’m done trying to make you proud. It’s high time I become proud of myself. And I am. If you can’t accept me, fine. I’m not going to toss away the one person who has. I don’t have the heart to toss aside the people who love me, unlike you. From now on, you can just forget you have another daughter. And I sincerely hope that makes you happy, because for the longest time, Dad, all I wanted was for you to be happy.”
With that, I turn around and leave the house quickly, hoping to get out before my tears start to fall. Even so, I’m hoping he’ll call out to me, and when he doesn’t, I feel as if a door has truly closed, a part of my heart broken off. Still, a voice in my head, and Camille’s hand in mine tells me it’s for the best.
I’ll be alright.
Chapter 10
Two and a half years later…
“Surprise!”
I gasp, speechless as I stare at the magazine that Camille has just handed me, the first one with her on the cover as the world’s first plus-sized lesbian model.
“Well, what do you think?”
I still can’t answer, and I can’t take my eyes off the cover. She’s just beautiful in her black turtleneck dress, her hair flowing past her shoulders. I can’t believe she’s finally made her dream come true. And I still can’t believe she’s mine.
“Well?”
I look at her, my eyes brimming with tears. “Congratulations.”
I give her a hug, squeezing her tight.
“Is that all you can say?”
“What else can I say? You’re too good for words. Besides, you know how proud I am of you, no matter what.”
“Thank you. Not just for being proud of me, but for helping me be proud of myself.”
“Nope, I won’t take the credit for that. You did this on your own.”
She shakes her head. “If not for you, I’d still be trying to lose weight right now, hating myself each time I fail. It’s because you love me that I’ve learned to love myself.”
“How could I not love you when you’re so perfect?”
She smiles and we kiss. I want to kiss her somewhere else, to worship her and make her mine all over again, but then, the phone rings and she goes to answer it. Shortly after, a cry comes from the bedroom and I run to the crib, scooping up Stephanie in my arms. Camille and I adopted her after we got married, and now, she’s five months old.
She’s our precious bundle of joy.
“Guess who called?” Camille asks excitedly as she walks in. “It’s from a TV station. They want both of us on a talk show.”
“Both of us?”
“Both of us. After all, I’m a celebrity now, and you’re the love of my life.” She strokes Stephanie’s hair. “And you, my dear, are our little princess.”
“I’d say she’s our good luck charm.”
“Of course, she is.”
I kiss her little forehead and stare at her sleeping face, smiling. She may not be my own flesh and blood, but whatever happens, I promise I’ll take good care of her. I’ll never make her feel alone, unloved or less than perfect. Never.
And I promise that Camille and I will always be there for her. I just know that the two of us will be together, after all. We’re just so perfect for each other, no matter what anyone says.
Maybe we were outcasts once but I have a feeling the world is changing. Our world is getting bigger. And better.
There will always be mean people, people who make themselves feel better by putting others down. I don’t care. They can’t bring me down. I might be heavy, but I’ll always float back to the surface. No matter how many times they knock me down, I’ll just keep getting back up. I’ll just get stronger, because I know that I have a big and beautiful heart. A happy heart.
And that’s more than enough.
That Boy Is Mine
BWWM Interracial Romance
Chapter 1
“Is anybody sitting here?”
Adele McQueen glanced up at the person speaking to her. At first she thought he might be a plumber, with his faded flannel shirt and smudged jeans. Either a plumber or a welder. His bright blue eyes glittering in his rough face, his hair sticking out at odd angles from his head.
She waved toward the seat next to her, “Help yourself.”
Then, when he pulled a tape measure out of his pocket, she decided he must be a carpenter of some kind. He stepped up onto the other seat of the couch in his paint-speckled boots and proceeded to measure the wall space behind Adele’s head.
The tape measure slid back into its holder, and the man stepped down from the couch. He plunked down into the seat and started scribbling in a notebook. He glanced up in thought and pointed his pencil toward each corner of the room. His lips moved in silent conversation with himself.
He caught sight of Adele watching him and smiled. He surveyed her with the same practiced eye with which she sized him up. He took in her short, chic Afro, and her polished leather shoes. He also couldn’t fail to miss her tablet computer, lying on the coffee table in front of her.
He got off the couch and took out his tape measure again. He crossed the room, between the tables and chairs of the coffee shop and measured the spaces between the windows on the opposite wall. Then he sat down and marked everything down in his notebook.
”What are you doing?” Adele asked.
A delighted smile broke across his face, and he turned toward her. “I’m an artist, and I’m having an exhibition here next week. I’m measuring up the spaces where my pieces will hang.”
“An artist!” she exclaimed. “I never would have guessed.”
“Most people don’t” he replied with a warm smile.
“Have you been doing it long?” she asked.
“What? Being an artist, or having exhibitions in local coffee shops?”
Adele blushed. “Either one.”
“I’ve been an artist all my life,” he replied. “I gave up a heavy-duty corporate job to dedicate myself to my art full time. This will be my fifth local show, and I did one big show in Seattle last year.”
Adele’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Wow. That’s pretty impressive.”
He snorted. “It would be if I could make a living at it.”
“Can’t you?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not yet, anyway. I’m still working on it.”
The conversation sagged for a moment. Then he put out his hand. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure. I’m Sam Marchant.”
She couldn’t stop herself from smiling when she shook his hand. “I’m Adele McQueen.”
“Pleased to meet you,” he replied.
Adele looked around the coffee shop. “I didn’t know this place did art exhibitions. I’ve been coming here for years, and I’ve never seen any art on the walls.”
“This will be the first time,” he told her. “After my display in Seattle and another at the local library, the owner agreed to let me exhibit here. It took me almost two years to convince him.”
“What did you do before?” she asked. “What did you do in your ‘heavy-duty corporate job’?”
“I was Chief Financial Officer for Chase Manhattan Bank,” he told her.
Her eyes flew open and her jaw dropped. “Wow.”
He laughed at her. “Please... don’t sound so impressed. That job was a soulless prison, and I hated it. I’m much happier now.”
Adele turned away. Her own work staring back at her from the surface of her tablet.
“What about you?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”
She waved her hand toward the tablet and fell into a half-embarrassed giggle. “Funny you should ask. I’m a heavy-duty corporate type, and I’m preparing for a meeting this afternoon.”
Sam nodded. “Ah. I should have known. And what do you do in your heavy-duty corporate job?”
“I’m the CEO of my own company,” she told him. “When I was unemployed and couldn’t pay
the rent, I wrote a workbook for kids. It teaches reading and math and how to tell the time. It took off, and, well, now I’m running a multi-billion dollar company. We sell a whole line of books teaching basic academic skills to school kids.”
He listened with his full attention. His eyes had a way of digging into her and uncovering her secrets even before she had a chance to say them out loud.
“That’s very interesting.” He said.
Adele smacked her lips in exasperation. “Yeah. Really interesting. It’s nowhere near as interesting as being an artist and you know it!”
“Sure it is,” he replied. “When I said it was interesting, I meant it was interesting how you and I seem to have exchanged places in life. I went from being a high-powered corporate executive to a penniless clod, and you went from being a penniless clod to being a high-powered corporate executive. That’s what I find interesting. Maybe our dopple-gangers are across the bay, sat in a bar, and we’ve all crossed some invisible barrier in the space-time continuum to meet here and... there.”
Adele burst out laughing. “In a place known as... The Twilight Zone. You’re a real sci-fi nerd, aren’t you?”
His mouth fell open in mock dismay. “What’s wrong with that? Look. You’re black and I’m white. You’re female and I’m male. Everything is opposite. Our lives have taken opposite paths, and here we are, meeting in the same coffee shop. Don’t tell me you don’t find the coincidence interesting.”
“I don’t find it interesting because it isn’t there,” she countered. “I do find you interesting though-- I mean, your life as an artist. That’s interesting. I’d love to see your work.”
“If you keep coming to this coffee shop next week,” he told her, “you will.”
“I’d like to see it before that,” she countered. “Are you showing anywhere in town right now?”
He shook his head. “No, and I wouldn’t want you to see any of the work I’m getting ready. I wouldn’t want anyone to see it before it’s ready. Before I am ready.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Bummer. I like to see a person’s work. It helps me form an idea in my mind about who they really are.”
Hang Em' Up: A Bad Boy Sports Pregnancy Romance Page 46