Loving You Through Our Differences

by Tucora Monique

  Loving You Through Our Differences

  A Novel by

  Tucora Monique

  Copyright 2018 © Tucora Monique

  Published by Major Key Publishing

  www.majorkeypublishing.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Any unauthorized reprint or use of the material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage without express permission by the publisher.

  This is an original work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Contains explicit language & adult themes suitable for ages 16+

  To submit a manuscript for our review, email us at submissions@majorkeypublishing.com

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  Dedications

  To: My Readers

  I write because words feel better when read.

  Thank you, for allowing me to make you feel.

  To:

  My Ivy, Izzy, & Isaiah

  My Wanda

  My Bernice

  My Pearl

  My Star

  Thank you, for teaching me how to feel.

  Prologue

  Billie

  Womp. Womp. Womp.

  I could clearly see his cherry-colored lips moving, but the sounds just didn’t reach my ears. I smiled being courteous and nodded when I felt it may have been appropriate, but the minute we entered the lobby of the Marriott hotel, I checked out mentally. In other words, I could hear his gums flapping, but I wasn’t listening. He’d know that if he wasn’t speaking only to feed his ego but to actually establish a connection. I mean, he wouldn’t get far on that train either, but at least he’d know where he was going. Deciding I didn’t have the tolerance it would require to fake my way through a whole dinner, I interrupted the narcissistic jerk in the middle of his sonorous monologue.

  “Hi, there! Yeah, look. I hear everything you're saying, and it all sounds really good, but I got off of work, raced home to shower, shaved my legs, and plucked my cat to meet you at a damn hotel. We met less than a week ago, and the second time we're seeing each other is at the Marriott’s bar. You can let the gentlemen act go and turn into a fucking beast because that’s what I’m here for.”

  Stunned, Derrick—wait no, Darrin, yeah, that was his name—relaxed on the plush, leather bar stool before reaching for his drink. I knew my forwardness was shocking, but the way his brows hiked, and a grin stretched, I knew it was also refreshing.

  “Well, hell, you ain't said nothing but a word, Gracey.”

  “Billie Grace will do just fine,” I corrected him.

  “I don’t give a damn what you want me to call you as long as you’re cool with screaming my name,” he said cockily.

  “Now that sounds like the kind of icebreaking I’m talking about,” I said with a wicked grin.

  10 minutes later…

  “Damn, baby, whose mothafucking pussy is this?”

  Really, I wanted to laugh at the ridiculous question, but in all honesty, he was putting in some serious work. The puddle in between my legs and the soreness I felt were no laughing matter.

  “Aaaaargh!” I let out instead of answering him.

  “I asked you a question!” he bellowed as he grabbed a hold of my waist-length twists with one hand and smacked my ass cheeks with the other.

  “Say my name, Billie!” he demanded, and once more I ignored him. Instead, I closed my eyes as he pounded into my pussy like a man possessed. He had me in the doggy style position, which I have to admit was my favorite of all the sexual positions; I found it the most impersonal.

  See, when I’m getting fucked, I’m cool with no intimate expressions. I wasn't opposed to kissing, but I wasn’t searching for lips either. Anything that resembles lovemaking, romance, or any type of mushy intimacy, they could keep.

  I met a Darrin a few weeks ago at some restaurant while I was having dinner with my coworker. He was arrogant and full of himself, and the minute he approached my table, all I wondered was if his dick was as heavy as his walk.

  “Ohh shit, baby, throw that shit. Give me that shit,” he whispered as he fucked me with precision.

  I felt his perspiration drip down onto my skin as he gave it to me just the way I liked.

  “Here it comes, baby. Squeeze this dick!” He roared, placing a tighter hold on my hair and wrapping his other arm around my waist. I felt his swollen dick increasing in size as he let out a groan that matched my own.

  “Aaaah shit!” We let out simultaneously.

  Seconds later, his body collapsed onto mine, and I silently screeched at his attempt to cuddle. Nah, bruh. We not doing that.

  ************

  Leiland

  Latif knew I couldn’t stand his friends, and if he didn’t show up soon, they’d be on their own tonight. After a ten-hour shift, I hated that I was spending my free time with Brock’s stupid ass. He always acted naively to my frustration. I think he purposely spoke to me just to get on my nerves. He and I weren’t friends to say the least. Latif was the middleman between us. Brock’s brother Richard was just as bad, and on a normal day, you’d never see me with this fool without my bro being present, but today, we were celebrating. My best friend was getting married, and his brother should’ve had him here over half an hour ago.

  “Damn, man, she’s a sexy one. You know the lighter ones are better. The dark ones usually look dirty to me, but that one right there I’d totally bang.”

  He openly stated, and foolishly, I turned to see who his ignorant comment was directed towards. My eyes scanned her body, and my heart dropped when she grinned at the waiter taking her order. The white lily positioned behind her right ear looked like a permanent fixture on the beautiful lady. Squinting, I focused on her familiar face and noticed she kept looking at us over the menu. Without seeing it for myself, I knew we looked like two pervs staring at the chocolate bombshell. She wasn’t seated far from us, and even from where I sat, I could see her skin sparkle like there were pieces of gold illuminating her luscious coating.

  “I should invite her up to get a room with me. How much do you think she’ll charge me for a blow job?” he asked, pulling his wallet from his blazer pocket.

  “You’re a jackass, and aren’t you married? You better lower your voice before she hears you,” I warned.

  “Too fucking late, I already heard him. This time and the time before when he said some ignorant bullshit.”

  Her lips were tight, and the red lipstick coating them reminded me of the sweetest strawberry. Yellow nails pinched her hips right where denim jeans gripped her waist. She stood so close to my bar stool that I could see straight down her white V-neck shirt. And the print of nipple piercings couldn’t be missed.

  Defensively, Brock lifted his hands.

  “Wow, homegirl, calm down. You’re way too full of yourself. Nobody was talking about you. Do I look like I would be talking about you?”

  “No, I’m not the one who needs to calm down. You and your friend here have been staring at me since I walked in the bar. You two try and take me anywhere, and you’ll be leaving here with each other dicks in opposite hands!”

  Brock made it worse by waving her off, almost swip
ing her small nose with his fingertips.

  “Don’t put your hand in my face, Trump. Next time, watch what you say. You never know who might confront you.”

  “And next time, don’t wear your boobs out in a hotel bar at ten o’clock at night,” he retorted, and I just shook my head.

  Right as I attempted to chime in on her behalf, she shoved her hand in my face. No matter how loud she spoke, she needed to keep her hands to herself.

  “Watch your hands, lady. Unless you want me to put mine on you, and trust me, you don’t want those problems. I thought I was…”

  “That was your first mistake; you thought something regarding me without my permission. There’s no need for the ‘Captain Save a Hoe’ routine. I will bitch-slap your red-faced friend over there before I need you to step in on my behalf!” she shouted, catching the attention of the bystanders at the bar.

  Instead of meeting her wrath with the same energy, I just stared at the side of her face. From where I stood, it looked like she purposely avoided the eye contact.

  “You should watch the way you talk to strangers, not all of them are as nice as me,” I warned her. “But come to think of it, you aren’t a stranger. I’ve seen you around before.”

  I wasn’t sure if she heard my admission or if she just didn’t care, but instead of replying, the lady took my drink from the bar, and with quickness, flung it at Brock.

  “Punk!” she boasted.

  “What the hell is your problem, slut!”

  Ignoring him, she turned to me and said, “Keep your friend in check, because next time I won’t be as nice!”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off of her if I wanted to. All I could do was admire her ass as she walked back to her table, grabbed her things, and disappeared through the exit. Leaving me with a semi hard-on, a huge smile, and anxiety trying to recall where I knew her from.

  One Month Later…

  Billie

  What the hell is he looking at? I bet if I dig a booger out of my nose, he wouldn’t keep staring.

  Maybe if I give his ass the finger…

  No.

  It would defeat the positive wave I’d been attempting to ride as an alternate to dick. I couldn’t allow any interruptions. I had blessings to snatch. The pepper spray hooked onto my key ring had me smelling myself or it may have been that I was already behind schedule. Either way, I wasn’t up for engaging in the staring contest today.

  I wonder if he’s staring because I have something on my face. Damn, did my grown ass not properly wash my face?

  Attempting to be discreet, I searched for residue that may have been left over from breakfast. Sad that the thought was long after I had already planned to mace the man. I spotted him at least twice a week on the Metro Blue Line train, occupying the same seat. Usually, he offered a cordial smile, and he almost always took the seat closest to the window with his fancy camera in hand.

  Welcomed commotion brought my attention back to my original task, the prayer line. Thank heavens the phone was on mute or the church members would’ve gotten an earful of teeth sucking and whispers. Pastor Chad’s spiritual testimony pulled me back, and if I could keep my eyes off of Peeping Peter, I may have been able to focus on the sermon.

  Especially since my faith had been tested so much in the past. I hadn’t stepped foot into a church in close to three years, and the last time was only for my Pappy. He pulled a guilt trip on Father’s Day and dragged Jupiter, Eleven, and I along with him. Still, I hadn’t returned since though I knew I needed to. Pastor’s morning message about being forward focused and properly assessing situations that aren’t in alignment.

  Our alignment, not his.

  The invasive heat I felt less than five minutes prior hadn’t settled, so I knew the stare down hadn’t ceased. The weird thing is I didn’t know why in the hell I cared so much? My dark skin was twinning with the Dove’s milk chocolate, and with black hair that transcended from black on the roots and red at the tips, I wasn’t hard to miss.

  Typically, I basked in the rapt attention. Shit, it helped me decide who I wanted for the night, but him, I wasn’t feeling. Wild hair, strange-colored eyes, and no car was not my kind of guy.

  "When I put him out in the morning, how will he possibly get home?" I mumbled to myself with a mischievous smirk.

  It was superficial to assume he didn’t have a car simply because he used public transportation. My ass was sitting in a seat on the same train, and I happened to have a lovely black-on-black 2017 Camaro at home. I understood public transportation was a preference, and doing it a few times a week saved me money on gas, so I couldn’t hate on his method. The down payment for Crunch wasn’t going to fall from the sky unless in the form of a blessing, and even then, I had to work through prayer and hustle.

  Resting my temple against the window, I inhaled, trying to will the memories I couldn’t seem to escape away.

  Those memories created the closure to windows I hadn’t had the chance to open. They blocked entry to the degree of tolerance that love commands.

  Well, that’s how I saw it anyway, and fourteen years ago, I lost the people who would shape my heart into the circle I’ve been living with. Anniversary memories are a real thing, and I knew because I experienced this feeling of discontent a few times a year that reminded me how an accident over a decade ago had molded me into the difficult woman I’d become. Six months to the day, and my father’s decision to write a Dear John letter wasn’t pleasing.

  My concentration was still being invaded. I could feel his eyes, so I opened mine.

  “Would it be acceptable to just boldly tell him to stop fucking staring.” I mouthed and half hoped he could read lips, and when I saw him rise from his seat and head in my direction, I was afraid he had.

  If I dropped my eyes from the stare down, he’d think I was intimidated, and the only bit of pussy in me was the one between my legs. Aside from being weirded out, I had to acknowledge that he was handsome if anything at all. Pastor’s voice continued to fade as the train man got closer, and once he took the seat next to me, I really didn’t hear anything else sprouting from the phone.

  Lord, forgive me.

  “Can I ask you something?” He started, sliding his large frame into the steel seat beside me. I bit into my cheek to prevent my thoughts from attacking him.

  “You just did.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Not the sharpest crayon in the box, I see.

  “You asked if you could ask a question, and that is a question. Understand now?” I broke it down and tried to mask my sarcasm although that was a battle I was quickly losing.

  The pretty stranger laughed, running his hand down the base of his neck before responding.

  “Yes, I understand completely.”

  Yep, he definitely sensed the sarcasm.

  “I think you are gorgeous; your hair is nice too. Just between us, not too many women of color can pull it off.”

  Here we go again I thought. I had dealt with this same BS a few weeks ago.

  “Hell, I don’t see many women with a complexion as dark as yours who don’t look like Wesley in a wig, but you look to be one of the few who wears it well. You’re really pretty for a dark-skinned woman.”

  He followed his statement with a condescending laugh that I wish I could’ve caught in my hands and thrown back in his face.

  Opening my backpack, I hastily found a piece of tissue and handed it to the fool.

  “Kind of old school, but I can get with it,” he answered before lifting from his seat to grab a pen out of his back pocket.

  Handing the napkin back to me, I cuffed it into a ball without pause.

  “Can I take your picture, beautiful?”

  This was why I avoided getting to know people outside of sexually. The task of learning about someone is tiresome, and when you discovered the person is a fucking cumbucket, you have officially wasted precious time.

  “I can only imagine how your mother feels about you.”

  Shak
ing my head, I decided this was something he should hear.

  “The audacity of you to allow vitriol such as that to leak from your mouth and not expect to get backhanded like a little hoe is beyond me. But I’ll just chalk that up to the lack of pussy you receive or the lack of nurturing from the one you came out of. Bullshit was what the napkin was for dumb ass. For you to catch the shit coming out of you and trash it before you get it on someone else. You can’t take my picture, and with all that being said, there’s plenty of empty seats, so feel free to utilize one.”

  Based on previous rides, I knew he would be getting off the train at the Compton Station, which was the next stop.

  Standing at the exit, he waited for the train to come to a complete stop before swiftly turned back in my direction, lifted his camera, and snapped my picture.

  “Dumb ass!” I yelled, hurling my half-chewed gum. Refusing to respect my wishes, he blew a kiss my way before stepping off the platform and vanishing into the sea of people that had just vacated the train.

  Fucking men! They ask for permission but still do as they pleased. Taking advantage of our right to choose and making us women fall so hard we become content with allowing them to make the decisions for us.

  Instantly, my father’s face crashed into my brain, hard. I hadn’t had contact with him in years and him reaching out was a disturbing surprise. My eidetic memory hadn’t been something I could control for years. It even seemed to fade once I hit a certain age, but certain shit, my brain just flat out refused to release.

  Fourteen years ago…

  “Alright, baby girl, you remember the rules, right?” My daddy’s eyes feel glued to me as he watches me through the rearview mirror. We had pulled into our family’s two-car garage and knew my mom would play Inspector Gadget as soon as we walk through the door. Even at eleven years old, I could be mischievous, and that, paired with my daddy’s way with numbers, equaled trouble. But asking me of all people if I remember something was extremely backward, considering my condition. Of course, I remember the rules, I hardly ever had a problem remembering anything.