Sweet Kisses (Interracial BWWM Erotic Romance Bundle)

by Asia Marquis

  His dancing fingers found their way to her core, his palm pressing against her mons as his fingers spread her folds and teased the hard, pleasurable nub at the top. A spasm shot through her, shooting her eyes open wide for an instant before she let them slip closed again.

  He started to probe her depths, finding them already slick with arousal, and then curled his fingers, stirring up pleasure that Jamelia hadn't felt in any of the exploration she'd done of her own body before.

  She tried to catch her breath, tried to regain her composure. Roy added another finger and kept stroking that spot inside her, her body tightening, her back betraying her and offering her breasts to him in spite of her embarrassment.

  He let her head down just slowly enough to avoid banging into the mirror behind her, and then yanked her sweater up.

  "God, you have great tits," he growled, his voice ragged with arousal.

  "No I don't." She could barely get the words out, as his fingers continued to take her breath away from her.

  "Shut up," he commanded, and she couldn't argue with him any more. He pulled the orgasm forcibly out of her and left her pooled up on the counter for a moment before wrapping his arms around her and carrying her out of the bathroom and dropping her ass-first onto the bed.

  "You're sure about this?"

  Jamelia answered by pulling her legs apart a little more for him. He took one ankle in his hands and lifted it over his shoulder, then lined himself up against her waiting lips and slid inside.

  God, she hadn't—this was—she couldn't find words to describe any more. She could feel his cock jerk with every deep thrust inside, could feel him hitting her perfectly, deep enough that it almost hurt. His cock stretched her just to the point of pain, the spiral of feelings and emotions driving Jamelia absolutely crazy.

  Reason tumbled off a cliff, and the delicious feeling of oblivion right around the corner, about to overtake her, forced her hips to push back against him, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the hotel to harmonize with a voice of pleasure that sounded remarkably like her own.

  Roy pulled hard on her nipples and hit her again right where she needed it, and then her entire body tensed up as an orgasm ripped through her. She could feel his rhythm getting erratic, as well, as he got close. She could feel him much more closely, now, as her body tried to learn every nook and cranny of his cock in the time it took for her orgasm to subside.

  When he finally slid into her, jabbing against something deep inside her, one last time and started to cum, she felt another shock of pleasure run through her, prolonging the orgasm another precious few seconds as he twitched with each potent, ropy shot of cum.

  He looked at her for a long moment before leaning down and kissing her.

  "Is it always like that?"

  Roy smiled at her. "More or less."

  "Can you fit in my suitcase, then? I need to take you home with me."

  He moved his still semi-hard cock inside her and stoked the fire inside her that she'd thought had died down after her orgasm.

  "No, not quite. But I've still got plenty of time left in the day."

  One

  Jamelia Brown had already put her badge on its usual place right on her belt, and didn't realize that it shouldn't have been there until she was already out the door. It was odd, not being on-duty. She had forced herself not to even bring it with her, and then somehow it had ended up in her luggage anyway. Her work suit—that is to say, her only suit—was there, too, and she had laid everything out the way she always did at home.

  Only, she wasn't at home, and she wasn't going to work. Which should have made it uncomfortable and unusual to go around getting ready for work, but somehow she had barely realized that she was doing it.

  When she had finally been told, point blank, that she needed a vacation, she thought it would be a relief. She'd finally have time to pick skiing back up again. She hadn't been on a mountain since she was fifteen years old, and now here she was, with a great view of the Tetons. Jamelia stripped off the suit, already regretting bringing it.

  Those weren't the kinds of clothes that you needed on a skiing trip. But the ever-present 'what if' was always there. What if she needed to impress someone? What if she needed to look serious? What if she had to have a suit for something?

  She hung it back up on the rack, promising herself that this time she wouldn't go straight for it the next morning. Then she changed into tight-fitting winter clothes that didn't flatter her breasts nearly as much as she might have liked. Then again, she thought, there wasn't nearly enough of them to be flattered, looking down at them sadly. Barely enough to fill her small hands.

  She moved on from beating herself up over it and forced herself to keep on going. She slipped her wallet into her pocket on the way out and grabbed the keys to the rental car. She didn't need a new car, but it was impressing her enough that if she did, she might buy one. Reasonable, solid gas mileage, comfortable—it was a nice experience. Almost nothing like the heap she drove to work every morning, but it couldn't have the history she had with that old Jeep.

  Her first stop was by the ski rentals. A man who looked like he thought he was God's gift to women smiled at her with a grin that reminded her of David Hasselhoff and asked if she needed any instruction. For such a pretty lady, he could always justify a discount, no problem.

  She didn't have the heart to tell him no, so instead she told him hell no, and if he gave her a line like that again, he'd be taking a ride down the mountain on a stretcher. He laughed like she'd been joking, and maybe she had been. Somehow she suddenly wanted the suit back, and the badge that went along with it, just so she could prove that she was off-limits as long as she wanted to be.

  Jamelia carried a pair of skis over to the counter, where David Hasselhoff still leaned back, giving her a smile that you could run a deep-frier with, and paid for her skis and poles. The man took her ID and, to Jamelia's great frustration, read her name out loud. How terribly predictable.

  She took her card back once they'd run the credit through and seen that she wasn't likely to run off with their equipment, and huffed out of the room. She'd been expecting something like this pretty much since she started working at the station. It had made it easier not to go on vacation, when she realized that every vacation would be full of assholes trying their best to ruin her time.

  She stepped into line behind a couple of teenagers who looked like they had all the money in the world and had decided to come to Wyoming as a change of pace from Switzerland. They were talking about the usual sort of nothing that she had come to expect from rich teenagers.

  Jamelia closed her eyes a minute to try to calm herself down. She was being a bitch and she knew it. That generally meant, and this was the challenge, that she had to stop. But it was just so tempting, and there wouldn't be many other chances to confirm that she'd been absolutely right to forgo vacation time for seven years running.

  But according to the Captain, while that was all fine and good for most of them, she was getting wound up way too tight, and she needed a break. Specifically her, as if she was doing something wrong getting the highest close-rate in the county.

  Well, whatever it was, it wasn't a complaint. They gave her full pay for a week's vacation, and she intended to use it either getting back into her childhood hobby, or proving that there was no reason to take vacations. Either seemed about as good as the other, because even if she didn't have a good time, she was going to have a good time giving the Captain shit about it afterward, and that would more than make up for the week of dealing with assholes.

  Besides, out there in the cold, she always had the option of popping in her ear-buds, and then she wouldn't hear a god damn thing. She took one step closer to the front of the line, not far now. Half of the teenagers had left and the others had continued the conversation as if they hadn't noticed their friends' absence.

  Jamelia finally decided to stop subjecting herself to the frustration and nestled one of the earphones into her
ear, enjoying the tight fill inside. Then she pulled out her phone and started the music. In for a penny, in for a pound, she figured. So she'd made a playlist full of songs that she'd loved as a teenager, and she was going to make a very strange weekend of reliving her life before the move out to the coast.

  She kept the music quiet enough that she could almost hear over it, and kept her other ear open. As if any moment she might suddenly need to hear something. A voice behind her was accompanied by a tap on the shoulder.

  "You new in town?"

  She craned her neck over, not wanting to get her skis turned around. "Just visiting," she said.

  The man behind her was hard to see through all the clothing, but his voice was at least friendly enough. She gave him a chance to say something more.

  "Yeah—I guess we all are, aren't we? Or, most of us, anyway. I just—well, I was behind you in the ski rental, and I'm sorry how those guys treated you."

  "Yeah, well." Jamelia could hear how bitchy her voice sounded, but with Britney Spears pumping quietly in her ears she was starting to feel better, so she really hadn't planned on being any ruder than normal. "Sometimes you have to deal with it."

  "Well, maybe someone should give them a talking-to."

  Jamelia liked the sound of that. Maybe they would like talking to her. She was good at talking, when she wanted to be. She was especially good at talking when there was something on the line. And she was an exceptional talker when the guy was across a metal table, handcuffed down and she could smell the scumbag on him.

  Well, the handcuffs would be difficult, but the rest—they sounded perfect for it, frankly. The man behind her pulled his scarf down and his hat off, then held out his hand.

  "I'm Roy."

  Jamelia took it, still trying to turn as little as possible.

  "Jamelia."

  "Well, Jamelia, it looks like we're up."

  Sure enough, the last remaining teenagers had found their seats and were starting to slowly move up and away to the top of the mountain. Jamelia moved over to get into the lift, and Roy moved up beside her.

  She still couldn't see much of him, but from what she could see, she wanted to see more. The man had a military-looking haircut and the jaw to match it, with pretty eyes and a thin smile. She'd never used the word 'dreamy' before, but then again, she'd never seen someone who looked like Roy did.

  Two

  The way up the mountain wasn't as quiet as she'd wanted it to be before. Roy seemed to have taken her manners as permission to talk to her most of the way up, but somehow she wasn't as frustrated by it as she thought she would be. The man kept himself to the usual topics. How much skiing had she done, did she watch any sports, see any good movies lately. She noticed that he hadn't talked about work, though. Not even one word.

  Maybe he was like those teenagers. He didn't look like it. Pressed in close, she could feel that it wasn't his coat that made him look bulky. He had broad shoulders and the feeling of his muscles under the coat made her wonder what he looked like in regular clothes.

  Living in California had certain advantages, or perhaps disadvantages. Bodybuilding gorillas came through the station more often than was likely represented by their actual numbers, and a man who spent twenty hours a week in the gym wasn't likely to impress compared to some of them.

  That didn't change how she felt about a man who looked like he took care of himself, though. The difference was subtle, but she could tell it with one glance. Well, normally she could. Most of the folks on the mountain had on a heavy down coat over their sweaters over their shirts, and it tended to make everyone look like a little roly-poly.

  As much as she hated to admit it, the effect on her was the same. She was trim, even small, but with two coats on to keep the cold out she looked like a completely different person. Like a teenager, she thought, and not in a good way. Not an "energy to fuck all night, experienced enough to know what she was doing" kind of way; more like a "wearing mom's makeup and clothes don't fit" kind of way.

  If it weren't for their coincidental timing, looking like this, a guy like Roy wouldn't have looked at her twice. But that was no reason to blow him off, not with the way he looked.

  She let him talk. His voice was soothing. More soothing than music that had aged like milk. She fished the phone out of her pocket, her gloves making it hard to get a grip that she was sure of before she pulled it out. Then she changed the playlist. The soft guitar kicked in a moment after the piano, and when the trumpet melody hit she was already feeling better than she had for the entirety of Britney's first three songs.

  They jumped one right after the other, and made it out of the landing zone double-quick. The skis felt strange on her feet, but the minute she started moving she was already feeling that familiarity that she'd left behind a little more than ten years ago.

  When a familiar jacket lined up next to her on the intermediate slope, she found herself raising an eyebrow at him. He shouted to be heard over the ear-buds he'd watched her fit into her ears, but she could have heard him if he spoke softer.

  "I'll race you. If I win, let me buy you a cup of coffee."

  She laughed, exaggerating the motion, and then took off suddenly. It took him a moment to react. By that point she already had a good lead on him, and she was going to use every bit of it to beat him down as best she could.

  He might be good-looking, but she had a decade of experience to work off. It was just that she hadn't had that experience in a long time. And what was more, this place was new to her. She'd never seen these slopes in her life, but as she started moving, starting with practicing shifting her weight left and right.

  Roy was going to catch her if she kept up like this. She ducked her head a little and worked her way up to a good speed. There wasn't going to be much challenge, not compared to what she remembered with her head, but she hadn't been doing this in a long time, and her reflexes weren't what they should have been for anything more advanced than this.

  She dodged around a bump that would have slowed her down. Still, Roy was catching her. If she wasn't lucky, he'd make it before she got down the hill. She wouldn't mind a cup of coffee, and she would mind the company less. But that didn't mean that she didn't want to win, neither.

  He came up alongside and made a quick, informal salute as he passed. Then he was gone, and picking his way further down the mountain, at first only a few inches ahead and then a few yards. Jamelia cursed and crouched lower, trying to minimize the resistance she was catching on the air.

  Comfort be damned. At some point her reflexes would take over or she'd flip head-over-heels into the snow, but losing wasn't an option. There was no way in hell she was going to accept that. But she could already see the end of the trail coming up.

  She tried to will herself faster, started catching Roy up ahead. He looked over his shoulder at her, checking to see if she was closing the gap, and then suddenly one of his feet slipped sideways and he took a tumble.

  Jamelia turned her skis and let herself slide along the snow. It was cold and it was wet, but even if she was off-duty and a thousand miles away she was still a cop and still had a responsibility to make sure that he was okay. To her relative pleasure, Jamelia found Roy already straightening himself up. He pulled his scarf down and barked out a laugh.

  She reached over to help him up, waiting for him to get steady. Then, as soon as he looked even remotely upright, he shot off again. The surprise was too much to catch up with, only a few hundred feet from the finish. She pulled up thirty seconds after him.

  "That's my win," she said, letting her competitive edge touch her voice a little more than she might have wanted.

  "Nope. I got down first, and you have to take me up on my offer."

  "No way, Jose. I won that. You fell down, automatic disqualification."

  "Well, that doesn't sound right to me, and pretty girls don't always get their way."

  The grin on his face told her how pleased he was with himself, and she couldn't bring herself to re
fuse.

  "Neither do pretty guys, Roy. But we'll compromise. I'll buy yours, you buy mine. How's that?"

  "You better watch out, I get a double-shot with extra whipped cream. It'll be like, fifteen dollars."

  Jamelia rolled her eyes beneath the ski goggles. "How will I ever afford such extravagant coffee?"

  Three

  Jamelia had never taken twenty minutes to get dressed before, not even when she had put on her work clothes that morning. But now it seemed like impressing was exactly what she was hoping to do, and now she was realizing that all she had were clothes that were perfect for relaxing and nothing else, or winter clothes she was going to wear on the mountain.

  Then it came to a choice between something that almost approximated reasonably casual, or figure out a way to explain wearing a jacket and slacks to a casual coffee date.

  She forced herself to choose the casual clothes, in spite of her mind immediately latching onto the chance to wear the usual suit. Something about it was alluring to her, even if it took her already decidedly average-at-best breasts and minimized them further until she looked like a man. The comfort, or the repeated self-assurance that she had brought it specifically to impress someone if the chance had arisen.

  Now that it had, she realized how stupid that idea had been. She'd wasted space in her luggage by bringing it. Still, that was, at the very least, a good lesson if she ever took a second vacation. Leave work clothes at home, because no matter how much you like wearing them you're not going to wear them.

  She made her way back downstairs, decidedly unhappy with her clothes. They made her look like a slob. Like the beach-bum kids who wore pajamas everywhere, and thought that was an appropriate look in public. She didn't think that, but she hadn't expected to go out much at all. Room service, nothing more.