Black Butterfly, Book 3 of the Black Burlesque Series_an Alpha male, BWWM romance

by Tiffany Patterson

  “Hi,” Stacey said around a yawn. “How was your day?”

  Andre could hear some ruffling in the background as if she were sitting up in bed. He felt a slight twinge of guilt at waking her. “Hey, I’m sorry for calling so late. I should let you get back to sleep,” he told her.

  “No, no,” Stacey rushed. “I said you could call anytime. I wanted to talk to you. Tell me about your day.”

  “My day was boring, bunch of talk about quarterly projections, annual revenues, return on investment, and a bunch of other bullshit that would put you back to sleep in a heartbeat,” he admitted.

  Stacey laughed. “But you love it.”

  “I sure do. Enough about work, tell me something interesting, like what are you wearing?” he asked playfully.

  The timbre of Stacey’s laugh shot directly to his cock.

  “What? You can’t be serious,” she admonished.

  “Oh, baby, I’m very serious. It’s been five days since I’ve felt your tight pussy walls wrapped around my cock, gripping it for all it’s worth,” he said in a low, seductive voice.

  “Dammit, Andre! You say stuff like that and get me all hot and bothered,” Stacey nearly moaned.

  “Good, now we’re both hot and bothered. Touch your pussy and tell me how wet you are,” he commanded.

  “Andre,” Stacey warned.

  “Do it,” he ordered again. “Tell me how wet you are.” He could hear Stacey’s labored breathing as his words turned her on.

  “Mm, sooo wet,” she moaned.

  Andre’s free hand moved to the inside of his boxers, releasing his straining cock. He closed his eyes and pictured Stacey naked in his bed, fingering herself.

  “I’m so hard right now. Tell me what you’re doing,” he requested.

  “I-I,” she stuttered.

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m fingering my pussy pretending it’s your cock inside me,” she groaned.

  “Add another finger,” he ordered. “Tell me how good I feel inside you.”

  He used the drop of precum at the tip to moisten and stroke his cock.

  “You feel soooo goood,” she panted.

  “Pinch your nipples,” he ordered, picturing her heaving breasts.

  “Oooohh,” she groaned.

  “Fuck, baby that sounds so hot,” he growled, his own stroking growing more erratic. “I feel your pussy muscles clamping around my cock. Your thighs are beginning to quiver and your growing wetness is making it easier to glide in and out of you. Are you about to come?”

  “Y-yes,” she answered.

  “No. Not until I say,” he commanded. “Remove your hand.”

  “A-andre,” Stacey moaned in impatience.

  “Put your fingers in your mouth,” he told her. “Suck them like they’re my cock. Let me hear it,” he grunted, still stroking his cock and feeling its weight grow heavier as the need to orgasm loomed over him.

  “Mmmm, Ahhhh.” He heard Stacey’s groans as she sucked her fingers.

  “Put your fingers back in your pussy. I want you to come with me,” he ordered as he picked up the pace in his own stroking, lifting his hips wildly. “Come now, baby! Fuck!” he yelled as his orgasm rushed over him, causing his cum to spill out.

  “Fuuuuuuck, Andreee!” He heard Stacey yell and groan on the other end, causing his own orgasm to heighten.

  “Damn,” he panted as his senses returned.

  “Damn is right,” Stacey giggled on the other end. “That was the first time I’ve ever had phone sex,” she admitted in a shy tone.

  “I’m glad I could pop that cherry for you,” he retorted.

  “Shut up,” she laughed and sighed. “I miss you,” she said in a low tone.

  “I miss you too,” Andre admitted without missing a beat. He’d missed her a great deal in the last few days he was gone. It had been just about a month they were seeing each other and he couldn’t believe how much he thought about her already. Andre opted not to let his thoughts travel to how much mental space thinking of her was taking up in his mind.

  “How’s studying coming along?” he asked, changing the subject.

  Stacey’s semester was in full swing and she had midterms in a couple of weeks. She wanted to get an early start on studying, so she was using her free time to get ahead in her classes and turn in work early.

  “It’s going well,” she said around a yawn.

  They talked for a few more minutes, catching up on each other’s days before hanging up. Andre made sure to insist she get some rest. There were times where she’d spent the night and he’d woken up in the middle of the night to find her studying in bed, or at his desk with the laptop, typing away on a paper. She’d told him it was what she did when she couldn’t sleep, but sometimes, he worried she was burning herself out. Even though he worried, he was proud of how dedicated she was to her profession. He felt the same passion for his own work, so he didn’t try to dissuade her from doing what she felt she needed to do. He realized that the years she’d spent dedicated to and practicing dance likely instilled a drive in her to succeed that she would carry for the rest of her life.

  Andre went to bed that night satisfied. Though he couldn’t wait to get back home, that intimate time on the phone with Stacey had been enough to invigorate him for the next few days. He planned to tie up some loose ends with this acquisition and get back home and to the woman in his life who was becoming even more special to him with each passing day.

  Chapter 11

  A dancer’s body is the instrument with which she makes music, the loom with which she weaves magic. But we take our bodies to places they would naturally never go…we subject ourselves to unbelievable strain. And sometimes we stumble. We break.

  Stacey read that passage again for a third time out of Misty Copeland’s, Life in Motion as she sat in the dressing room at the Black Kitty. She was all too familiar with the stumble and breaks that came from dancing. Subconsciously, she reached down to rub the scar on her knee, which was covered by her fishnet stockings. She was scheduled to perform later tonight.

  “What are you reading, Stace?”

  Stacey looked up to see Mercedes enter the dressing room. “Hey, Mercedes. I didn’t even hear you come in. I’m reading Misty Copeland’s book.” She rose to give her friend a hug.

  “Oh, I heard it was good. You look really into it. You know she just became a principal with ABT?” Mercedes asked.

  Stacey nodded, smiling. ABT stood for American Ballet Company, arguably the top ballet company in the nation. Principal was the highest ranking a dancer could receive and Misty was the first African-American woman to reach such a level. It was a proud moment for Stacey who’d once had those aspirations. It was what had inspired her to pick up the book again for a fourth reading.

  “I know. It’s so exciting. She’s earned it,” Stacey admitted happily.

  “I see you’re in your en pointe shoes tonight. Are you dedicating your performance to Misty tonight?” Mercedes asked, referring to the white ballerina shoes Stacey wore.

  “Maybe. You’ll just have to wait and see,” Stacey teased.

  “I can’t wait,” Mercedes said as she moved past Stacey to begin changing her own clothes for her performance.

  A while later, Stacey braced herself as she smoothed the scrunched parts of her fuchsia satin gloves that extended all the way to her elbows. She wore her fuchsia en pointe shoes, and a matching fuchsia and gold colored corset and short shorts. The corset had a long extended tail trailing behind.

  “Help me welcome this next performer to the stage to shake her money maker! Give it up for Jazmine Nooooiiireee!!” Mistress Coco’s voice boomed over the raucous applause.

  The opening chords of Goapele’s Strong As Glass began to play, and Stacey sauntered on stage on her tiptoes. She didn’t often perform ballet sets, but reading Misty Copeland’s book put her in the mood to revisit her past life for a little while.

  She whirled around the stage like the dervish Misty’s book re
ferred to ballerinas as, leaping across the stage performing a jete, completing a full split in mid-air. The audience cheered and hooted their appreciation. The leap wasn’t nearly as high as the jetes she’d performed years ago, but it felt great nonetheless. She spun, pausing to stick her finger in her mouth, clutched the glove and then slowly pulled her hand out, leaving it exposed. She did the same for the second glove and then fluttered her arms out to her sides like wings as she rose on her toes once more. She paused, lifted onto her toes, and then slowly extended one leg straight up so she was in a perfect split still standing on one leg.

  A collective gasp was heard around the crowd as they marveled at her flexibility and poise. Releasing her foot down to the ground, she performed a series of steps, gliding across the stage as she reached around and pulled the strings that attached her corset. Slowly, she removed the corset to show off her bared breasts covered only by a set fuchsia pasties. She slowly swiveled her hips in time with the music, seductively slid her shorts town her smooth brown thighs, and ended her set with the classic ballerina bow—her left foot forward turned outward and her right foot behind her, bent at the waist, head down, arms held high.

  Stacey took in the crowd’s applause and cheers as she caught her breath before exiting the stage. While these performances were vastly different from her formal ballet performances, it felt just as good. As she sauntered off the stage, she had to admit what would have made her exit from the stage even better was knowing Andre was in the audience, but he was still away in Boston. She missed his presence at her shows more than she cared to admit.

  She bounded down the stairs, and after throwing a thumbs up and to the next performer, she turned to head towards the dressing room.

  “You were amazing, babe.” Stacey heard the voice that sent shivers of joy down her spine. Turning, she saw all six-feet two inches of her fantasy, dressed casually in a pair of dark jeans and a pale blue Burberry button up, holding her favorite flowers. The best part was the shit eating grin he wore as he stared at her.

  Stacey didn’t hesitate to throw her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly. Luckily, Andre’s reflexes were quick enough that he moved his arms just in time to avoid the crushing of the flowers. Not that they would have cared too much; he’d finished work up early just so he could hold this woman in his arms again.

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until Monday,” Stacey mumbled into his ear.

  “I wasn’t, but I—” he paused, clearing his throat for some reason not wanting to completely reveal the extent of how much he’d missed her. “We, uh, got done early. These are for you,” he said holding out the flowers to her when she finally released him.

  “They’re beautiful. Thank you,” she said accepting the flowers.

  “You’re beautiful. Do you have to perform again or are you done for the night?” he asked.

  Stacey shook her head. “No, I was—”

  “Get dressed and come with me,” he ordered not even giving her time to finish her sentence.

  “Where’re we going?” she asked, confused.

  “I’ve got a taste for butter pecan ice cream and you,” he stated, giving Stacey a scorching look.

  The sides of Stacey’s mouth kicked up into an instant lascivious smile of her own. “Lucky for you, I’m craving the same thing.” She winked. “Let me go change and I’ll be ready in—”

  “Five minutes,” Andre ordered impatiently. “Or I’m coming in after you.”

  “Tsk, tsk, so impatient,” Stacey teased.

  “You have no idea. Hurry up,” he retorted.

  At the serious look he gave her, Stacey turned and strode down the hallway to the dressing room. Dressing quickly, she threw on a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, a green three-quarter length top, and a pair of black ballet flats before gathering her discarded costume. Within minutes, she was heading out the door with her belongings in tow. Usually, she liked to stay and support the other dancers, but when she turned and saw Andre standing there, looking as good as sin, all thoughts of being anywhere but in his arms fled.

  A while later, Andre pulled in after Stacey into their favorite ice cream shop, or what was becoming known as “their spot.” Since Stacey had driven her car to the Black Kitty, Andre opted to follow her to the parlor and then she’d follow him to his place. Entering the shop, Stacey noticed the place was kind of busy. It was a Saturday night after all, and one of the last few weeks the parlor would be open before closing for the fall and winter months.

  “Tell me about your trip.” Stacey nudged Andre when he wrapped his arms around her from behind as they waited in line. She felt his arms tighten as he shrugged his shoulders.

  “Not much to tell. Got done what needed to get done. Had to let a few people go, but we’ll be better off for it. Hopefully, this trip fixed most of the human resources problems. Though, I might have to make a few more trips.”

  “Can I help who’s next?” the young woman behind the counter called. Andre ordered their ice cream to go, wanting to get home quickly to be alone with Stacey.

  “Take this, I need to use the restroom,” he told Stacey, handing her money to pay for their order.

  “That’s, okay, I c—”

  “Take it,” he said, giving her the serious eye.

  She knew he wouldn’t let her pay for anything while they were out together, but she still tried on occasion. Begrudgingly, she took the money and Andre pressed a kiss to her lips before strolling to the bathroom.

  Stacey smiled at his retreating back. Even seeing a few of the other women eyeing Andre as he walked away filled her with a sense of pride instead of jealousy. She turned to watch the clerk scoop their ice cream into bowls, still smiling and reveling in the feeling of being with Andre. Though they still hadn’t solidified what they were, she believed they were in a relationship. She hadn’t seen anyone since they began dating, not even Damon. Although Andre never said he wasn’t dating anyone else, she couldn’t see how he would have had time, as much time as they spent together. She hated the idea of having to have the dreaded “what are we” conversation, but for her peace of mind, she decided she needed to ask tonight.

  Lost in her own thoughts, Stacey didn’t notice the man who stood a little too closely behind her.

  “Jazmine, right?” she heard a deep baritone voice ask just a few inches behind her.

  Turning, she had to look up a few inches. He was around six-foot and towered over her. The way his brown eyes assessed her made Stacey uneasy. Unconsciously, she took a step back, bumping into the counter behind her.

  “I thought that was you.” He leered down at her. “I caught one of your shows the other week. Very hot. So, how much for a private show?” He lowered his voice and wiggled his eyebrows.

  Stacey’s eyes widened. Did he just proposition her?

  “What?” she asked incredulously.

  “Oh come on, don’t act like that. Not when you do what you do on a stage in front of perfect strangers. So, how much?”

  “Look, you better get the hell away from me before—”

  “Before what?” he questioned, his face turning into a sneer as he attempted to grab onto her arm.

  Stacey saw the move and pivoted out of his reach, grabbed his hands, and twisted, causing him to hunch over in pain.

  “What the fuck?!” she heard Andre’s voice yell as he approached.

  Before she could even release the man, Andre picked him up by his collar and spun him so they were face to face. “What the fuck did you do to her?!” he growled at the man so fiercely it sent a cold shiver down Stacey’s back, but she was pissed in her own right.

  “H-hey man, I was just asking about her services. I didn’t know she was taken for the night,” the stupid man tried to defend himself.

  When Andre realized exactly what the man was referring to, his eyes narrowed in a ferocious stare and he sent a hard punch to the man’s gut, causing him to fall to his knees.

  “Oooh, what hell?!” the man cried out,
just as Andre attempted to swing again.

  Stacey moved to his side, pulling him away. “Andre, enough. We’re causing a scene,” she said in a low voice, not wanting to make more of a deal out of this man’s disgusting behavior.

  “I don’t give a shit about a scene. This bastard tried to proposition you like some common whore,” he railed, his hand still gripping the man’s collar.

  “Something I bet he’ll never do again. He’s just an overzealous fan who got carried away. Please don’t let this ruin our night,” she tried to cajole.

  “Get me your manager,” Andre barked at the poor clerk who stood wide-eyed behind the counter. She ran to the back and a few moments later, a stout, older man came out of the back of the store.

  “Oh, Mr. Collins, we’re so sorry for the inconvenience,” the older man apologized as soon as he reached Andre. Only after a long while of cajoling did Andre finally release the man. He made him apologize to Stacey, and the owner assured him the man was never to be allowed back in the store.

  Finally, after convincing Andre that she was okay, they left the parlor. Stacey couldn’t even look at the other patrons as they departed. She hated gaining the attention of onlookers unless she was on stage, but she understood Andre’s anger. She was just as shocked and disgusted by the man’s proposition as Andre was.

  “And after all that, we didn’t get our ice cream,” she teased, trying to interject some levity into moment. She could feel Andre’s tension as he walked her to the car.

  “This isn’t funny. That asshole could have harmed you. You need to quit burlesque dancing,” he demanded.

  “First of all, he wouldn’t have hurt me—wait did you just demand I quit performing?” she asked, finally realizing what he’d just demanded she do.

  “You heard me loud and clear. You…need...to…quit!” he reiterated, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “What the hell? So, one asshole goes full asshole and you think you can tell me what the hell to do with my damn life?” she asked, her own anger rising.

  “Two assholes in the last few weeks, if you remember correctly. This is the second damn time I’ve come up to find some jackass with his hands on you,” he said through gritted teeth.