by Dee Dawning
New Dawning International Bookfair
Presents
☺♥☻
An Interracial Erotic Romance
By
Dee Dawning
Copyright © 2010 Dee Dawning
DUPED!
A Letta Storm Novella
Prologue
God, I love the way he eats my kitty.
Jeannette wiggled her hips making the most of his probing fingers as they were buried to the hilt in her saucy opening, twisting and reaming her channel. Her heart pitter-patted a hundred miles per hour and her hips pushed her pussy firmly into his mouth when his long tongue flittered across her ultrasensitive clit. Her body hummed with need and little mewling noises escaped her larynx with every nerve jangling lick.
What a lover Max was! No one could make her feel like he did. She knew because even though they were still technically married, she'd sampled others and they fell woefully short.
Fidgeting and squirming, her hands gripped the headboard so tight her nails dug into the palm, while the fingers of her other hand closed firmly, around his tightly curled hair. Sounding anxious, she passionately bellowed, "Oh God, you make me feel so-o good, Max."
"That's because I love to eat and fuck your smooth, sweet, lily-white pussy, baby."
Jeanette snickered.
And I love that big, black cock. That's why, even though she'd kicked the bum out six months ago, she coaxed him into bed every time he came to see the kids. Of course, she didn't have to do much. Run her tongue over her top lip or bat her baby blues. Smile sideways and raise an eyebrow as she flicked a lock of her long, black hair away from her face.
Jeanette knew how to get men. She'd always knew how to get men. That's how she got Max.
Max began to mouth and suck on her sensitive, clitoric bud like a vacuum cleaner. As she writhed and thrashed her head back and forth, his free hand snaked up along her ribs. He squeezed her breast hard and when his finger and thumb rolled her hard jutting nipple, she arched her back and screamed her release. "Oh my fucking God, I'm coming, baby. Wrapping her legs around his back, she pulled him in tight, rocking side to side. "Jesus, baby. Oh yeah. Don't stop, Christ, I see rainbows."
He paused long enough to mumble, "I won't, baby, don't worry."
Jeanette reached down with both hands and pulled him back into her so tight he had to breathe through his mouth. "Oh yeah, baby. That's it. You are the absolute best."
"I know," he mumbled around her clit.
When her cli-Max, as she was fond of calling them, was over, he rose. Posing for her as he loved to do, he turned sideways so she could admire the hard, slab of throbbing black meat with which he was about to fuck her senseless.
She couldn't wait while he went through his muscle man routine, flexing his muscles, wrapping his fist around his cock and brandishing it at her. Crème ran out of her pussy and tickled when it ran down to the sheets. Even with his hand hiding half of his stiff organ there was still plenty left over. Max was a wonderful specimen. Too bad—except for sex—he was worthless.
"Don't you miss this, baby?"
"What's there to miss? Except when you're out of town, wherever you go, you fuck me once or twice a week." She licked her lips and spread her legs wide in anticipation. "Stop playing with that sausage and get your ass over here and slam that mutha home."
She admired Max while he dressed. Yes, Max was an eyeful. Even a year ago, three years into their marriage, she still considered him to be a catch, until her accountant pointed out that he was costing her a good portion of her yearly trust. How was she to know the man was a leach?
"How come you always have to run off so fast when we finish?"
"I just do. Aren't you going to get dressed?"
"No. I just feel real good lying here naked remembering the three fantastic cli-Maxes you gave me. I might just lay here naked until dinner time."
He chuckled and smiled mischievously. "You want me to send in the gardener for the second shift?"
"No, baby, he's not as good as you."
Max's brow furrowed. "You and the gardener?"
Jeanette laughed. "I'm not that desperate. Don't forget to say goodbye to the kids. And don't flirt with the nanny."
"I will. I don't." Max kissed her goodbye. "I'm going to be gone for a couple weeks."
She threw a pillow at him. "Go on, get out of here."
After he left, she made a call.
"James Law Offices."
"Julius, it's Jeanette. Do you know a good private eye I could hire?"
Chapter One – The Call
I'd just installed my best customer, Sylvia Bernstein, under the dryer when my cell phone rang. "Hello?"
"Hello. Is this Mrs. Randle?"
"Yes."
"Mrs. Maximilian E. Randle III."
"Yes, who's this?"
The caller sighed. "This is Jeanette Randle. The other Mrs. Maximilian E. Randle III. The one in Bel Air with two young children."
A chill crept up my spine. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"
A careless laugh preceded her response, "I assure you, it's no joke. We are both married to the same man."
The chill turned into the hot flush of panic. My voice cracked as I screeched, "I don't understand."
That laugh again. "I know you don't. I'm having trouble understanding this myself. The bottom line is, I've been married to Max for four years and you have been married to him four months." This time the laugh sounded hysterical. "Lady, you have been duped!"
My newlywed husband has another wife and…kids? Max is a bigamist? I felt dizzy. So dizzy, I sat in the customer chair of my booth. "We must get together to figure something out."
Her voice became cold, calculating, bitchy. "I'm afraid that's not possible—at least not at this time."
"Then wha—"
With an air of privilege, she announced, "My attorney will be in touch."
"When?" I screamed, "How?" but the line was dead.
I closed my eyes and raised my fingers to my temples. A headache was coming on. My God, is it possible? Could Max be married to someone else?
Why am I not in shock?
Because from the beginning, as he boldly took a seat at your table, and introduced himself, he seemed too good to be true. You have been expecting something like this for months.
I hadn't heard from Max for four days and he hadn't returned any of the messages I'd left. He was ostensibly on one of his trips, trying to drum up business for his fledgling company. I punched in his number to call him again—to confront him—but all I got was his voice mail.
"You've reached Max Randle. I'm busy right now, but if you leave your name, number and a short message, return your call."
Sure, you will. "Max, I just received a call from a woman named Jeanette, who claimed to be your wife and she sounded white. Is this a joke? I'm in a panic right now. Please call me so we can talk."
I closed my phone. My lips trembled, My temples throbbed and all of a sudden, my neck was stiff. My nerves had been stretched to the breaking point. I felt hot and stifled. I need to get out of here. I removed and hung my smock on a hook and stumbled to the reception desk. "Darla, something's come up. I just put Mrs. Bernstein under the dryer. When she's ready, would you have Sally finish her up? And while you're at it, reschedule the appointments you can and those you can't, spread out as best you can."
"Sure thing, Ms Turner."
I left by the rear entrance of my salon. I wasn't in my car yet, but my mind raced two hundred miles per hour. Everything had started next door, at Sal's Deli. I'd been eating lunch, when Max took a seat at my table. This Tyson Beckwith look-alike claimed he admired me. Mind you, on my best day, dressed to the nines, I might reach a seven and he was off the fri
ggin' charts. I should have run the other way, fast as I could. But that old deadly sin, 'Vanity', seduced me, as surely as he did, three friggin' days later.
I wanted to get in my car, and, if I made it home without closing my eyes and driving into a freeway overpass abutment at a hundred miles per hour, get shitfaced drunk. I needed to calm down first, so I scooted past my new Honda Accord coupe. What a shame it would be to smash-up that beautiful piece of Japanese engineering.
Confused, I marched into the rear entrance of Sal's Deli. Why? I had no idea, except Salvatore Costella, the owner, was a good friend of mine. As I strode through the kitchen, he spoke to me, "Ah, Jamilla. You are early for lunch. We don't serve for another," he glanced at his watch, "fifteen minutes."
"Yeah, I know. Can I just get a cup of coffee and a toasted bagel with cream cheese?"
"For you, Princess, anything. Take a seat and I'll bring it to you." From the time I opened my salon, five years ago, when I was twenty-three, the one constant in my life was Sal's friendship.
Taking a seat in my usual booth, I glanced around, but didn't see anything. My mind was preoccupied with the awful phone call I'd just received. Then I realized I sat in the same place I was sitting, that fateful day, when my double-dealing future husband first talked with me.
"Excuse me."
I nearly choked when I looked up and saw the eight-foot tall Adonis who addressed me.
"It's kinda crowded in here. Would it be all right if I joined you?"
Hunks never spoke to me—never—let alone asked to sit with me. Trembling, I glanced around to make sure he wasn't speaking to someone else. Unable to talk, I answered his question with a nod.
"Thank you." He sat on the other side of the booth, then offered his hand and the widest, whitest smile I've seen this side of a teeth-whitening commercial. "I'm Maximilian Randle, but friends and lovers call me Max."
Despite his unmitigated gall at being so forward, I grinned. I'd like to be your lover.
Regaining a bit of self-control, I shook his hand. His touch made my nipples hard and my heart jump over the moon. "Jamilla Turner. Do you have many friends and…lovers?"
Still holding my hand, his eyes sparkled as he laughed. "More friends than lovers. However, since I recently divorced, I'm working on that."
I leaned forward and rested my chin on my entwined hands. "Oh, you just got divorced?"
He closed his smile up to a tight-lipped grimace and nodded. "You know, you are a very attractive."
Frowning, I shifted my oversized butt and leaned back. "Baby, I know a line when I hear one. I'm not that attractive and you know it."
His brow dipped and his head shook with emphasis. "I know no such thing. Today is not the first time I've seen you. I saw you yesterday and admired you, so I asked the guy taking orders, "Who is that sister?" Are you beautiful in the conventional sense? Probably not, but you are pretty and I like women to have some meat on their bones. What's more, you're a strong, successful, businesswoman. I find the whole package, attractive and very intriguing."
My mouth opened to answer him before my brain thought of a response. I didn't know what to say, so I stared at him open-mouthed.
That's when he floored me. "Would you have dinner with me tonight?"
Sal interrupted my reverie. He set my coffee and bagel in front of me and sat across the table with his own cup of coffee. His head cocked to the side, he gazed at me. "Why the long face, doll?"
I blotted the tear with a napkin that meandered lazily down my cheek. "Oh Sal. I think I screwed up royally."
"Tell me what happened, my sweet."
I took a deep breath. "I got a telephone call about a half hour ago from Jeanette Randle."
"Your mother-in-law?"
I shook my head, but before I could explain, he went on. "Your husband's sister?"
I spoke quickly to preempt any more guesses, "His wife."
His confusion was palpable. "I don't understand."
Before I could respond, my cell phone rang. Holding Sal off with a raised finger, I answered, "Hello."
"Is this Jamilla Randle?"
"Yes, who's this?"
There was a slight pause. "This is Julius James. I'm helping Jeanette Randle out."
"Oh yes, I've been expecting you to call. When can we meet?"
"Are you in a hurry?"
I glanced toward Sal. He looked confused. "Wouldn't you be? Yes, I need to find out what's going on."
"I guess so. It's ten-forty-five now. If you can make it to my office by noon, I'll give you fifteen minutes before I go to lunch."
Studying my watch, I wondered aloud, "Is that enough time?"
"It should be. My address is 1714 Eastwood Drive, suite 6A, in Long Beach."
"Hmm. Clear across L.A. If I'm going to be there by noon, I better leave right now."
After disconnecting, I apologized to Sal, and jogged to my car.
It was a fifty-mile jaunt, but fortunately my salon was near the freeway, rush hour was over and no highway patrolmen saw fit to pull me over for driving over ninety in a sixty-five mph zone.
I pulled in the small parking lot, of the equally small office building at eleven fifty-seven, raced into the building and found 6A, right near the entrance. The sign on the door read, Julius James, Attorney at Law. I stepped through the mahogany door and found a dignified appearing, middle-aged man half sitting on what would be a receptionist's desk, if there'd been a receptionist.
"You are Mrs. Jamilla Randle, I take it?"
"I am, and you must be Mr. James."
He nodded. "That's me. You made good time."
I wagged my eyebrows, "Yeah well, I guess all the patrolmen were on coffee and doughnut break."
He laughed. "You could've gotten a five hundred dollar ticket."
I inhaled and sighed. "That's a drop in the bucket, compared to what I stand to lose if your client spoke the truth."
"Really? Why don't we step into my office?"
I followed him into his office.
"Please be seated."
I sat in one of the two chairs that fronted his oak desk. I looked around as he took a seat. The wall behind his desk held the requisite framed degrees, endorsements and certificates. A matching credenza rested below the official looking documents.
He straightened up and stared at me. "Now, Mrs. Randle, what can I do for you?"
"I have a zillion questions, but first, I'd like to know why your client thinks my husband and her husband are one in the same."
"Perhaps if I showed you some photographs of Jeanette's husband, you could tell me."
"Please do."
He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of snapshots. The first one revealed a pretty woman with long, dark hair in a wedding dress standing beside a tall, handsome, African American man in a tux. It was him, all right.
I glanced up at James. "Your client is gorgeous."
"Yes, she is."
The second picture showed Max with his arm around the same woman beaming as she held a newborn. The third photo, showed him holding a mixed race toddler and she, a newborn. The fourth photo was similar except the newborn was older and the toddler posed in front of them. "Wait a minute. I bought that shirt for Max not more than a month ago. What gives?"
The lawyer shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you other than he is the children's father."
"Yeah." I said, not quite understanding. I didn't see any reason to continue punishing myself, so I handed the stack of photos back to Julius. "Okay, I'm convinced. Your client was married to Max, but he told me he got divorced six months ago."
Julius' brow furrowed in confusion for a few seconds. "I have been Jeanette's attorney for several years. I assure you, there is no divorce, therefore, you are both married to the same man."
"Are you sure?"
"As sure as I am that we're all going to die."
I closed my eyes and shook my head. "I had no idea. I hope your client doesn't hate me."
"Of c
ourse not. You did nothing wrong. Jeanette kicked him out over six months ago. If anything she feels sorry for you, turning your life upside down."
"That looked like a pretty nice house in the last picture. Jeanette mentioned Bel Air. Is that where it is?"
"Yes."
"Did Max buy the house for her?"
Julius seemed to get kick out of that, chuckling as he spoke, "I shouldn't laugh. No, Max, never brought much to the marriage. Jeanette Randle is fortunate enough to come from a wealthy family. She had the house when they got married. Max was a one-man moneypit. To my knowledge, Max never worked a day in the four-and-a-half years they've been married."
I felt my heart sink at that news. "How did she find out we were married?"
He shrugged. "Jeanette asked me for a private investigator recommendation a week ago. I understand the investigator discovered a marriage at a wedding chapel in Las Vegas. She called me couple hours ago and said she'd called you. She asked me to call and talk with you and you know the rest."
"Yeah, sucker me, I know the rest."
He chuckled. "Don't kick yourself over it."
I scrunched my nose and lips. "Easy to say. What do we do now? Go to the authorities?"
