Dancing for Dollars
Bree Washington, a young African American woman, has always wanted to become a doctor. When her father loses his job, she is forced to find other means to raise money to continue her schooling. Loving to dance and doing it well, she becomes an exotic dancer. Bree figures her dancing days will be history after she gets her medical degree.
Though being a doctor gives her a sense of fulfillment, Bree fears life is passing her by. Alone without any family of her own, more than anything, she wants to marry and have children. Fate intervenes when she saves the life of a child who had been in a horrific auto accident. She falls in love with the child's father, Richard Whitman, the DA for Harris County, Texas. Bree's future looks rosy until Richard Whitman decides to run for governor and her past collides with her future.
A loud rustling in the leaves of the old oak tree by my window woke me. Spring had come early this year in Texas, leaving record-breaking heat in its wake. I’d left the window open to try to cool off my room in order to help me sleep better. Probably a wind picking up or a critter, I thought, providing myself an excuse not to have to get out of bed and investigate. I closed my eyes and began to slip off into dreamland once more.
Suddenly, I felt a large, calloused, hot hand cover my mouth so I couldn’t scream out. Its mate was already exploring my scantily clad body, roughly squeezing my breasts. He took his hand from my mouth and whispered hoarsely, “Don’t make a sound.”
My heart nearly jumped into my throat. “Clint, what are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t wait until tomorrow night. Here, touch me. I’m as hard as that tree I just climbed.”
I reached down to feel the enormous bulge that threatened to rip through the denim of his jeans. Mercifully, I unzipped Clint’s jeans, freeing his hot, swollen member as if I were freeing a genie from a bottle. And I only had one wish in mind for it to perform.
Sleep was now the furthest thing on my mind as Clint’s lips covered mine. It was a rough, demanding kiss, the kind that always drove me wild and left me wanting more. His cock prodded my hip as my heartbeat quickened in anticipation. I felt his hand slip under the flimsy, oversized tee shirt I wore and capture one of my breasts, rubbing its nipple into a firm raisin. I stifled a moan.
As his lips left my own to make their way down my neck, his other hand covered my wet pussy. I was ready for him. He walked his fingers through my forest of tightly curled hair before finally inserting two of them. I closed my snatch around them and rubbed my clit up and down, sending tiny explosions throughout my body.
He removed his fingers and licked them dry before slipping on a condom. I could not keep my body still as I waited. It was times like this one I’d wished I was on the pill already. Those few moments felt like an eternity before he slipped inside me, filling me completely. Together we began to move in our rehearsed dance of love, the tempo increasing as our orgasms approached. Ever since Clint introduced me to this unbelievable joy and turned me into a woman—his woman—I never truly knew what love was all about.
I hoped the movement of my bedsprings didn’t wake my father. Most likely he wasn’t even in his room and could be found zonked out in the den. The thought of what would happen if he found us fucking was something I couldn’t bear. Luckily it didn’t take us long before we both came. I couldn’t wait until we were married and didn’t have to sneak around like this. We’d be able to sleep together and wake in each other’s arms.
“You’d better go,” I urged him, fearful our luck would run out.
Clint pulled out of me slowly and rolled off the condom. He pulled his shirt over his lean, hard-muscled chest. Just watching him made me hot again. He bent to kiss my breast before he reclaimed my mouth.
“See you tomorrow night,” he whispered.
“Be careful,” I said, walking over to the window with him.
“I love you, Bree Washburn.”
“I love you too, Clint Anderson. Now get,” I said, slapping his ass and kissing him one more time before he went out the window.
He wrapped his arm around a tree limb and waved as he began to descend.
Whether she’s writing a short story or novel, Candy Caine will make her interracial romances hot and spicy. Always striving to entertain her readers, Candy tries to breathe life into her characters, making life often interesting for her husband, Robert back in their home on Long Island, NY. For those readers looking for less erotic stories, Candy writes under her other pen name, Candace Gold. Candy loves to hear from her readers.