[Siren Allure: Erotic Interracial Romance, light bondage, HEA]
Marques Moreland is a man with sexual needs that go beyond the norm. Just like a miser hides gold, he kept his penchant for sex on camera to himself. He knows that something is missing from his usual encounters, but cannot force himself to acknowledge his own desires for love and romance.
Jamison Richards found herself a product of a faulty foster care system in her teens and after nearly being sexually assaulted no longer can trust another person, let alone herself. She knew that she wasn't happy with the course her life had taken over the years, but she didn't know how to change the status quo.
After Marques catches Jamison in the midst of her morning yoga session, he knows he has to have her. There is more to her than meets the eye, and he is determined to show her what they are capable of experiencing together.
Note: This book contains drug use.
A Siren Erotic Romance
- Barefoot Okie
“Hey look, ya’ll. It’s Shamu.”
The laughter that followed her descent to the street from the school door was cruel and the tones mocked her, but no more so than yesterday. Or the day before that. Actually, being called a trick killer whale was the least of what she had been called over the years. Life was rough. She already got that. But what sixteen-year-old Jamison Richards didn’t understand was, why her? It seemed misfortune followed her in a black, smoggy cloud that tainted everything she so much as admired. Even from afar, as this last debacle showed clearly. She couldn’t even have a crush on a boy without stupidly falling over in his lap. Literally.
She had let go of everything a girl would care about, just to avoid daily torment. She had perfected the green shade of the walls and wore green tops nearly every day. If it wasn’t green, she liked brown. It matched the earth outside and gave her a break on laundry, as she was face-first in mud half the week and the other days were spent in hiding. At first the library became a place to hide her shame during the social hours of the day. There she would enter other worlds through all types of literature.
Jamison was alone enough to the point that even the AV nerds looked like they were having a better time than she was. Until one afternoon she overheard a heated discussion about a new movie and the cinematography in it and she couldn’t help but to put her two cents in, and then she found out that they really had fun. Those hours locked in darkened rooms splicing film and dissecting classics with other pimpled freaks and geeks were the best hours of her life ADD, better known as “After Dad’s Death.” She learned about how movies worked, and soon she found herself critical of the myriad imperfections when she had a rare opportunity to watch TV.
As she walked from school, she stopped at the grocery store and used her last quarter to buy a trinket from the machines in front of the store. Today’s treat was a sticky octopus, and she had several of those, but she kept the egg it came in in memoriam of her dad. When she arrived at her foster home, she wished her father was still alive. He used to give her a quarter and watch her awe at whatever treat would spill out of the gimmicky machine. The memory hurt, just as it always did, but she embraced the pain of loss to enjoy the bittersweet feel of her father. So tall, strong, and proud. Now he was nothing more than ashes she prized as her sole valuable, aside from the handful of eggs similar to the one in her hand. Mr. Foster opened the door as she ambled along the driveway. Her feet shuffled against the concrete driveway. The front yard was perfectly manicured for the Stepford family that lived within.
“Hey, come on in.” Mr. Foster wore an excited mien, and his smile seemed smug somehow. The grin on his lips didn’t quite make it to his eyes.
“Oh, okay. Where’s Mrs. Foster?” Jamie felt a little nervous, as if something was terribly wrong, and every instinct she had begged her to run as fast and far away as she could. But where could she go? For an orphan, nowhere was safe, and there was no place to hide but the streets. She had quite a few friends she’d lost to runaway status, and for those considered wards of the state, few people bothered to look. There was no manhunt, missing posters on telephone poles, or any flashing messages to interrupt the daytime TV experience of the average household for a foster kid.
“She is still at work.” At this point, it was too late. Something about Mr. Foster didn’t look right, and his eyes seemed to carry an unusual light in them. When she strode through the den, he pounced, and she found her balance was gone as she hit the ground headfirst.
“Stop! Don’t—” But the man seemed to care less about her pleas. First, he tore her grass-green shirt off and groped at her chest painfully. Jamison felt the fierce grip of his hands and knew she was going to be in a world of hurt if she lashed out without a plan.
“You want to be a part of the family, right?” The words hurt even more than they should because deep down she did want a family, even if she was too jaded to say the words aloud. But even as she remained quiescent, Jamison’s thoughts turned to her next course of action. Random objects nearby flickered through her mind, and she remembered where she was next to the couch, where Mrs. Foster liked to sew scraps into quilts as she watched TV. If she could only reach the mending basket, it was only a handful of feet away, and she could use it to hit him.
But a surreptitious tug on the basket spilled the contents to the floor next to her, and she was unable to reach the weighted rattan. There wasn’t much time left. Mr. Foster had nearly succeeded in his quest to remove her jeans, and after that? Her virginity, the sole thing she kept for herself, would be buttered toast that her rapist would have for breakfast. Her hands rubbed across the nubby, beige carpet in a blatant attempt to find something, anything that could help her save herself. Her right hand located something. It felt like a metal pencil. All she knew for sure was that it was long, but she didn’t care what it was and fisted her grip around the cold metal, her only salvation.
Jamie only nodded to give consent to her desires and gave him her body without hesitation. How trite of her, for the bridesmaid to walk away from a wedding to hot sex with the groomsman. But she found that she could care less and let him help her to the car.
The drive went by in silence for the most part. Marq was a controlled, yet impatient driver and had them at her house in no time. He escorted her out first and carried their luggage in the foyer, then inside. The moment the door closed, Marq dropped the bags, a glint in his eyes. Jamie still felt apprehensive about having sex with Marq. She knew she wanted him, so bad she could taste it. Why shouldn’t she let him have his way with her? He would certainly be better than the man she wasted years with. Even though Jamie had decided to give in to her body for this one night, she felt hunted. The natural response would be to run, and she tried to. Every step he took, she backed up one to match.
“Stop running, Jamison.”
“I–I’m not.” Yet even as she spoke the words she knew them for the lie they were. She ran, but she couldn’t stop herself. She tried to. He was more than she had ever handled. But her pussy throbbed and ached for the man strolling over to her. He started undressing, in one motion taking off his shoes, another step his jacket. When he reached his undershirt, he tugged that off as well.
“So you’re just going to—”
“Yep, I suggest you do the same. If you want to keep the dress, that is.” The expression on his face spoke to the fact that it didn’t matter to him either way. Jamie couldn’t strip for a man she had never slept with. She tried to give him her best stern face, but she was too confused and aroused to succeed. She was poleaxed and stunned stupid.
He had gotten close enough for Jamie to really see his tattoo. She was amazed. His whole chest and washboard abs were inked up, and she suspected the back of him matched the front. She felt her pussy spasm. Jamie needed to feel him skin to skin and, desperate to feel their mutually inked flesh touch, she unzipped the dress from the side and let the sleeveless princess neckline hit the floor. Her lip was gnawed swollen from her teeth. Marq grinned and tore the wrapper off a condom, the gold packet hitting the floor even as he rolled the sheath on. He was hard but so heavy the length of cock never rose higher than his thighs.
What did I get myself into? No wonder my friends are always screaming. After that moment even her thoughts felt stuttered. She couldn’t help it, but found herself backing away until her back hit the wall.
Marq’s eyes glinted brightly, and he walked the two steps needed to crowd her in.
“So you want to start in here? That’s just fine with me.”
His face dipped low, and Jamie’s lifted to meet him. When their lips met, a matching set of groans clashed. Marq apparently had no intentions of keeping his hands to himself and spread her legs to peel her sodden panties off. Her mound was smooth and only had a tuft of hair above her slit. She was soaked, juices clinging to her parted thighs. Her panties were just as juicy, still wrung wet from her last climax. Her tongue was probing his, soft and sweet. Marq’s tongue tease showed her he wanted her hungry and desperate.
“Wrap your arms around my neck.” No sooner than he spoke, she clasped him at the base of neck, interlocking her fingers. Marq used his heavy shaft to probe at her opening. He didn’t enter her, and each pass of his head over her blossoming sex left them both longing. He stopped playing with her damp folds and finally wedged the thick mushroomed head at the mouth of her. Jamie let gravity take her hips lower, gaining inch after inch of him.
“Yeah, Jamie, take it. All of it.” Marq’s voice was hoarse and low, his forehead propped against hers.
Her only response was a bone-deep shudder as he filled her inch by inch, leaving her wanting and groaning for more. The sensations were delicious, too much to take, even as she longed to feel the rest of him. She hadn’t had many men in her life, and the couple she had in the past were nowhere near this potent or hung like Marq. God knows he was so much man. But the heavy press of cock took her thoughts elsewhere in short order, and she merely allowed his possession to eat at her until she couldn’t think only feel. He seated the remaining inches inside her, letting her get accustomed to him and the need. She spent long moments groaning and angry, needy and begging.
“Want more, Jamie?” His voice was lust dark and inflamed her with heat.
“Yesss.” The singular word whispered over her, and she let it, neither clarifying nor expounding on her statement. There was no need to.
“Good. I want you hungry.”