Romance: Wanted by the Alpha Lion (A BBW Paranormal Suspense Romance) (Heroes of Shifter Creek Book 2) (144 page)

The galloping bay gelding drew up sharply, gravel spraying beneath its hooves, as its rider reined it to a halt in front of Wisteria Castle. 

“Baron Banbury!” one of the servants greeted his master at the door.  “It is good to see you returned, sir.”

Graham Banbury whipped off his riding coat and hat and pressed them into the servant’s hands.  As the eldest son, he had received his father’s title shortly after taking control of his late uncle’s estate.  “My wife,” he said, breathless.  “Where is she?”

“Upstairs.”

At that moment, they heard an agonized shriek that caused them both to look up.  Heart pounding, Banbury took the grand staircase three steps at a time, the tails of his striped waistcoat flying as he raced to the second floor and down the hallway leading to the master bedroom.  He burst through the door and stopped to take in the sight before him.  Ivy lay on the bed, long tendrils of her hair stuck to her face and neck with sweat.  Her knees were bent and she panted heavily.  She was attended by the midwife and two maids who bustled about, making their preparations.

“Again!” ordered the midwife.  “Once more, now – it’s almost here!”

Ivy glanced up and saw Graham.  A look of relief broke through the pain and she flung out one hand to him, desperately grasping at the air. 

He did not hesitate to go to her.  Dropping to his knee beside the bed, he gathered her palm between both of his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.  “I am here, my darling,” he murmured.

“LadyBanbury!” the midwife called for Ivy’s attention.  “Push!”

Graham felt Ivy’s grip on his hand tighten as she bore down again.  Had she been stronger, she might have crushed a few bones.  He held on and willed her all of his might to make this final effort.  As he watched, she curled up, face going bright crimson before she let out another wild, desperate wail. 

This time, Ivy’s outcry was joined shortly by the unmistakable scream of a newborn child.  “There we are!” the midwife said, beaming with accomplishment.  She looked up at the young couple.  “Congratulations – you have a son!”

“A son…”  Graham blinked, and for a moment his vision clouded with tears.  He turned to look at Ivy, who lay gasping for breath, a wide grin on her damp face.  “We have a son.”  Impulse drove him to lean up and kiss her on the cheek, and linger with his forehead pressed to her temple.  “
A son.
”

As the midwife’s assistants began the arduous task of stripping away bloodied linens, Ivy leaned her head against her husband and heaved a soft sigh of exhaustion.  “I had thought you might not return in time,” she murmured, with a weak smile. 

“I would not have missed this for all the world,” Graham said. 

The midwife brought their child to them momentarily, clean and swaddled.  She placed the baby in Ivy’s arms.  “There you are,” she said.  “A fine, healthy boy, and already with a thick head of hair like his father’s.”  She chuckled.

Graham passed a gentle hand over the infant’s damp raven curls, and grinned.  “He may have my hair,” he said, “but I hope that he shall have his mother’s eyes.”  He looked at his wife, gazing at her with unabashed affection.  “Her beautiful blue eyes...”

Cradling their son against her breast, Ivy reached up with one hand to cup her husband’s cheek.  “Fate has been kind at last,” she said.  “I feel as though I have been doubly blessed.”

“Dearest Ivy,” Graham said, and pressed a kiss into her palm.  “These are just the first of many yet to come – as long as you continue to bless me with your love.”

“You have it, my darling,” Ivy said.  “My love, my heart…all of me.  For all time.”

***

The End

Chapter 1

Every stripper says she’s paying for college.

Either that, or she’s doing research for her documentary. In actuality, most strippers are just hard-working women who are making money to feed their families. I was an exception. I was, in fact, dancing to pay my way through my Sociology degree. Outside of hooking, stripping was really the best money a woman like me—first in her family to go to college, single-parent household, below the poverty line—could make. On top of that, it gave me a lot of interesting material for various projects and reports I had related to my degree, especially since Third-Wave Feminism’s was such a hot topic these days.

If I were honest with myself, money and research should be my top priorities, but they were a distant second and third to the rush I got from showing my body to strangers. If someone were to analyze me, if some old Austrian man with a cigar had me on a couch for a few hours (in a non-sexual way), I’m sure a line could be drawn from my exhibitionism to some childhood body-issues I had. Maybe I was an ugly duckling. Maybe having dark skin and “nappy” hair, along with maturing faster than the other girls, gave me a complex. I don’t put too much stock in that Freud stuff. The fact of the matter is, I was extraordinarily turned on by my own nakedness, especially when I knew others were watching.

              My club was called The Garden, and I was the only sister in the lineup of girls, unless I counted Stacy, who was mixed. This meant that every man with a taste for chocolate went for me. Being from a majority white neighborhood with its fair-share of closeted prejudice meant that I could be their naughty fantasy.

That said, it took a while for me to get used to the fact that some of these guys would tell me they loved me and wanted to marry me while at the club and would totally avoid eye contact if they saw me on the street. Eventually, though, I realized that this was really a powerful position for me to be in. I could send so much blood to their dicks that these men wouldn’t have enough left to operate the judgmental portions of their brain. I liked being a fetish. I liked how stupid business owners and economists would become as soon as my ass was in their face.

              One particular incident involved a barista at my local coffee shop. I spent a lot of time doing homework in that particular shop before heading to The Garden for the night. One of the baristas, Jude, was a white guy who had caught my eye. I had never dated white, but he would be exactly my type if I did. He was artsy, intelligent, and I guess one could call him a hipster. In reflection, I suppose he was more or less the stereotypical barista one would expect to find in an indie coffee shop, but there was something that really excited me about him.

              On a Friday night, I had come directly to the club after working on homework for a few hours at the Hot Spot Café. I divided my café time between reporting on the importance of digital media for international community-building and imagining what Jude’s face would look like between my thighs.

I changed into my outfit—that night it was a slinky nurse's uniform—and I removed my glasses and added a long, wavy black wig. For some reason, afro-puffs or cornrows were a no-no for my boss. The plus side was that no one recognized me. I got the chance to feel simultaneously voyeuristic and exhibitionistic, as people I knew, from grocery clerks to pastors, got their rocks off to my nude form. As soon as my music came on (“Work It” by Missy Elliott) and I pulled the curtain open, my gaze fell on Jude’s face, front row and center, by himself, looking nervous. I had never seen him here before, and he didn’t seem the type to frequent clubs. That didn’t deter me from directing my dance at him.

              Despite the fact that there were men and women on both sides of me tossing dollars down before I even took anything off, my eyes were locked on my innocent barista. It was clear that he didn’t recognize me, and that he liked what he saw.
Good
, I thought.
Let’s see how far I can take this.

              The nurse outfit was quite snug. It was meant for a woman less curvy than I, but I liked the way it hugged my shape. It gave my body a feeling of urgency, a feeling that I needed to set it free from the restrictive clothing in front of this appreciative audience. On top of that, it left little to the imagination, so I didn’t even have to be naked before I had everyone’s attention. I pulled the zipper on my shirt down, revealing more of my already heaving cleavage. This prompted an enthusiastic burst of dollars from all parts of the stage, and if Jude hadn’t recognized me before, he wouldn’t now because he wasn’t even looking at my face anymore.

I undid my zipper completely but held the sides of my shirt together for a moment before dramatically revealing my braless chest. This was one of my favorite parts: The Big Reveal. I knew my fat tits always got a healthy amount of applause, but I rarely noticed. I was too wrapped up in the feeling of arousal I got. It was as though I had blinders and earplugs in. It was as though I was in front of my mirror at home, or in this case, in front of Jude in my room. His face showed how much he approved of my buxomness. He licked his lips. Perhaps it was dryness, but I liked to think he was imagining how nice my lovely areolas would look with his mouth on them. The image got me excited too, and I looked forward to sharing my arousal with my front row patrons.

              My skirt was suddenly feeling like it wanted to be liberated from my ass. I put my hands against the wall, bending so that attentive members (ahem) of the audience got a sneak preview. I had seen in my own mirror how the curves of my thighs and ass made a perfect, diamond-shaped window to my pussy. I loved how it looked, and I knew the boys did too.

              It took just a little hike with my fingertips to free my healthy ass. I unzipped it and let it fall. Naked except for my red fishnets and my white heels, I returned my hands to the wall and shook my ample derriere, fueling the crowd’s generosity as they reached into their wallets for more singles.

Officially, the dancers were supposed to share their attention and affection with the patrons who threw the money at them, but I had my sights set on my coffee man. Also officially, we were supposed to charge $20 for lap-dances, but I was willing to make an exception in this case. Jude didn’t seem to know much of what he was doing. He looked nervous and was clutching a wad of singles. The dollars looked like they were meant for me and just hadn’t made their way to the stage. That was good enough for me.

              I stood front-and-center. Looking up, Jude would have seen me towering over him, heavy chested and with a well-manicured bush. If he was really attentive, he would have seen that I was enjoying this too, as evidenced by the wetness that was accumulating on my pussy lips, threatening to drip on him if I shook my ass too enthusiastically.

I fell to my knees, nearly forgetting that there was anyone in the room but the two of us. I turned to give him a better look at my best asset, which good eating and plenty of squats guaranteed was in top form that night. A quick glance between my thighs gave me a look at his transfixed face, and I could see the growing tent in his pants. That was better praise than applause, and I felt my pussy tingle with warmth. I flipped over to show my approval, and he wet his lips again as he looked at the wetness of mine. Lifting my ass from the stage floor to give him a real eyeful, I ran two fingers along the sides of my clit, parting those wet lips and sharing my tasty, pink center with this blushing young man. My pussy was throbbing.

I rubbed my wet slit a few more times before lowering myself onto Jude’s unwitting lap, which was pitching a pretty impressive tent by that point. Grabbing the bills from his grip and pushing his hands to his side, I positioned my breasts on either side of his face. The scruff on his cheeks tickled my boobs, and I struggled to hide my grin, trying to maintain a seductive expression. Not that he or any of the other audience members, whom I’d almost forgotten about, were looking at my face at all.

Against the rules and my better judgment, I lowered my aching clit. It brushed against his pronounced erection, which was stretching his pants to their limit. He gasped into my cleavage, and I took it to mean I should continue. Shocks of pleasure ran through my ass cheeks and up my spine as I rubbed my pussy lips against his hard cock. Though his pleasured whimpers were drowned out by the music, I could feel his panting.

With everyone looking at our little performance, I picked up the pace, for my own pleasure and, I hoped, for his. I didn’t have to hope for too long, as his breath grew quicker and more intense. And though it hadn’t been my intention to bring him that far, I could feel the familiar pulsations of his cock against my clit as his body seized up. I’m still not sure how obvious it was to everyone else in the audience, but I knew immediately that I had made the poor boy come in his pants. With that, and with the embarrassment Jude wore on his face the rest of the night, I lost my attraction to him. As flattering as it was to have that effect on him, I needed a man who could hold his own with me. I needed a man who could hold his own with anyone. Fortunately, it didn’t take long before I found that man. Or rather, before he found me.

Chapter 2

I shared an apartment with a fellow student named Susie. Her parents emigrated to the U.S. from Taiwan before she was born. She was studious—a biology major—but no more than I was. The major difference between the two of us was that, where I was sexually explorative and expressive, she was shy to the point of being totally stifled. What she did—or didn’t do—with her body was her business. But to the extent that she expressed an interest bordering on judgment in my lifestyle and livelihood, I chose to stick my nose in her bedroom life, latent as it was.

For her birthday, I decided to get her a sex toy. I chose my favorite vibrator, a rabbit-type with a rotating-bead shaft and ears that cradled the clit just perfectly. If anything, it would help her loosen up a bit. Maybe she’d learn to give me a break about how I spent my evenings.

“Kara! Are you home?” She knew I was home. I think she was just giving me a heads up so I could get decent, which was thoughtful because I wasn’t.

“Yeah, Suze. I’m in my room,” I said, throwing a baggy Mickey Mouse shirt on but deciding that this was not a pants-on occasion.

“Do you have your half of the electric bill? I posted the bill on the fridge. It’s higher than usual this month.”

“Yeah, ever since I got that Hitachi Magic Wand, I’ve been using a lot of juice. Let me pay for two-thirds. This covers it, right?”

She grabbed the wad of singles between two fingers and her thumb with a look of minor disgust. “It should. It makes it kind of difficult handing an envelope with half of the bill in check and half in singles.”

“Sorry, I’ll hit the bank first next time.”

“How was work last night?”

“Fine. It was cool.” I never knew how much detail she wanted, but something told me she was more curious than she’d admit. “Actually, it was a little exciting. You know that barista from the Hot Spot I pointed out to you? Jude?”

“The white guy? The cute one? Yeah, I know him.”

“He showed up. I don’t think he recognized me. And get this,” I adopted a conspiratorial tone, “I made him come.”

“What! You aren’t allowed to fuck the customers! Are you?” I may have noticed a little hope in the question. A glimmer in her eye.

“No! I didn’t fuck him. I just gave him a lap dance. Regular, run-of-the-mill lap dance. It’s not my fault his hard-on was in my landing zone.”

She gasped. “You naughty slut!” She was laughing, so I took no offense. Besides, compared to her virginal existence, the average high school girl probably seems like a slut.

“It was nothing. Just giving him a little special treatment. Maybe I’ll get a free latte next time. If I do, I’ll know he did recognize me.”

“You’re impossible. Are you even allowed to tell me this? Isn’t there some sort of patient-confidentiality thing for strippers?”

“Not that I know of. I guess there’s an honor system, but I trust you. And you trust me, right? You should come down some night. It would demystify a lot of the culture for you. Plus, it would be nice to see a familiar face out there.”

“Of course I trust you. I don’t know if I’m ready for all of that though. It would be weird seeing all those private parts. Especially yours.” She was blushing, barely.

“It’s totally not a big deal. You’ve got the same equipment. Oh! Speaking of which, I got you something. I was saving it for your birthday, but now just seems like a perfect time. Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

She gave me a suspicious look. She was right to distrust me, as I had a great love for pranks, much to her chagrin. However careful, she relented and put her hands out, closing her eyes and flinching instinctively.

I put the box in her open palms. She opened her eyes and looked it over, taking longer than I expected.

“Do you love it? This one is my favorite!”

“I’m not really sure what it’s supposed to be.”

“Seriously, Suze? It’s a Rabbit. One of the most influential vibrators on the market!”

“Oh. Um. Cool. Is this the one Charlotte got in
Sex and The City
?”

I gave her an incredulous look. She was used to my one-eyebrow raise. “I don’t know. Maybe? Anyway, you’re gonna love it. You’re welcome in advance, but you have to report back to me. It will change your life, and no offense, but I think you need this.”

“Well,” she seemed conflicted. “Thanks, Kara. I really appreciate it. If I’m being honest though . . . Can I be honest?”

“Always. You know that.”

“I don’t really do that,” she said, embarrassed.

“What? Watch
Sex and The City
? That’s cool. Neither do I.”

She laughed, but it was forced. “No. I mean, I’ve never used something like this. I’ve never done that.”

“Even better! It will revolutionize your masturbating.”

“That’s what I mean. I don’t masturbate.”

“What? Today?”

“Ever.”

There was a stillness in the air. I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was—it explained so much—but I couldn’t hide my disbelief. She could see it all over my face.

“I mean,” she tried to explain my expression away. “I’ve tried. I guess I’ve just never felt compelled to do it. I’ve never seen the big deal. Maybe I never figured it out, or maybe I’m not built for it.”

“Bullshit. You’re a perfectly healthy young woman.” I was a little too excited at the prospect of opening this door for her. “You’re built the same as me. We just have to get you and your junk better acquainted. Take off your pants.”

“What! No!”

“Oh, come on! What are you embarrassed about? I’m surrounded by pussies and tits on a nightly basis. It’s just a day at work for me. See?” Without pausing enough for her to protest, I pulled my shirt off over my head and pulled my panties off.

“Kara! What are you doing?” She covered her eyes instinctively, but I could tell she was peaking. All about appearances, this one.

“Get over it, Suze. I’m not ashamed of anything, and I’m trying to get you there too. Take it off!” I said with a mix of playfulness teasing and genuine encouragement.

It took her what felt like hours to finally get it all off, which gave me plenty of time to take a good look at her body without making a big deal out of it. Her breasts were smaller than mine, barely a handful, and her nipples were like little milk chocolate Kisses.
Cute
, I thought, without saying anything, lest she stop disrobing and run to her room. I had a moment to realize just how small Susie’s frame was. She was short and thin, and looked even more so with her meek posture. When she finally pulled her panties off, pausing at her knees, I was taken by how straight her pubic hair was. She let it grow longer than I grew mine, which was a well-trimmed landing strip, and I had never seen pubic hair that wasn’t curly. I thought it was really charming.

“There. Don’t you feel better?” I asked, knowing the answer already.

“Not really. I’m getting there though.”

“Good! Let’s take a look at that pussy. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“I don’t know, Kara. I’m nervous.”

“Come on, girl. You’re the biology major. Pretend it’s an anatomy class. Here’s my cha-cha. She and I are very good friends, and it’s time you two became better acquainted.”

Susie assumed a bent-over, inspecting posture. “Hmm. Your labia minora are smaller than mine,” she said, seeming to give herself a little emotional distance by going into student mode. “I’ve been self-conscious about those for a long time. See?”

Atta girl
, I thought to myself, celebrating my victory in pulling her a little out of her sexual shell. I took a look at her pussy lips. They were coffee-colored, darker than I expected based on her skin-tone, but they were smooth on slick. Was she aroused? “They’re so pretty! I love your pussy. It’s adorable. Your lips are like butterfly wings.” A smile spread modestly across her face, as the flattery set in. “And plus, mine look more like that when I’m turned on. They just go into hiding the rest of the time.”

“Can you . . .show me?” She was slow to make eye-contact, and when I turned my eyes back her pussy, it was undeniably wet with arousal. Avoiding moving faster than she was ready for, I maintained my clinical demeanor, though her pussy juices had gotten mine moving as well.

              “Sure!” I enthused, thankful that black women don’t blush very obviously. I moved over to my bed and leaned back on one elbow, with the opposite hand reaching for my clit. “Come. Sit. Join in when you’re ready.”

              She sat beside me, her knees together, angling herself so she could get a good look at my pussy as I rubbed myself. “Your clit is so pink!” she said, with genuine surprise. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but looking at it reminds me of those chocolate-covered cherries. Chocolate on the outside, pink on the inside.”

              “Definitely!” I laughed, rubbing my clit in small circles. “Check this out. It’s even pinker inside.” I spread my moistening lips for her. She didn’t say anything, only widened her eyes.

              “Give your pussy some love,” I said. 

              “I really . . . I really don’t know what I’m doing. Can I just watch you more to see if I can figure it out?”

              “Give me your hand,” I said, already grabbing for it. She didn’t resist. Her hand felt so fragile in mine. I briefly thought that she should be a violinist or pianist before placing her hand over mine as I continued to rub myself. The feeling of her fingers so close to my pussy, the thought of her feeling me, the knowledge of her arousal, all combined forces to turn me on more than I had been in recent memory. Something about her innocence, about her reluctance, and about her femininity drove me wild. I had never been with a woman, and Susie was such a picture of girliness that I could feel my pussy throbbing with the desire to take this further.

              Neither of us said anything as I moved my hand away, allowing hers to continue the movements I was making against my clit. Her smaller fingers felt so delicate cradling my love-button.

              There was no protest when I moved my hand to her mound, when I ran my fingers through the wispy thicket of pubic hair and down into her tight cleft. I explored her slit gently with my fingertips, making a point of teasing her butterfly-lips, pulling softly and teasingly, so she could see what an advantage they could be.

              Her pussy was wet and warm, and I could feel my own womanhood growing slick and hot against her fingers, which were growing more confident, more insistent. I gave up pretending I wasn’t loving it, and I let out a long moan as she pinched my pink clit adoringly. She responded with her own gasping whimper as I pressed the pads of my first two fingers against her hole, and I turned to her, lying beside me, and sucked her Hershey nipple into my mouth.

              With some hesitation but more curiosity, she slid a finger into me, and I threw my head back just as a look of surprise appeared on her face. By the feel of it, she had never had anything in her pussy, so she was impressed at how accommodating mine was. I opened my eyes to see her asking me a question with her eyes. I nodded, and she slid another finger into my pulsing hole, eliciting another groan on my part.

              I could feel that her pussy was not going to welcome my fingers yet, so I pulled her fingers out of mine slowly, enjoying the tug, and slid myself down to where I could kneel between her knees on the bed. Without giving her time to say anything, and without giving myself time to overthink another first experience, I slurped her pretty lips into my eager mouth. Susie almost kicked me off with the bucking of her hips as my suction moved to her clit, which was hidden behind its hood until my tongue coaxed it out. She began to push me off, but instead threaded her fingers into my hair. I lightly flicked her pearl with the very tip of my tongue, playing with her sensitivity. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically. Her hips were grinding into the mattress as she struggled even to moan.

              As I was preparing to insert my first finger, she pulled me and gestured for me to turn around. At first hesitant, I threw caution to the wind. What was there to be cautious about now? I turned to place a knee on each side of her head, my pussy hovering right within reach of her tongue.

              I went back to work gobbling her juicy mound when, to my surprise, she grabbed my ass and spread my cheeks. It was my turn to be shy. Now, I considered my butt to be my best feature. I was always game to make that the main event of a striptease or a lap dance, but I had never had anyone eat my asshole. As Suze’s tongue began circling it, I resisted, and even stifled a giggle because it tickled. She persisted, though, and as I relaxed and went back to work on Suze’s lady parts, I grew to really enjoy the sensation of her probing.

              Panting heavily, I lamented when she moved her surprisingly talented tongue away from my asshole, but only for the moment before she moved to give me a long lick along my pussy lips. They were swollen with desire, and expressing themselves outwardly, much more as Susie’s lips were all the time. My own little butterfly trembled as she ran her tongue, swerving, along the length of my sex. She stopped at the apex each time to lap at my clit for just long enough that I was on the verge of coming into her mouth.

              I slipped a finger into her vagina, now eager and wet, and she did the same with mine. She would halt her own fingering every time I kneaded her g-spot, making a “come hither” motion with one, then two fingers. It was as though I was inviting her orgasm to play with us.