BWWM Romance: Crossing The Line: Interracial Romance / Wealthy Love Interest (4 page)

"Where have you been all my life?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

Virgil sat up and pulled Shawna into his arms. "I mean, I think that my life has been missing you this entire time. When I'm with you, I'm just . . . happy."

"That's really sweet. I like being with you, too."

Virgil kissed Shawna's lips, and slipped his tongue into her mouth. Shawna arched her back as Virgil took her legs and pulled her into his crotch, laying her back against the couch cushions. Running her hands up his shirt, she felt his tight abs and hard pecs.

"Work out much?" she asked.

"It's therapeutic."

He lifted her shirt and kissed her stomach. "Has this always been here?" he asked, kissing her bellybutton ring.

"I've had it for a really long time."

Virgil unhooked her bra and kissed the underside of her plump breasts. Shawna pressed the back of her head into the couch and moaned. His tongue tickled as he licked his way up to her erect nipples and flicked the sensitive flesh. Virgil shifted uncomfortably as his cock stiffened and wanted out of his tight pants. The smell of Shawna's sex teased his senses and he growled.

"Oooh, what was that?" Shawna giggled.

"Woof!"

"Bad dog!" She gently poked the tip of his nose.

"I got your bad dog right here, baby." He pulled Shawna up by the waist and turned her around. She braced herself against the couch arm. Virgil pulled down her sweatpants and bit down on her soft, supple ass. Shawna squealed and giggled.

"You like that?"

"Do it again!"

He did. Then Virgil kissed her tailbone and fondled her soft-as-butter breasts before freeing his cock from the confines of his pants, giving it a couple of strokes to test its hardness. Shawna dripped with anticipation and he gave her a slow, deep lick.

"More," she moaned.

Virgil fucked her briefly with his tongue, listening to the rhythmic chorus of her sexual cries. His own moans matched hers and he couldn't take it anymore. He had to have her. Virgil sat up. Positioning himself, he slid into her slick, tight pussy.

"Oh, god."

"I'll go slowly," he said.

He slid in bit by bit until she quivered around him. The slow strokes were enjoyable to both of them, but Virgil savored the sight of her more. She clung to the fabric of the couch and tossed her head from side to side, trying to see what he was doing behind her. When he refused her calls for him to speed up, she thrust her ass into him and Virgil let her, watching the delicious jiggle of her butt cheeks.

"Fuck me harder," Shawna begged. His cock slid against her g-spot and it was unlike anything she had felt before. Other lovers brushed passed it, teased it, or barely tapped it, but Virgil's thick cock drove her wild.

Virgil had attempted to contain himself. He figured that he'd get more out of slowly unraveling her, but he drove himself insane with his delayed release.

"I'm cumming!"

"Me, too."

Shawna peaked first, quickly followed by Virgil. She continued to pump back into him and he had to pull away first as the sensation became too intense.

"Give me fifteen minutes," Virgil sighed, falling back onto the couch. "I want to do that again."

“Okay, lover.”

"
S
till seeing your white knight
?" Mikki asked over the phone. The typical boom of her surroundings indicated that she was, as always, somewhere busy and crowded. A high-end mall, by Shawna's guess.

"If you're gonna keep hating on him, I'm gonna stop talking to you," Shawna said. Virgil had spent the night. She missed how good it felt to lie against someone's chest and play the little spoon with the whole of his long body pressed against her back. The gentle sound of his breathing lulled her to one of the most peaceful sleeps she had ever experienced. She woke up to him overcooking unsalted eggs and undercooking sausage, but the point was that she enjoyed waking up to someone in her kitchen at all. She had to redo breakfast, but she didn’t mind. Just the fact that he wanted to feed her made her smile.

"I just don't see what you see in him. Are you going to take him with you to see your parents?" Mikki asked.

Shawna hadn't even thought about introducing him to her parents. Her father, a Baptist preacher, was not going to be happy that his daughter was dating a pentagram-wearing, death-metal-listening, hyper-fashionable goth. He could care less about what color her boyfriends were as long as they had God in their heart and walked the path of Jesus. Shawna was more spiritual than religious and more agnostic than anything. The church turned her off with its internal politics, and its less than holy actions trumped its holier-than-though theorizing.

"We haven't gotten that far. He has a family too, as you are well aware."

"You don't want to meet his mother. She's a bulldog in heels. I'm not sure what his father saw in her and continues to see in her. That bitch gots issues and I'm about ready to turn in my two-week notice."

"Wow."

It was true that Virgil talked more about his father than his mother. The subject of his mother seemed to make the hair stand up on the back of his neck and his toes curl. Awesome. Shawna always wanted to be part of the monster-in-law stereotype. The thought of this relationship released a horde of butterflies in her stomach.

"I'm not worried about it," Shawna said determinedly. "It's not about his family or my family. It's about us."

"Shawna, that is the dumbest fucking thing you have ever said to me."

"Bye, hater."

"Bye!"

S
hawna wasn't going
to tell him, but at the last concert she went to shots rang out before the opening act. Virgil was still too shy to invite Shawna to one of his band's shows, so instead, he got tickets to one of the bands Shawna had been playing on repeat from the old iPod Virgil let her borrow.

"I'm excited," Shawna said, putting on Virgil's leather jacket. He never collected it from her apartment and now it smelled more like her than him. He liked the way it looked on her. After her last experience, Shawna decided that toning things down was for the best. Virgil whined about not seeing the return of the white dress, but he loved the red peasant's blouse she found and the long, tapered black skirt.

"I feel like Morticia Addams. I love it."

Virgil laughed. "That's right, come over to the dark side."

Shawna rubbed her thighs and tossed the thought back and forth as to whether or not to bring up the subject of parents.

"Oh no," Virgil said. "What's wrong?"

"No, it's nothing. I . . . it's nothing."

"It's obviously something."

"I was talking to Mikki."

"Well, that was the first mistake."

Shawna chuckled. "She happened to remind me about my conservative parents."

"Conservative? Conservative how?"

"We're a church family. My dad is a preacher."

"Hot."

Shawna slapped Virgil's arm and he laughed.

"No, really, that's cool. What? You think I'm going to show up in full Satan worshiper regalia?"

"Kind of."

"No, my love. I know how to behave myself. I wouldn't embarrass you."

"Thanks. I feel really silly now."

"You should probably stop listening to that friend of yours. I think she has it in for you."

Shawna was taken aback. As long as she had known Mikki, Mikki had looked out for what was in Shawna's best interests. She was the one who coaxed Shawna out of her shell. She was the water to Shawna's flower. Sure, Mikki had her ways about her, but in general her actions came from her heart. "She's my friend," Shawna said.

"I know, babe. Forget I said anything."

The small venue had an even smaller parking lot, which made Virgil's truck look twice as large. Shawna waited for Virgil to circle around to her side to help her get out. He needed to make these small gentlemanly gestures, otherwise he would be moody for the rest of the evening. Shawna grew to appreciate them, tucking her strong, independent woman card into the bottom of her purse. It was nice to be treated like a lady – something men of all races have a tendency to forget about.

The moment her feet hit the ground, she felt the eyes zero in on them. The mild weather meant smaller jackets and a decreased eagerness to disappear into a building solely for warmth. People milled around the parking lot, smoking behind their cars and chatting loudly.

Virgil dropped his arm around Shawna's shoulder and pulled her into his side. He smelled good, as always, and his body ran hot. Having him next to her was like having an electric blanket she could always snuggle into. While she was thankful for his protective nature, especially having been around her share of cowardly, non-confrontational men, Shawna couldn't help but feel a little guilty that he felt the need to be defensive whenever they were out in public.

Shawna could count the other black people in attendance on one hand – which was a surprise in itself. She didn't expect anyone else of color except the workers. Perhaps there was hope for her yet.

Virgil took a sharp turn, yanking Shawna with him and nearly off her feet. "Whoa!"

"Sorry. I just remembered that concessions were on this side," he said, quickening his pace. Shawna tried to see what was behind them. If it was déjà vu―if another woman was coming to spill the beans about her date's past― she would just scream. But the only thing behind them was more people, smoking and staring. The loud chatting died down to a murmur. The world grew too quiet. Virgil nearly picked up Shawna and dragged her inside. She was out of breath by time they were on the other side of the door.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sorry," he said. "I guess I forget how long my legs are."

Shawna leaned back and took a good look at Virgil. His eyes darted away from hers and he fumbled his words, trying to ask her if she wanted anything from the concession stand before they went to their seats. She watched him cautiously.

"Do . . . do you want to leave?"

Virgil laughed nervously. "No, I'm okay."

"No, for real, dude. Do you want to book? Because we can go. I won't hold it against you."

"Thank god," he said, pulling her again through the door. He stopped and eyed the parking lot where the crowd had been. Only trash bouncing in the wind and cars were left. Virgil stared at the space for a long time before walking forward. Shawna's calves hurt from trotting around in high heels. She glanced to her side, seeing something out of the corner of her eye. Shawna dropped her weight and yanked Virgil's arm. The beer bottle whizzed by his face, missing him by mere inches. It shattered against the back of a car, setting off the alarm.

"Are you fucking insane?" Shawna demanded, turning in the direction the bottle came from. "You could've killed him!"

"That was the point, cunt." The man stormed toward them.

Virgil stepped in between Shawna and the on-coming threat. "Stay out of this," he said.

"What a pretty little bitch you got there," the man said, rubbing his shaggy, jaggedly-cut black hair. He pulled a knife from behind him. "Hand her over."

"How about you go fuck yourself, and I won't break your neck?"

"You owe me everything you got, fucker. I'm here to collect."

A pair of arms wrapped around Shawna's waist from behind and lifted her from the ground. She screamed and Virgil spun around. The two men who grabbed her held a knife to her throat.

"Let her go!"

The man with dark hair grabbed Virgil by the shoulder and, jumping, kneed him in the stomach. Virgil stumbled back. His attacker lunged at him, but Virgil caught him in the jaw with a right cross, sending him spiraling to the blacktop.

Shawna elbowed the man with the knife in the groin and stomped the foot of the second man. She conjured everything she learned from the self-defense class she took. Eyes, throat, privates. She bent her knees and head-butted the man with the knife under the chin. Blood spurted from between his lips as he bit his tongue.

She kicked the inside of the other man's knee, causing him to stagger to his knees, and dropped the point of her elbow into the side of his neck. She was just able to kick him in the ribs when Virgil dragged her toward the truck. "Get in!"

He pushed her through the driver's side and closed the door behind him. The truck roared to life. Peeling out of the parking space, they narrowly missed the men who dove out of the way. The truck bounced onto the open road and raced toward the highway. Virgil slowed to the legal speed after they ran a few lights and he was sure no one was following them.

"What the hell was that about?" Shawna asked. She checked her purse to make sure she still had everything, not that they could've gone back. Her ankle throbbed and she slipped her foot out of her heel. Rubbing it, she wondered if she had twisted it in the scuffle.

"I . . . don't know."

"They sure seemed to know you!"

"Calm down--"

"Calm down? We were almost killed!"

Virgil pulled over to the side of the road and snatched Shawna into his arms. "Oh god, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so, sorry."

Shawna held still and allowed Virgil to absorb her essence into himself. His heart beat loudly in her chest, pressed against her ear. She braced herself against the leather, trying to keep a distance, but slid into him anyway. Her anger melted into hurt and concern. He held her tight enough to cause cramping in her shoulders and when she went to pull away, he squeezed tighter.

"I would never do anything to hurt you," he whispered. Shawna gave in and wrapped her arms around him as well.

"Come on," she said. "I know a place we can chill . . . and talk."

It was about time for Virgil to see what was happening on Shawna's side of town. They had gone to museums and plays, but they always seemed to stop at the same American dining places. Even though Virgil pointed out something different about each location, they all seemed very similar to Shawna. Burgers taste like burgers, which taste like burgers, especially when the same three seasonings seemed to be used. The only smell that escaped the doors of these establishments were of charred meat and smoke.

Virgil squinted at the street signs, obviously never having ventured into the part of town Shawna navigated them to. He commented on the large parking spaces as he pulled into a parking lot.

"Yeah, they have to fit Cadillacs."

Phil's Kitchen was a dingy hole in the wall with minimal decoration outside. The sign flickered and the first three letters of "Kitchen" were dark, thus spelling 'Phil's 'chen.' The smell of spices and hot vegetable oil greeted them before they made it out of the truck.

Shawna genuinely needed help getting out this time. Her sore ankles begged for mercy. She pulled a pair of flip-flops out of her purse and slid them on, leaving her heels in the truck. When Virgil had to catch her upon her descent, he gave her a concerned look.

"I think I overestimated the sturdiness of those shoes."

Bass reverberated from two different cars. Horns honked from the busy street and folks called to each other over various distances. A young Mexican couple held the door open for them, and Shawna exchanged hellos with them.

The 'chen had a to-go line that nearly reached the door. Shawna led the way to a table and plopped down in a booth. Virgil sat across from her, still looking around at the art and photographs on the walls.

"Your friends decide to come in here with a knife, I'm pretty sure they'd get shot."

Virgil took a deep breath and slumped in his seat. "I don't know how many other ways to apologize for that."

"You could tell me the truth. I think I deserve to know what I've gotten myself into." She tucked her arms underneath the table. The two lovers usually held hands and Virgil always took the opportunity to feel her skin beneath his fingertips, test the waters, see what kind of mood she was in. As stoic as her expression might be, Shawna couldn't hide the subconscious tics of her hands. Now her fingers were twitching and she didn’t want him touching her. When she removed them from his reach, Virgil's own palms began to sweat. He rubbed them together and began slowly shredding a brown paper napkin into little pieces, one corner at a time.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"Who were they?"

"I don't know."

"They seemed to know you," she said impatiently. It was obvious there was history there.

"I can't explain that."

"Can't or won't?" Shawna said in a clipped voice, leaned back and closing herself off.

"I can't. I . . . there are things." Virgil fell silent. The untrusting smolder in her eyes set his teeth on edge. The longer the silence lingered, the more he felt her slipping away.

A young girl in tattered, neon-green leggings, a black baby-doll dress with ribbons and lace, and a pound of makeup gingerly approached their table. She blinked beneath a thick spread of eyeliner and shadow.

"Hi," she said, voice shaking. "I'm so-o-o-o-o sorry to interrupt, but I love you so much. Your music saved my life. Literally saved my life. You have inspired . . . I--" Tears welled in the girl’s eyes, heavy and fat before rolling down her cheeks. She quickly brushed them away with the back of her hands, along with some of her runaway makeup. "Will you please sign my phone case, Virgil?"

Color rushed to Virgil's face as his eyes darted back and forth between the crying fan and awestruck Shawna. He smiled and took the silver, permanent marker, and custom-cased phone from the girl. It was printed with a picture of his band. All four band members had given their best glamour-filled, sultry looks for the photographer. They all wore heavy makeup and Elizabethan period clothing. Shawna spotted Virgil in his favorite color. He looked like a vampire, holding an old 1920s style microphone the way a witch would hold a poisonous apple. His guitar, clutched in his other hand, swung nonchalantly behind him.