Divided We Fall
By Lisabet Sarai
All proceeds benefit Planned Parenthood!
Multiracial erotic romance (X rated)
Smashwords and Amazon KDP
#politics #ghetto #prejudice #resistance #diversity #contraception
Hate takes too high a toll
Linh’s three year old brother has wandered out of Viet Village into Niggertown. Despite the danger, she has no choice but to go looking for him in hostile territory. She manages to convince the rifle-toting guard at the entrance to the black ghetto to help her search, using a mixture of bribery and bravado. As they comb the desolate streets of Niggertown, seeking any trace of Duy, Linh discovers that the barrio’s inhabitants aren’t necessarily the violent, drug-addled brutes she’s been taught to hate, and by the time Linh and Steel have rescued the injured toddler and spent a long night hiding in a derelict building, she has come to understand who are their real enemies.
Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N163BNU/
Amazon UK - https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01N163BNU/
Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/699997
Strong language and terminology that may be offensive to some readers
I’m expecting the challenge, but still, my stomach does a queasy flip. I remain motionless, as instructed, keeping both hands visible. A tall, lean figure steps out from behind some pollution-rusted shrubbery in front of a ruined apartment building. He carries his Kalashnikov like it’s another limb, one which he points directly at me. Funny how there’s never enough food, but no problem getting guns.
“What you doin’ here? This ain’t your territory. You get your gook ass back ‘cross the street before I kick it back!”
Though the guard talks tough, I can see he’s young, maybe younger than I am. He fixes me with a belligerent glare and brandishes his weapon like he’d just as soon shoot me as not, but there’s a softness to his mouth that lets me imagine him smiling. Using his left hand to draw an ugly blade from his belt, he strides in my direction.
He wears threadbare jeans and a faded camouflage shirt, open to the waist. The inky skin on his bare chest gleams with sweat, despite the brisk wind. The paler flesh of a scar slashes across his chest, just above his left nipple. That must have been a dire wound, close to fatal. He might be young, but he’s no stranger to battle. None of us is, these days.
“You hear me, bitch?” he growls and jabs at me with his knife.
Instinct taking over, I shrink backward, then recover. He mustn’t think I’m afraid. Straightening my spine, I raise my flag a bit higher.
“I claim the right of truce.” I make my voice low, even, and respectful. But not subservient. “I’m looking for my three-year old brother. He wandered out of our territory earlier today. Someone said he might be in Niggertown.”
“You better hope he’s not.” The guard gives me an evil grin. “Me and my boys just love a bit of barbecue.”
I ignore his jibe. He’s just trying to pull my chain. I hope. “Can I have a look around? Please?”
“Any gooks enterin’ Niggertown got to pay the toll.” His leer widens, his white teeth a shocking contrast to his soot-dark complexion.
It feels natural to move from eating to kissing. Giggling like kids, we lick the jerky grease from each other’s lips. His are full and plump, softer than Hai’s, but his stubble scratches my cheeks in a way no Viet man’s ever would. I seal his mouth with mine, tasting the sweet-tart remnants of his tomatoes. He threads his fingers through my hair, tugging at the roots while he consumes me. Each strand is a fuse, lighting firecrackers in my pussy.
I open to his probing tongue and give him control, at least for a while. Steel plunges deeper, thrusting hard, fucking me already though we’re still dressed. The thought arouses me so much I take back the initiative. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I use my weight to push him back onto the piled bedding. My lips slide away from his. I lap at his prickly chin, nibble along his jawline, plant tiny kisses at the pulse point of his throat. Gradually I work my way down his hairless, sticky chest, tasting tomato juice and sweat. When I run my tongue along the scar, he groans and grabs my ass, arching up to grind his swollen bulk against my clit. That makes me moan, at least until he flips me over and silences me with more kisses.
Hands in the darkness—my hands, his hands—fumble with zippers, claw at waistbands, shred the fabric we can’t push out of the way. Finally, there’s skin and heat and hardness, his cock an apt fit to his name, sliding into my liquid center. He moves like a vast wave, surging, cresting, breaking inside me, then gathering power once again. I rock on the swell of his relentless, delicious rhythm. Sometimes I drift, letting the pleasure sweep me out to sea. Sometimes I fight, gasping for breath, drowning in raw sensation.
Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter.