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About the author:
Hi, my name is Cammie Cummins, my friends call me C.C. Late at night when everyone’s gone off to bed and the house gets quiet, I brew a cup of hot tea and indulge in my favorite past time; writing erotica. As I sit and tap out my stories, my greatest hope is that what I write turns you on as much as it does me.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Twenty years ago I had a great deal on vacation tickets for two to Aruba; a three-day weekend at a holiday resort, all expenses paid, meals and drinks included. My fiancé Dan—who’s my husband w and had been for almost eighteen years—had to cancel because of a work thing. The trouble was, the tickets were non-refundable.
So, rather than lose all that money, and damn it I needed a vacation, I checked with this woman I worked with, Donna, to see if she was up for going with me.
She smiled a wide, bright smile. “Damn straight I’m up for it, Angie. It’ll be a girl’s weekend like we won’t never forget.”
I didn’t know Donna that well, but we got along good enough. My age, she was pretty, African-American, and had a biting sense of humor, the sort of person who’d be fun to be with. Especially, with all you can drink alcohol.
What I didn’t learn until later was that my off season deal was so great because June in the Caribbean is not only rainy season, but freaking hurricane season, as well.
An early tropical storm hit the island, leaving us with nothing to do but watch the rain fall and listen to the wind howl. With it too dangerous to leave the hotel, there was nothing left for us to do but hangout in the lobby bar, where Donna and I drank for three straight days. All alone.
We played island music on the jukebox. And we danced.
Some fast stuff that got us winded and some slow songs, too. That got the bartender all worked up.
That last night, Donna wore a short flower sundress, yellow and bright with heeled beach sandals. Her straight black hair was shoulder length and styled in a sheer bob. Her dark skin glowed in the colored lights of the bar.
I had on a plaid, too-short mini-skirt, a black, sleeveless T-shirt, with the crew neck cut in a V to draw attention to my tiny tits. I wore flats and my red hair in a wild, curly perm.
I know, I know. But I was young and it was the nineties.
On the empty dance floor, with disco lights swirling, we danced. Our hips touching, our fingers entwined, our hands at the small of the other other’s back, we swayed to the soft music and intense torrent of rain outside.
I smelled of coconut suntan lotion—through we hadn’t seen the sun in the whole three days we were there. Donna smelled of vanilla and lavender.
“Dan won’t dance,” I said, my voice dreamy, my head resting on Donna’s shoulder.
“That’s too bad.” Donna’s hot breath caressed my bare shoulder. “You’re a wonderful dancer, Angie.”
“Thank you.” I closed my eyes, swaying, enjoying the dance, relaxed.
At first I thought it was my imagination but I felt Donna’s lips brush across my mouth. I opened my eyes and it was true—Donna was kissing me.
She brushed her fingers across my cheek and laid her hand on the curve of my neck, just under my ear. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach and my skin tinkled. Her body continued to sway. She tilted her head and pressed her lips more firmly against my mouth.
She rubbed her body against mine.
I opened my mouth. Her tongue flicked over my lips, across my teeth. A soft moan escaped from my throat. Her hand descended down my body. It lightly caressed the slope of my breast before landing on my hip, only to circle around my body and giving my bum a firm squeeze.
“I, um, Donna, what are you doing?” I asked, flustered and breathless. “I don’t think—”
She cut me off with more wet kisses.
We turned, slowly. Her body pressed against mine. We kissed. Her hands roamed over my hips, my butt, caressing, groping me. When she kissed the curve of my neck, I tossed my head back.
Against my skin, she said, “Let’s go up to our room.”
“Really, you want to—”
“I do.” She took me by the hand and led me passed the bar. She grabbed a bottle of red wine and called out to the bartender, “Goodnight, Rico.”
“Good night, my beautiful chicas,” he said with a lecherous grin. “Enjoy yourselves.”
“Oh, we will,” Donna assured him.