Interracial Erotica -
Wicked: Part Three
By Tracy Ames
Published on June 30, 2010
Part Three

Never judge a book by its cover. This was certainly the case with Gabriel Kelley, a European historian tenured at Cambridge specializing in late antiquity. When he accepted an offer to become the department head at Durum College, tongues began to wag. No one had seen him; however his reputation as a studious perfectionist preceded him.

Why he’d leave a glowing career at Cambridge to begin a five-year tenure of office at Durum, a small rather obscure school by comparison, baffled most of the faculty—none more so than Samantha Cross, a fellow historian of Western Mediterranean history.

Wicked: Part Three
IRE Scoville Scale: Tastefully Wicked

Men don't realize the sexual aura they exude in the most innocuous of moments. The way they sit, or speak or how they conduct themselves in meetings? There are millions of little involuntary clues that reflect their most intimate behaviors. Aware or not, Gabriel had ‘it’. He was like something from another era—intelligent, charismatic, unconsciously seductive, and at times bitterly indifferent. He was well groomed and his attire was subtle and stylish. This wasn’t lost on Sam or any of the female faculty. Gabriel was a man who begged to be savored.

He held doors and pulled out chairs, chivalrous qualities that in lesser men might have been perceived as weak. But in him it spoke to his breeding and self-confidence. There was something intrinsically sexual about him—something alluring. To look at him was to desire him; to ache for his touch. In the same breath he wasn’t to be trifled with and he didn’t suffer fools easily. His temperament runs the full gamut from pleasant to blatantly terrifying. But in all things he was subtle.

It was this subtlety that inflamed Sam. She could feel his eyes on her, lingering over each curve and crevice of her body even in his absence. His thoughts physically caressed her. They neither comforted nor commanded her—they were simply an omnipresence brushing across her skin.
Gabriel had ‘it’…and ‘it’ had her.

“You’re so beautiful,” Gabriel hugged Sam from behind as she loaded the dishwasher. His lips glided across the back of her neck. “I want you, Samantha.”

The four remaining guests from her dinner party could be heard chatting in the living room. Sam closed her eyes arching her back against him, “They’ll be gone shortly.”

He kissed her cheek. “Get rid of them. I want some quiet time with you.” With one last kiss he left.

Returning to the living room, Gabriel wished the three departing professors goodnight. Sadly one of them wasn’t Dr. Phillips. Dr. Phillips was the stereotypical historian: dry, sheltered, and lived in a world of his own. But he was an amazing instructor so Gabriel suffered his endless babbling about funding with thinly veiled contempt. Indeed, everyone was partitioning him for funding and there was only so much to go around. Due in large part to his popularity amongst the Alumni Association and his connections abroad, money was now flowing in steadily filling the gap left by his predecessor. Dr. Phillips was aware of this and struck while the iron was hot. Again, Gabriel assured him that he would receive the funds with the understanding that the project be conducted jointly with Dr. Terry Marlin, a professor of anthropology and Sam’s closest friend.

Dr. Phillips choked on his drink and said cautiously, “Sir, I don’t mean to question your judgment but Dr. Marlin is…you know…gay.”

Gabriel’s expression was flat and sour. He moved closer to Dr. Phillips and spoke softly yet firmly. “What does his sexuality have to do with anything? You’re one lonely Friday night and a pizza delivery boy away from being gay yourself. Frankly, I don’t care if he carpets his house with wall to wall pussy and sucks dick on the side. He’s an outstanding professor. His private life has no bearing on his ability to perform his job. Your personal beliefs are yours but don’t bring them on campus. I won’t have a bigot instructing my students.” He took Dr. Phillips’s glass from his hand and showed him the door. “You’ll have your funding. Goodnight.” He closed the door with Dr. Phillips staring wide-eyed on the other side.

“Is everyone gone?” Sam asked coming into the living room.

“Yes, that was Dr. Phillips leaving.” Gabriel answered kissing Sam. “Do you have any painkillers? I feel a headache….”

Sam frowned. “No lovin’ for me, huh?” She rolled her eyes and fetched Gabriel the medicine. “Goodness, you were all over me a second ago. What happened?”

“I can’t say,” Gabriel unbuttoned his shirt and walked to the bedroom. “I’ve been feeling badly all day. The headache is just the icing on the cake I suppose.” He took the tablets and water from Sam and downed them. Sam walked the glass back to the kitchen and returned to the bedroom.

“It’s late, we have work tomorrow. We’d better get some rest.” She put her hair up into a bun. “I’m taking a shower, you coming in?”

Gabriel sat on the bed with his elbows propped on his knees and his face in his hands trying to ease the pain in his head. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.” He flashed a weak smile. Sam took that as her cue to drop it. Gabriel hated being fussed over. But given his headache was entering into its fourth day he would’ve welcomed her motherly touch. She seemed to be the only person without their hand out asking for a favor or droning on about their problems. He pushed the thoughts for his head and came to his feet with the keen feeling that something or someone was in the room with him; his senses were off.

“Gabriel.” Sam called for him.

“Coming,” his eyes skirted the room…nothing…he turned the lights out and retired to bed. 


Later that night, Dorian tossed and turned and tried not disturbing Claire as she slept. The headache that plagued his day now seized his night. He rolled into his back, pinched his eyes tight in a vain attempt to force the pain from his body. His brain was in hyper mode; his thoughts were chaotic; his senses sharpened to everything around him; the very air seemed weighted. He rose from bed just as Gabriel’s eyes flew open.

Gabriel looked over at Sam, she to sleeping restlessly, and he rose from bed and retreated to the kitchen for a glass of water. He swallowed it down in one gulp. The fine hairs on his arms stood on end—suspiciously his eyes darted around the room. His cell phone rang, he answered.

“What are you doing awake this time of night?” Dorian asked.

“I suspect for the same reason you are. How’s your head?”

“Killing me. Do you think its father?”

“No,” Gabriel went to the living room and reclined on the sofa. “He would’ve called. Telepathy is his last resort. Besides, this doesn’t feel like him, it’s muddled. He comes across crystal clear. When was the last time you spoke to him?”

Dorian paused in thought. “Five maybe six years ago. You?”

“Four years. We were brief.”

“Then it could him.”

“Maybe.” The thumping in Gabriel’s head took his breath away. “Damn it! It’s getting worse. Alright, get some rest. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Goodnight.” Dorian hung up.

Gabriel clenched his forehead and let the phone tumble to the floor. Sam picked it up and placed it on the table before snuggling beside Gabriel. He gathered her against him. She lay with her head nestled into his shoulder, one arm and one leg across his body. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He mumbled into her hair.

“I couldn’t sleep. Is your head is still hurting?”

“I’m afraid so.” Gabriel sensed something was on her mind, “What are you thinking about?”


“You’re a horrible liar, Samantha. Spill it.”

“I’m worried about the funding for my project….”

The pounding in Gabriel’s head flared. “…and you want my help.”

“No, I don’t want your help,” Sam nuzzled her face into the slope of his neck. “I want you to guarantee that I’ll get my money.”

“Dr. Samantha Cross, you’re using me!” he grinned down at her trying not to let on that the pain was nearly unbearable.

“I’m not using you. Well, maybe a little.” Sam whined playfully. “I’d still be with you even if you didn’t have the authority to give me my money.”

Your money?! That’s the second time you’ve said that,” he laughed, her lips parted to defend her remarks. He kissed them. “I understand what you mean.” He took a moment to study her face and asked in all sincerity. “Would you still be with me if I couldn’t?”

Sam searched his eyes. “Of course I would. Why would you ask?”

His thumb ran along her jawline. “I wanted to hear you say it, that’s all.” He kissed her lips. 


Hotel Maxant
Český Krumlov, Czech Republic

A tall strapping man with eyes the color of mercury checks into a hotel with a prostitute on each arm. The blonde was clearly more inebriated than the redhead. The front desk clerk turned a blind-eye and hurried the room key to the gentleman. In the room, both women strip—the blonde lie on the bed and waited to be taken; the redhead sat on the gentleman’s lap, kissing him passionately.

“You’re so sexy...” he said to her, softly. “Will you kiss her for me? I want to watch.”

“I’d love to.” she replied in broke English, smiling at him she climbed onto the bed, over the blonde and they began kissing to the gentleman’s approval. Her breasts brushing against the others, kissing her way down her body, lingering at her breasts, and then working her way further down. The blonde’s body arched when the redhead’s lip kissed their way over her soft belly. She spread her thighs inviting the redhead between them where she kissed her way down to her pussy, slipped her tongue teasingly up her slit. Her legs trembled as the redhead drug the tip of her tongue to her clit, circling and lapped greedily.

The redhead groaned softly. Her fingers parted her own slit and began stroking rhythmically. The gentleman watched—it was getting intense. He couldn’t wait any longer. Continuing to rub the blonde’s clit, the redhead turned to the gentleman and beckoned him over. He climbed onto the bed, fed the blonde his erect cock and angrily kissed the redhead while she fingered the blonde. The blonde sucked and swirled her tongue around the gentleman’s swollen head. The gentleman groaned urgently and pulled the redhead’s hair as he came. The blonde jacked him into her mouth. Again and again, he poured into her. She swallowed what she could and the redhead licked the rest from her face.

The gentleman smiled sadistically. The night had just begun.


Samantha’s heels clunked loudly on the cobblestone path as she marched purposefully towards the Deans’ building. Her bangs flung away from her face contorted with anger. Gabriel was on her heels carrying his briefcase and preparing to do battle. Samantha swung open the building doors and almost took the heads off of two students on the process. She made it to Gabriel’s office only seconds ahead of him and tried to slam the door in his face—he caught it before it could inflict any injury. She threw her briefcase on his sofa and paced like a lunatic.

“Let me guess…” Gabriel said rounding his desk. “You’re angry.”

Sam stopped in place; her eyes bore a hole through his smug expression. “I can’t believe you screwed me over! You knew I was waiting for funding and you gave it to Dr. Phillips. You promised me!” Her nails dug into her palms. “And then to add insult to injury, you paired me with Dr. Jacobs on a Time Team dig! What the hell is that about, Gabriel?! She’s pathetic! Months ago, I asked her question about the Lombards, her area of specialty, and she looked up like a startled woodland creature, craning its neck to see what’s happened!” Sam paced frantically. “No, I can’t do this. Have you stepped foot in her classroom? It’s like some fucking absurd cathedral of light—it’s all Power Point presentations and laser beams—presumably so the students can cling desperately to some sense of what the hell’s going on! Its bullshit and you’ve stuck me with her!!”

Gabriel was unmoved by her theatrics. “I’m guessing this conversation isn’t going to end with you bent over my desk calling me Daddy?”

Sam picked up a crystal bookend and launched at Gabriel’s head. He ducked and it crashed against the wall behind him.

“Was that really necessary, Samantha?” He asked, his tone was as cold as the day outside.

“Yes! And the next time I won’t miss!” She grabbed her bag and stormed from the office.

Looking at the shards scattered about his feet as Dr. Phillips knocked on his door an entered.

“Brilliant way to start the morning, huh?” He said seeing the mess.

“As good as any.” Gabriel took a deep breath.

Wicked: Part Three
Sam spent the rest of day thinking of reasons not to hate Gabriel. When the task proved impossible, she cancelled her afternoon classes and she called her best friend and former childhood tormenter, Terry. Terry was a self avowed flirt with a knack for dating inappropriate men. But lately none captivated or frightened him more than Gabriel. One word…one icy look from Gabriel could send him scampering for cover. Putting the dashingly handsome Terry in his place wasn’t easy accomplishment. At over six-two, his tone body and Icelandic features were nothing to frown upon—with little effort he could have any man or woman he wanted and he knew it.

Luckily for Sam she wasn’t his type. Being five-eight and female cooled their fires before they erupted. He’d seen her through playground fights thought at the time he was the assailant and through training bras which he made a point of popping. It wasn’t until freshman year in high school that they became inseparable. Neither could say what the pivotal moment was. They simply stopped fighting long enough for the swelling to recede and Bingo!....facial features. It was difficult for them to attack someone they now viewed as a sentient being. They both attended the University of Avignon before embarking on illustrious careers shaping the delicate minds of future generations—or at least attempt to correct the damage inflicted MTV.

“Gabriel is taking the piss, isn’t he?” Terry said curled up on one end of Sam’s sofa. “Alison is a worthless sack of shit. The sooner we get rid of her, the better.”

“Tell me about it.” Sam shoveled another spoonful of yogurt in her mouth. “He’s serious, alright. I’m stuck with her for three months.”

“You could always sedate her. A bit a heavy sedation never hurt everyone.” He turned his attention to the television where a morbidly old anchorwoman murmured glacially. “Turn!”

Sam grabbed the remote. She and Terry stopped and looked at one another when they heard the sounds of keys turning in the front door. “Hello?” she called out. There was no answer—the door opened and closed. Seconds later Gabriel stepped into the living room.

“Hey Gabe!” Terry said brightly. “Thanks for the appointment. I….”

“Get out.” Gabriel interrupted dryly. “And don’t ever call me Gabe again.”

“Riiiight, Dr. Kelley. I’ll be on my way,” Terry stood. “Sam, dear, call me later…” he glanced quickly at Gabriel. “…if you…have…time. See ya!” He tried valiantly to slide from the house without touching, making eye contact or exchanging any unnecessary words with Gabriel and quietly closed the door behind him.

“Unless you’ve come to apologize, you can leave.” Sam heaved herself from the sofa and visibly stumbled to the kitchen. The trim of her t-shirt barely covered her butt cheeks.

“Are you drunk?” Gabriel followed.

“Unless low fat yogurt has intoxicating properties then no. You’re not worth getting drunk over.” She turned to face him when he didn’t react to her stab. His face registered a small, infinitesimal twinge of hurt. He walked back to the living room. She would’ve regretted her remark hadn’t he deserved it. She chucked her yogurt cup in the bin and placed her spoon in the sink. “You’re still here?” she asked finding Gabriel sitting on the sofa. She stood arms folded over her chest. “Well, start apologizing.”

“I’m not apologizing. I deserve an apology.” He spoke over her. “You overacted, Samantha. Your little scene in my office was unprofessional and unseemly. You acted like a spoiled child!”


“Yes, you! You thought you could use me to get what you wanted. Well I’m sorry, it doesn’t work that way! There’s a clear separation between our work and our home life. What goes on at home has nothing to do with how I run my department. I made my decision based on the funds available. The fact is your project would’ve exhausted the account—you would’ve taken every dime. And partitioning the Alumni Association for more money isn’t an option I’m willing to consider. I won’t have the department indebted to anyone. I’m sticking to my budget because donations aren’t guaranteed; putting the cart before the horse is what caused this mess. Dr. Phillips’s exhibition is half the cost of yours and my decision is final.”

Gabriel’s reasons were valid. Funding had always been a problem in their department and it had taken him months to dig them out of debt. “That still doesn’t explain why you paired me to Dr. Jacobs. Do you want me to kill her?! Is that where your twisted game is headed? Because that’s exactly what’s gonna happen if I’m forced to work with her and her blood will be on your hands.”

Despite himself he smiled faintly at her melodramatic outburst. “The Time Team dig is important.” He said smugly. “I need you and your graduate students there. It’s in the best interest of the university, the department, and you’ll walk away with more than enough money for you project.”

“What is it this time? What are Tony and the boys exploring now, the ancient ruins in Piccadilly Square?!”

“No,” Gabriel reclined and kicked his feet up on her coffee table. “A team of archaeologist will be conducting excavations at Buckingham Palace, Windsor Castle and The Palace of Holyroodhouse,” he gave a self-satisfied grin. “You, my dear, will be digging up the middle of my Queen’s lawn. Might I add that the project will cumulate into a three day live BBC event?” He chuckled at Sam’s unhinged mouth. “You can thank me now.” He beckoned her to him.

“You’re…you’re not taking the piss, are you?” Sam straddled his lap, his arms encircled her.

“No,” he retrieved the production schedule from his bag sitting beside them and handed it to her. “It’s all there. Tony asked for you specifically. He saw the work you and your students did last summer in Elba.”

Sam skimmed through the folder. “Me? My students?” she looked at Gabriel. “How did you pull this off?”

Gabriel threw up his hands. “I didn’t do anything.” That was only partially factual. In truth, Dorian had worked behind the scenes to secure her appointment in Gabriel’s absence. “I threw Dr. Jacobs in as a sweetener. If all goes to shit at Holyrood at least she’ll be eye candy for the viewers and you’ll be in England, far away from the shit storm in Scotland. Half of your team will be digging at Buckingham Palace whilst the other’s digging at Windsor Castle.”

Sam lowered her eyes bashfully. “Sorry about the whole…you know…” she waved her hand in the air. “…throwing the crystal thingy at your head and acting like a maniac”

He kissed her lower lip. “We’ll let it pass this time.” The rush of blood in his ears signaled the onset of another headache. He held Sam close then he heard “You couldn’t save her. You can’t save this one.” Gabriel put space between Sam and himself and asked, “What did you say?”

Confusion crossed Sam face. “I didn’t say anything. You’re tired.” She came to her feet. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Right…” Gabriel said as Sam left for the bedroom. His skin tingled and the hammering in his head intensified.


The gentleman stood at the bathroom sink washing up. As he dried his face he caught a glimpse on the bed behind him in the mirror. He smiled wickedly at the prostitutes blooded bodies laid strewn, ripped apart, their faces frozen in grotesque horror. There was a knock at the door. He ordered them to come in. The door opened and closed.

“Where would you like me to setup your breakfast, sir?” the maid asked.

“On the table.” He waited to hear her scream at the sight of his victims. He fed on fear…it always made the kill more interesting. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than that moment in the fight when his opponent realizes they’re about to die. In this case a helpless panic stricken maid would suffice.

The maid stepped back, covering her mouth, her eyes bulged in horror.

“Shhhh,” The gentleman walked towards her slowly. She began praying franticly as he backed her against the wall and kissed her tear soaked trembling lips tenderly. He whispered comforting words as his hand reached for the hem of her dress, raising it until his fingers brushed against her cotton panties. She gasped…he smiled and moved the fabric aside, kissing her as he stroked her clit.

“Please…I won’t tell anyone.” she pleaded her pussy became wet though she fought to resist him.

He licked her lower lip. “I know you won’t, baby.” His slick fingers circled her labia. “You like it, don’t you?” he penetrated her slit. “You’re so fucking wet.” They kissed heavily. Her fingers ran through his hair. “No one has ever played with you like this, have they?” Whether it was fear or passion, the maid’s staggered breathing excited him. His eyes never left hers; he spoke quietly as he fingered her. “Mmmm, you’re cumming on my hand.” One finger flicked her clit while the other moved between her kips. “Tell me to make you cum.” He said lowly. “Tell me, I want to hear you say it.”

Though the bodies of two women lay in plain sight, the maid rocked against his hand, her legs turned to jelly under her. “Oh God…more.”

“Can I fuck you?” He asked his hand slick with her arousal. Damn, he couldn’t wait to be inside of her. She nodded and in one swift move he ripped off their clothing; lifted her to his waist and slammed her against the wall, his cock laid waste to pussy. Her legs open, she grunted and tore at his hair.

“Go ahead, pull my hair.” His warm breath was at her neck, he plowed into her as hard and fast as he could. She gushed around his cock and begged for more. He gave it to her.

“I’m cumming,” she cried.

“Cum on my cock. It’ll be the last thing you do.”

She screamed and came, he held her ass in place as his cock released deep inside of her. She writhed and gave into him. A slash with his fingernails severed her vocal cord, quieted her cries and sealed her fate with the others. He stared into her eyes, watching the last embers of life flicker to an end.

He dropped her lifeless body to the floor and found his pants. “Time for breakfast.”


“How’s your head feeling?” Claire asked Dorian as she turned down the bed.

“Better,” he lied with a shrugged. He didn’t want to worry her. An eerie feeling, the one that he’d felt earlier, was has returned. The air around him was thick with an unidentifiable presence. Claire, going about her day as normal, hadn’t taken notice. “Claire…” he called. “Come here. I bought you something.”

“What?” she went to him. He moved her in front of him at the mirror and lifted a silver necklace affixed with a small garnet encrusted ‘K’ pendant from its box and placed it around her neck. “Dorian…” She admired the pomegranate color against her skin. “Thank you….”

“You’re welcome,” He interrupted and kissed the back of her head, his eyes never left their reflection in the mirror. “Promise me you’ll never remove it.”

“Can I take it off before I go to bed or do you expect me to sleep in it?” Claire snickered.

“Never take it off, especially when you’re asleep.”

Though his face was partial hidden, Claire knew he was serious and she didn’t question him.