Interracial Erotica -
Amended End
By Alice Sturdivant
Published on May 26, 2009
Letting go was proving harder than Alice and Michael expected. What was suppose to be the end of their relationship hadn't been. One last time was all either of them needed....or was it?

Amended End

The phone was finally ringing; and she knew who it was before she even picked it up.


"I’m sorry; I couldn't make it last night...There was this thing..."

She twisted the phone cord in her fingers and frowned. Grief coiled in her throat, but she let her disappointment shape the next words. "Bullshit, Michael. Don't lie to me. You haven't lied to me before; don't start now."

There was silence on the other end of the phone, then his voice, wounded. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She was fighting tears now, looking up at the ceiling. "All things come to an end, right? We both knew..."

"I don't want to lose you..." His voice was breaking up.

"Michael...? Michael?"

The knock at the door, insistent, gave him away. "Let me in, Allie.... Please...I have to..."

She was livid. "You have to what!?" Half-screaming, she yanked open the familiar crimson door. Her hair was disheveled, half up, half down; her usually pulled-together outfit had been exchanged for a washed-with-something-red pink t-shirt emblazoned with a Coca-cola logo. Shapely caramel thighs emerged from the frayed hem. She was barefoot, the crimson polish of her toenails her only nod to her previous role as the woman who'd seduced his senses, made him mad with lust with her intricate costuming once upon a time.

She looked at him, fists curled into empty brown threats, makeup-free eyes flat and so very, very sad.

"Go back to her." The voice that greeted him was cold -- and that frightened him even more than the angry screams she'd opened the door with. She leaned against the doorjam, trying to block his way in.

"I..." He was pleading.

Those eyes, she thought. Those eyes slid across every inch of me and I did everything he wanted...he did everything I wanted too......She was shocked to feel tears on her lips.

"Oh,'t." His arms slid around her, his skin slick from the still-humid night. The cell-phone clattered, ignored, to the floor. God, she felt so good.... nothing was under that shirt, nothing but her naked skin, her nipples, her pussy.... he remembered how she'd tasted on his fingers that first time in his apartment: thick and heady and sweet and musky....he couldn't get enough of her. And now, thanks to her uncle and that damned nosy private detective and his ex-fiancée he would have to get enough of her. He'd have to. Forever. One last time....

He was saying it aloud. "One last time..."

She wanted to kill him. She wanted to kiss him. Looking into his eyes like this, in her doorway, the decision was made. The last time. Alice licked her lips and nodded, brushing her cheek against the rough new growth of honey-colored beard on his cheek.

He pushed her inside, kicking the door closed, stripping off his clothes, tearing at the delicate buttons of his dress-shirt. She stood, dumb in front of him, the light from the kitchen illuminating his chest and his torso...and when he'd shoved down his slacks, his briefs...he stood before her, a golden idol, marvelously his socks. She smiled at the ludicrousness of it, the juxtaposition of it -- a god in socks -- but it was soon forgotten when he held out his hand and suddenly she couldn't bear all the space between them.

The shirt was carelessly thrown across the room, barely making it to the couch and landing on the hardwood floor instead. Her nipples were hard already for him, plump berries his tongue would always remember...he bent his head to taste them, savoring the texture on his lips. She sighed against him and rubbed against him impatiently.

"Inside me.... I need..."

He nodded and kissed her roughly. No words could tell her -- anger, regret, love..... His tongue slipped over lip, tasting, coaxing, then met with hers to mate, moving back and forth over and over: rote memorizing her mouth. The knowledge that this was the last time making him greedy. He sucked on her tongue and kneaded the soft flesh of her ass. She was almost climbing up his body in eagerness.

"Alice..." was all he could manage before turning with her and pushing her back against the wall, lifting her hips, spreading her legs, and entering her smoothly, hard. "Ah, God...Alice..."

"Yesssss..." her breath came out in a hiss and they were bucking together, frantic, impatient. Michael’s left hand was braced against the wall, the other holding her thigh high on his hip, spreading her open while he pistoned against her. She held on to his shoulder, his back, nails digging into him. She wanted to mark him.

The little half-moons of pain spurred him on; he was glad he’d have marks later. Something to remember her by. It wasn’t enough. “Harder, honey…harder,” She dug in, and he did too, lifting her off her feet, using the wall as leverage so they could both obey his command. He felt her coiling all around him: her slick core, her fingers on his shoulders, her thighs on his hips, her impending absence around his heart, squeezing painfully. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of their sex, her moans. Locking away the memory.

She came with a loud cry; surely her neighbors outside the half-shut door could hear her....The thought sent him over the edge and he slumped against her, hips still pumping, slower now. She was still coming, her slickness fluttering around his cock. They remained still for a moment...two....five...? Just breathing, holding, relishing the feel of being in each other's arms, panting and the smell of their sex wafting around them to be remembered, held in dreams, regrets.

"Alice...." What could he say? He could feel her slipping from him, her warmth, her cocooning comfort easing away.

"Thank you." the flat voice again. She wanted him gone before she could shame herself by begging, pleading for him to stay.

"Alice..." Plaintive now. He had no such shame.

But she was pushing him away, closing herself to him, drawing her legs together and folding her arms. He stood looking at her, wishing he didn't have to leave. He wanted to explain. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was, how he was leaving to start over again, not deserting her, that what everyone was surely saying wasn’t true. He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, that he would give up everything he had for her, that he didn’t give a fuck that he was white and she was black. He wanted to tell her that he wanted to be inside of her again, with her again, love her. All that came out was, “I wish I could stay.”

Alice nodded, smiled ruefully and made her way to her bathroom, stumbling slightly by her couch, ass bobbling slightly with the movement. She was careful not to look back.

"Goodnight, Michael.” The dismissal was so soft, like the memory her voice would soon become.

He gathered up his clothes and put them on slowly, trying to keep his eyes off the discarded t-shirt on the floor lest he scoop it up and keep it. His keys jangled in his pockets when he put them on, reminding him of where he was supposed to be.

The tears didn't come until she shut and locked door behind him. He could hear her latch the door as he walked away, though he could hear her sob even through the red door, he knew that he was barred from her....for good.