As one of New Tokyo’s top entrepreneurs, everyone knows the name Lauryn Daring. I’ve got almost everything I want: money, power, respect. The only thing I’m missing is someone to share it with. It’s definitely not going to be skinny white boy Xavier Stone. He was my best friend growing up and though he may have had a crush on me when we were young, I thought that I would never be physically satisfied by a man I’d be afraid of squashing in bed.
I haven’t seen nor heard from him since he shipped out on a military transport and stationed to a planet of werewolves more than a decade ago. Now he’s coming home and the least I can do for an old friend is offer him a place to stay. He says he’s not the boy I grew up with, but I know I can trust him. If Xavier insists he still has feelings for me, I’ll be able to handle it better this time.
Or will I?
Why was it that some men, particularly white men from First Earth, always believed that black women must be in need of dick? Not just any dick per se, but theirs, of course. Take Sir Jameson Charles, a recent immigrant from First Earth. In his own mind, because he came from humanity’s birthplace, he was clearly a superior specimen.
In a place where they used to burn fossil fuels perhaps.
It didn’t matter to Sir Charles that I was a trillionaire who ran LD Holdings, one of the most prominent real estate management companies in New Tokyo, and one of the very companies he was trying to entice to partner with him in an offworld investment in an asteroid resort. It didn’t matter that he was fat, balding and had a mustache that looked like it had been glued on.
Nope. All that mattered to him was that I was 1) female and 2) black, not necessarily in that order. He kept talking to my cleavage and trying to touch my hair. If we hadn’t been at my friend’s charity event for disabled kids with children actually there, I would have run him over with a floating wheelchair. While he was distracted, I managed to dodge the fancy human servers, say my farewells to the hostess and leave the party.
I waited outside on the balcony for my aircar to arrive. I was checking my messages when I heard him behind me.
“The famous Lauryn Daring. Are you sure you don’t want to take me up on that drink?”
I quickly typed something into my phone and turned slowly with an exasperated sigh.
Sir Charles held up a bottle of scotch. It was the good stuff, the kind that came from First Earth. Huge eyebrows jumped up and down. He must have believed that to be sexy I guess, but it was actually kind of creepy.
I stepped away from him. “I’m sure.”
He ignored my clear dismissal. “Look, I’ll be honest, I’m just trying to give you a chance. I’m sure women like you don’t often get an opportunity to have some fun.”
Was he saying what I think he was saying? I lowered my screen, took off my glasses and gave him my deadliest stare. “What do you mean women like me?”
“I actually kind of find larger black women somewhat of attractive.”
Not this crap. I moved to go back inside to find someone I knew who could help me keep away from this jerk before I strangled him.
Kara Lockharte is the author of the Space Wolf Chronicles. She loves writing science fiction interracial romances blended with fantasy elements. Multicultural futuristic worlds involving big beautiful women (BBW) and and shapeshifters (werewolves, weretigers, etc) are among her favorite subjects. She lives on Planet Earth.