Who's Lovin' You: Book One of Metamorphosis Paperback (Steamy Edition)

It's Christmas 1976 when A'Lelia Cesaire and the Black community are kicked out of the "upscale" Murray Hill Hotel on New York City's East Side. Without a venue, one of the biggest events of Black New York- the Annual Christmas Children's Presents - faces extinction. Created to celebrate the end of the Civil War, it's been a pillar of Christmas for more than a century. 

But even worse, the fallout reopens the coffins of Al's celebrated ancestors. Lies long buried and laid to rest will force the young historian to a harrowing choice. One that guarantees devastation now, or later. Either way, the consequences will long outlive her.

While Al works to revive Christmas, and protect her family, she meets an astute Memphis transplant.

Emeric MacPherson doesn't care about Al's money. Or her illustrious family name. This Christmas, he only wants one gift. Yet, after a mortifying revelation, is it a blessing or a curse? 

This Christmas, brew yourself a hot cup of love and treachery. This is the first installment of another sprawling Lula White saga.

Steamy Edition: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️/5
Clean Edition: 🌶️/5

The strobe light flashed past his eyes, illuminating their full focus on her. “No, you had it right the first time. Yeah. So tell me what I’m screwing up.” The doctor waited. His fingertips waited, perched on her waist.
“You’ve gotta pop like you love this city,” Al insisted. “Like Bronx is in you, not like you’re an outsider still flirting with it.”
His astonishment was flattering. “Hahaha! Why don’t you show this outsider what you talkin’ ’bout?”
Al considered it a moment. Could she really reveal her most intimate dance moves she only performed alone in her bedroom? That kind of brazenness had always remained locked up only for A’Lelia.
Maybe tonight, Al would take a couple of plays from her little sister’s playbook and let go.
“Y’all, give it up for Coke La Rock!” somebody declared into the microphone, introducing the breakin’ master of ceremonies.
Kool Herc broke the beat and held it while Coke La Rock started the call-and-response, and the two musical geniuses spun out a funky new cut.
Tonight was Al’s song. Closing her eyes, she gyrated her belly, popped it, and curled. The rhythm flowed across her shoulders, broke at her arms, and beat through her fingers. Her new song wasn’t really new. But feeling her song was new. A’Lelia rolled her neck and jerked it around, her bedroom groove easing out of her.
The music slowed, and Kool Herc must’ve pulled his next song from Al’s subconsciousness. Raw and sensual, neurotic, funky, electric guitar bassline streamed through the speakers and under Al’s bones. In anticipation of her favorite singer serenading her, her atoms and electrons waited. Sultry Diana Ross kicked off “Love Hangover,” the song Al had on vinyl and 8-track, not including her collector’s copies signed by the diva herself. Attending three of Diana’s concerts that year were the few actual legitimate outings Al had enjoyed. Now, the song’s electric eroticism called a new grownup version of Al out of her.
She finally opened her eyes again.
Inches from hers, Dr. McPherson’s long lashes were nearly closed, but not completely. They formed slits of blackness through which he had been studying her.
Al’s cheeks began to burn from self-awareness. She’d forgotten herself.
“You must like this song.”
Cooling herself down in this hot club would be impossible. “I must love this song.”
His breath teased Al’s temple. “The song surely loves you, too, honored to have you moving your head to it like that.” His fingertips lightly tapped on her bare back.
No expectations, no girlhood fantasies tonight. “The honor is mine.”
His hips to hers, her pelvis to his, her waist, her breasts, his chest, their breaths, all a dance of atoms and electrons shaping time.
“Dr. McPherson.” Another voice interrupted their slow, circular, easy two-step. “You must’ve gotten lost on your way to the bar. So I brought you your drink.”
Over his shoulder stood a woman about Al’s age wearing irritation that signaled something was amiss here.
Al drew back. “I didn’t kn…”
“Pam, hey.” A befuddled Dr. McPherson left outer space in his head and returned to the club, where he’d apparently forgotten somebody.