Break Free (Smart Girl Mafia Book 1)

by Amiee Smith

  “I haven’t been to many wineries,” I share.

  “Just wait. We will. You now live in the promised land of wine,” Lynn says, handing me the small high-tech weed device.

  “I look forward to it. How do I use this?”

  “Press the button on the top. Hold it down until the light is solid red. Click through until you reach your desired temperature. I’d say setting two or three for you. Oh, never mind, I’ll do it for you.”

  Lynn’s fingers brush against mine, shooting exhilaration throughout my body. My breath catches. I’m attracted to this woman and we’ve decided to be together, but there’s still a part of me that thinks this is all a fantasy.

  “When it turns green, inhale here,” she says, pointing to a small opening at the top of the vaporizer with her bright pink fingernail.

  The light on the Pax flashes green. I take a long draw. It’s tiny in my hand. The flavor is a little more muddled than my Volcano, but the effects hit immediately.

  “This is good, Lynn. Very good.”

  “I know. Right?”

  With her wine glass in hand, she walks over to the sofa. I follow.

  “Alexa, play the ‘janet.’ album by Janet Jackson,” Lynn says.

  “That’s the Way Love Goes” sounds. Lynn’s speakers aren’t a sonic head-trip like mine, but the music fills the space effectively. Silence hangs between us as we enjoy the wine-n-weed moment. My high hits and I break the silence.

  “Why don’t you want to have a kid?” I ask.

  “Wow. We’re going there?” Lynn removes her boots and sits cross-legged on the sofa. “My ADHD makes pregnancy and nursing more challenging. I’d have to manage my symptoms without any medication. What about you?”

  I hit my Pax before responding.

  “I can be an asshole. Mean. Argumentative. It’s a Willingham man thing. We’ve all settled down with age, but I don’t want to pass it down.”

  “I bet if we were in couples counseling, the therapist would say we’re making our decision to not parent out of fear,” she says, her admission surprising.

  “Probably. My fear would be alleviated by having a girl,” I smile.

  “Girls can be argumentative. I’ve been an asshole recently,” Lynn says, smiling back at me.

  “You and Brit good?”

  I kick off my shoes and stretch out my legs. It’s nice to relax on her home turf.

  “Yeah. She’s my heart. I guess we have to always be good.”

  “Like me and my brother.”

  Another silence passes between us. Janet Jackson’s “You Want This” plays in the background.

  “Nick, you need to have a little more wine and read the Bed Ban.”

  I retrieve my phone from the countertop. Returning to the sofa, I sip the red, full-bodied, jammy liquid and read the text.

  Friday, 8:36 p.m.

  Lynn Scott: The Official Bed Ban is as follows:

  No sexual intercourse.

  Phone sex okay. (In Italian is always well-received.)

  All oral sex is limited to once a week or special occasions (i.e. birthdays, some holidays and you passing your architecture licensing exam) and must follow a real date.

  Finger play in all forms is okay.

  Toys and bondage are divine.

  Kissing above the waist is always okay.

  Sleepovers are fine (but no sleeping together in the cloud bed aka my fairy tale bed until the ban is lifted).

  Massage is always excellent.

  This ban will be lifted when you have secured your own place to live… with a bed.

  Lynn’s Bed Ban is basically a how-to for an adult make-out sesh. I don’t meet her gaze and instead drop a text.

  Friday, 9:42 p.m.

  Nick Willingham (dream guy/boyfriend?): I will agree to the terms of the Bed Ban with the following amendments: Sexual intercourse will resume as soon as I’m in escrow. The Bed Ban will be completely lifted when I receive my keys, even if my bed has not been delivered. Agreed?

  “Go get your phone,” I say, hitting send.

  Getting up, Lynn hurries down the hallway. I hear eagerness in the pattering of her feet.

  Friday, 9:45 p.m.

  Lynn Scott: Agreed. I guess the only question now is… Does tonight count as a real date?

  Friday, 9:45 p.m.

  Nick Willingham (Super-Hot Boyfriend): No, my horny girl. Tomorrow. Dinner. Can I stay over through Monday morning? I’m flying back to L.A. after work and will be there until the end of the week.

  Friday, 9:45 p.m.

  Lynn Scott: YES. A full week? I just got you back. [sad face emoji]

  After several minutes, Lynn saunters into the living area carrying a black towel, Sustain PostPlay Wipes, and a 5 or 6-inch girthy, ribbed, light purple dildo that curls at the tip.

  “Tell me,” I command, peering up at her from the sofa.

  “The wipes are because I can’t use my mouth when you come, the vibrator is because I want to come, and the towel is for how wet my orgasm may get after you stimulate my g-spot,” Lynn says, her eyes focused on mine.

  “How wet?”

  “Squirt wet.”

  “Get the cuffs and the eye mask.”

  Delight paints her face. She dashes down the hallway. Removing my belt and dress shirt, I leave on my white undershirt and dim the lights. I press the button to ignite the fireplace and carry the wine glasses and vaporizers to the kitchen.

  Lynn returns wearing purple lace boy shorts with a matching bra and an open short silky black robe. She drops the cuffs and the mask on the counter and fills two water glasses. We stand on either side of the island, hydrating.

  “How does it work?” I ask.

  Lynn will be blindfolded and cuffed. I want to know exactly what to do beforehand.

  “Press the red button at the bottom to turn it on. Use the plus and minus buttons to choose a speed. You can test the vibration settings on your nose. Halfway in strokes my g-spot. Pushed all the way in, I’ll feel the vibes everywhere. Thrust at the pace of your choice. You know I prefer hard and fast, but this toy makes slow and steady really fantastic too.”

  “And we’re going to do all of this on the sofa?”

  “Nick?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “A bit, but I still want to do it,” I say, my statement layered with meaning.

  Lynn puts down her water glass and ties her robe before walking around to stand in front of me. She’s moving with a confidence and grace I find so incredibly intriguing. Sexy.

  Lynn cups my face with her soft hands, drawing me forward for a kiss.

  CHAPTER 35:

  LYNN SCOTT

  I love kissing Nick. I love touching his face. I love the muscles flexing in his jaw as he slants his mouth over mine. I love his five-o’clock shadow nipping at the corner of my lips. Right now, I’m all love, kissing his apprehension away.

  He tastes like man. I nibble at Nick’s bottom lip before sweeping my tongue into his mouth. Standing on my tip-toes, I desperately try to deepen the kiss. His body relaxes and my super strong warrior comes out to play, lifting me onto the thick white stone countertop.

  Nick’s fingers roam over my thighs. I stop him, bringing his hands to my waist. If it were any other night, I already would be all over him. But for now, I want this to be a slow burn kiss fest. Tonight, our lips will tell the story of our bodies until we’re both dizzy and faint with longing. He moves his hands away from my waist and runs them up and down my back. His fingertips tease my skin through the thin fabric of my robe.

  “Let’s take this off,” Nick says.

  He reopens my robe and pushes it off my shoulders. In the spirit of fairness, I lift the hem of his undershirt, motioning him to raise his arms. He’s the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Known. Once his shirt is deposited on the floor, Nick unfastens my bra, freeing my tits. I nibble and suck at his neck, shoulders and chest, savoring the taste of his skin. I return to his mouth for another
ravenous tongue kiss. Nick pulls away, cradling my face in his hands.

  “You’re so soft and sexy, Lynn. Why weren’t you my girl in high school?” he asks, searching my face.

  “Because you probably would have gotten me pregnant in the back seat of your 4Runner,” I say.

  Senior year, I had countless study hall fantasies of making out with him in his black SUV.

  “And tonight, we’d have a fifteen-year old sleeping upstairs while we’re downstairs making out in the laundry room,” Nick says.

  His vision is so appealing, even if it means he’s not an Olympian and I’m not a full-time writer. Love so good that striving becomes less of a necessity.

  “I want you inside of me,” I say.

  Nick sucks down my neck to the tip of my nipples. He works his tongue over each of my tight buds. I reach for the button of his pants, but Nick’s powerful hands cover mine.

  “No, my horny girl. We have a Bed Ban in effect. I plan to make every bit of your wicked fantasy come to life.”

  He lifts me, easing my feet to the floor. I pause. My eyes search his. Holy Unicorn, he gets it. The great Nick Willingham understands how my real life intersects with my imagination and dreaming is equally as fun as doing. More so, he’s down to play along.

  Walking over to the sofa, I spread out the towel. Nick’s heat warms my wet nipples as I turn to face him, the leather cuffs in his hand. I extend my arms. My inner sex nerd backflips with excitement.

  “Lay down, amore.”

  I sit, flattening my back against the soft, thick towel and bending my knees. The Island Sweet Skunk is working its magic. Every sensation, titillating and fantastic. Nick pushes the coffee table away from the sofa and kneels beside me, securing the cuffs around my wrists. He pulls the eye mask from his pocket, slipping it around my head.

  “Where’s your lube?”

  “I threw it out last month when I went on a Feng Shui bender. I read a story where the main characters used coconut oil as lube. It’s in the cabinet next to the stove,” I say from behind the eye mask.

  Nick opens cabinets and drawers. What’s he up to? He returns. I feel his weight on the cushion at my feet. He takes off my underwear and runs a single finger down my slit. I lift my hips in anticipation of him doing it again, but he doesn’t.

  “Damn, I want to suck your clit.”

  “You’re the one who said tonight is not a date,” I say, hoping he’ll change his mind.

  “It is, but tomorrow will be a real date. Savor the Bed Ban, Lynn. I’m going to spend the rest of forever fucking you every way I can.”

  I moan in praise of his declaration and my mind races with images of being bent over, suspended, on my side. The rumble of the vibrator interrupts my thoughts.

  “Test it on your nose.”

  I hear Nick cycle through the speeds.

  “Damn, a dude has to be on his game to compete with this.”

  “Superstar, I’d take your hand or mouth or dick over a vibrator… most days.”

  Nick laughs. “Most days, huh?”

  “Even superstars can’t beat efficiency,” I say, giggling.

  I feel the pressure of the vibrator against my opening, the smell of coconut oil in the air. I moan. Nick slowly works it inside. He’s more tentative than usual.

  “Nick, if you could break my pussy, the night on your table would have done it.”

  That does the trick. Nick moves the vibrator in and out of me with the haste I crave. He opts for a lower speed and deep thrusts, leaving me on the brink, but not enough to toss me into la la land.

  “Nick…please,” I say, lifting my pelvis to find that spot.

  “Rest your hips flat, love.”

  I do as he says. Nick pushes in and pulls all the way out, the ridges of the vibrator gliding all over my sex. The curved tip strokes my glorious spot again and again. This is so good.

  A wet, gushing sound between my legs hums along with Janet Jackson’s “Anytime, Anyplace.” Nick increases the vibration speed and shallowly pumps in and out of me. Rapidly.

  “Oh. My. Nick,” I say.

  My body quivers in a series of almost-orgasms and it’s difficult to keep my legs spread. With my hands cuffed, I have nothing to brace myself against the waves of pleasure. I lift my leg closest to him and rest my foot on his shoulder (the good one). Not only can he see all of me, but the tip of the vibrator is hitting the perfect point inside. I press my foot against him, thrusting my hips.

  “Fuck, Lynn.”

  “Yes, Nick. Forever. Just you.”

  Nick twists the vibrator a bit and I explode. Each contraction of my pussy expels and squirts fluid, soaking the towel. I hear him say something in Italian through my ragged breathing.

  My orgasm subsides. I remove my foot from his shoulder. Nick withdraws the vibrator; my petite legs clasp his muscular arm. The rumbly vibration sound disappears.

  “That was sublime,” I say.

  There is something cool between my legs. Nick is using a wipe to clean me up.

  “You’re perfection, Superstar.”

  “No. I’m not. The need to be inside you is getting the best of me. I’m going to undo the cuffs and I want you to walk directly to your bedroom and shut the door. I will clean up here and leave. Tomorrow, I’ll find a place to live and fuck you all over this flat.”

  “Nick, call tonight a date. Let me use my mouth. Navigating the SF real estate market can take some time.”

  “No. Please do as I ask.”

  I lift my arms in submission, he unfastens the cuffs. Removing the eye mask, I find Nick standing on the other side of the coffee table, his back to me. My dude is serious. Which only makes me want to dump the Bed Ban so I can ride him to orgasm.

  “Nick...”

  “Lynn, please. This is my pleasure too.”

  Oh, Holy Unicorn. Nick values his competitiveness, patience, and pleasure above all. He uses those qualities like the soft leather restraints that were just on my wrists. This is a game as much to him as it is to me. Waiting until tomorrow is an erotic cherry on top of his inevitable orgasm. Goddess, I love this man. Wait. It’s still too soon for that. I like this man… a lot.

  “See you tomorrow, Superstar.”

  I practically (actually) skip my way down the hallway. Reaching the threshold of my bedroom, Nick calls to me.

  “Lynn?”

  “Yes, Nick?”

  “Only for me. Forever,” he says.

  “Nick. My Nick. There has only ever been you.”

  I shut the door.

  CHAPTER 36:

  NICK WILLINGHAM

  “Nick, Michael has told me what you’re looking for, but I want to review so we maximize our time for this first group of showings,” says Heidi, the real estate agent.

  “I want to get an offer accepted today,” I say.

  Michael, Heidi and I are sitting on an outdoor patio at a breakfast spot in Pacific Heights. It’s an unusually warm day in the City. Both Michael and I are in dress shirts, slacks, and sunglasses, while Heidi is in a hippy-dippy tank top and jeans. Her outfit reminds me of something Lynn might wear.

  Lynn— my beautiful, sexy, incredibly fun girlfriend— is a handful. I arrived at Michael’s house last night and checked my phone to find not one, but two, naked, Tumblr-worthy selfies of her in the cloud bed with a message: “Please enjoy. Then delete. YES! I’m totally throwing the kitchen sink of fuckery at you. [red heart emoji] (Only you have received pics like this from me. Ever.)”

  “I’m not sure how they do it in L.A., but generally in the City they prefer to review all the offers before making a decision,” Heidi says.

  “Perfect. Those are properties I don’t need to see. I want a fast close.”

  “Michael said you may need to sell your home in L.A. and put the proceeds toward your purchase. Getting a contingency offer accepted is very challenging without time constraints. We’ll still need to talk to a mortgage broker for the difference. Nick, I don’t think we can get this done to
day,” Heidi says.

  “I’m prepared to pay up to 1.8 million, all cash. Ten-day close. Let’s get it done.”

  “Well, okay. Let’s get it done. To review, you want a single-family home. Two or three bedrooms with two bathrooms, outdoor space, and bonus areas for a gym and writing studio. Move-in ready, but it doesn’t have to be your taste because you’ll renovate it. Have I missed something?”

  “You got it. Ten-day close.”

  “Are you a writer?”

  “No, his girlfriend is,” Michael chimes in.

  “I’m a partner in an architecture and construction firm,” I say, relishing my new title.

  “Explains why you’re open to renovations.”

  “I will renovate anywhere I live. It’s my thing. But I don’t want to have to renovate immediately.”

  “Got it. Give me a moment. I know of a property that may work. Let me reach out to a colleague.”

  Heidi leaves the table.

  “Man, you’re really going for it,” Michael says.

  “Overkill?”

  Not that I care. I want what I want.

  “No. I like it. You’re going to get a deal done today. Heidi may seem all Bay Area spacey, but she’s totally money-motivated. Must I ask… why the urgency?”

  “I’m ready to start my life.”

  “Because of your job or Lynn?”

  “Both.”

  “Oh, I know what’s going on.”

  “What?”

  “Listen, we haven’t been friends for long, but you gotta tell her.”

  “Tell her what? She knows everything,” I say.

  “That you’re in love with her.”

  • • •

  “It’s a pocket listing. My colleague says the owners are very eager to sell, but they were hoping to avoid the fanfare of the market. Potrero Hill is very desirable right now. We’re half a mile from UCSF Mission Bay where they have a rooftop Olympic-sized swimming pool. If you’re interested, the owners are willing to review your offer today. It’s a little more than you wanted to pay. If you go in with a strong offer, we can get it done.”

  “How much more?” I ask.

  The two-thousand-square foot Arts and Craft home is a good space with some original features and high-end updates. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a garage big enough for a gym area, and bonus attic space with a large window overlooking the City that could be converted into an area for Lynn to write. I’ll eventually renovate all of it, but in the short run it works perfectly.