by Amiee Smith
I think this blow job is my congratulations for my offer being accepted and the sellers agreeing to Airbnb the house to me while we’re in escrow… or a thank you for the homemade vegan waffles with a berry compote I prepared for brunch that made her not miss butter… or maybe it’s an “I love you” for waiting in line with her for a fresh-pressed green juice at 8:00 a.m. after only three hours of sleep.
I groan. Lynn takes all of my dick in her mouth, bringing me closer to orgasm. If my count is correct, this will be my fifth orgasm since I arrived at her place last night for our date, but she still leads by two.
Last night, we sat on the cool Carrera Marble floors and hotboxed her bathroom because Lynn saw a stoner couple on YouTube do it. I laughed harder than I’ve laughed in years as Lynn tells me a very unsexy, but hilarious story about her waxing experience this afternoon (I thoroughly appreciated her effort with my tongue later in the evening).
Stoned out of my mind, I managed to cook my aunt’s homemade marinara sauce and vegan mushroom and spinach raviolis from scratch. When I was searching for coconut oil on Friday night, I saw a never-used pasta machine (next to an unused waffle iron) in her cabinet. My dinner had a side of steak.
We continued working through the Book of Fuckery. Two new positions and Lynn’s favorite, her on top. Sleeping in the cloud bed, aka fairy tale bed, and spooning Lynn’s banging body with the white lights glowing above our heads made the Bed Ban worth it.
“Lynn, I’m really close,” I say.
Her hands grip the base of my shaft as she works me up and down with her perfect mouth, a rapid, efficient motion that always makes my toes (literally) curl.
The doorbell rings. Maybe an Amazon delivery? (Lynn ordered a Volcano last night.) She doesn’t stop, masterfully moving her mouth over my flesh. Eyes closed, she’s completely lost in the moment of stroking, moaning, licking and sucking. (I’m the luckiest man on the planet.) Her hips rocking in time with what she’s doing with her mouth. I know she’s dripping wet, and could come with a few strokes of my fingers.
Oh, Holy Unicorn on the wall, I love this woman.
The door opens and we both freeze.
“Lynn? Baby Girl? Are you home? It’s Mom and Dad. We’re with the Willinghams, and Brit and Alex. They told us about Nick’s new place last night at the Club, so we thought we’d come up and surprise you guys today.”
Lynn lifts her head, but doesn’t remove her hands from my erection.
“Mom, shut the door! Nick and I need like, twenty minutes.”
The door shuts.
“Did she say my parents and brother…?”
An anger begins to simmer under the surface of my arousal and I flex my arms against the hold of the cuffs.
“Yes, and Brit. Welcome to my inner circle, Superstar. We’ll deal with that in like, nineteen and a half minutes. Right now, I need you to focus on orgasming or your inner asshole guy is going to ruin your day.”
Lynn gently strokes me up and down, her small brown hands a perfect contrast to the golden hue of my skin.
“Lynn, I don’t think…”
“You’re going to have to, Superstar. Do you remember what happened the last time one of us didn’t come? You had to bulldoze your life.”
She smiles up at me, her sweet eyes and thick lashes lull my inner asshole guy back into the closet where I keep him locked up.
“Take off your pants. I want to finish inside of you,” I say.
“I’d love that, but...”
“Lynn, the clock is ticking.”
She complies, her tight pussy hugging my dick in a wet embrace. She cries out. Gripping my shoulders, she sets a fast, steady pace. Not because of time constraints, but because she prefers it that way. The cuffs keep me from slowing her down. Her orgasm, as always, comes a little faster than mine. We finish with fourteen minutes to spare. She rests her forehead on my shoulder (the good one).
“Love, we gotta get going,” I say, kissing her cheek.
She sighs and disconnects from my body, moving off my lap. After unfastening the cuffs, we both pop into action like the athletes we are— putting our brunch plates in the dishwasher, picking up discarded clothing and shoes, making the bed, storing away the toy we used for position #34 (Lynn has a collection of luxury toys), stashing the bongs in the drawer, and leaving us enough time to shower together.
We stand at the mirror in the bathroom.
“Nick, we have like, two minutes left. Do you really have time to style your hair?”
Dressed in dark skinny jeans, her tan leather flats, and a white short-sleeved blouse with lemons on it, she’s applying lip gloss and wanding her eyelashes. Her hair is in a low ponytail.
“It’s my thing. If I must spend an unplanned day with our families, I at least want to feel like myself.”
Wearing royal blue chinos cuffed at the ankle, white Adidas without socks, and a white Henley, I have every intention of making my hair big enough to rival my mood.
“Okay, cranky bear. Take all the time you need. I’ll be downstairs,” she says.
Lynn puts her makeup and hair brush in the vanity drawer before kissing me on the cheek. I hear her feet patter down the stairs before she opens the door.
“Hey guys, what a surprise!” she says cheerfully, the door closing behind her.
Today, I’m grateful she’s the bigger partner.
• • •
Ten minutes later, I’m driving Lynn’s four-door blue Mini Cooper down Market Street to my house. Our parents follow behind in their black Suburban rental. Lynn’s two-year-old car, she keeps parked in the garage, only has eight thousand miles on it. I’ll probably drive her car more than she does. My brother is in the front seat. Lynn and Brit are in the back, chatting away.
“Sorry, bro. I tried to warn you Mom and Dad were flying up. I must have texted you at least ten times last night,” Alex says.
“It’s fine. Checking my phone was the last thing on my mind,” I say.
“I’m impressed you bought a house in one day. That must be some type of record for San Francisco. How did you get approved for a mortgage so quickly?” Alex asks.
“I didn’t. I’m paying cash. I showed proof of funds in my portfolio, which I want you to liquidate on Monday.”
“How much?”
“My offer was accepted at 1.8 million plus closing costs.”
“That’s going to put a dent in your investments. Are you sure you want to do that? I can reach out to my mortgage broker. Your credit score is excellent, so he’ll get you the best rate.”
“No. I wanted a fast close and cash is king. Just do as I ask,” I say.
“What are you going to do with your house in L.A.?”
“Sell it. Please handle the transaction. Roll the proceeds into my investment accounts.”
“Will do. I’ll reach out to my real estate agent on Monday. So, this is… serious?” Alex asks.
I glimpse in the rearview mirror at Lynn in her big sunglasses and lemon blouse, playfully rambling with Brit.
She’s truly sunshine.
“Completely,” I say.
CHAPTER 39:
LYNN SCOTT
“I think Claire may have a fling going on,” Brit says, strutting through Nick’s backyard.
Scanning the space, I know I’ll eventually call it my home. It’s reminiscent of his Mount Washington house, but with sweeping views of the City skyline.
“Like you and Alex have a fling going on?”
“No. Alex and I are just friends.”
“You keep saying those words and your heart might believe them.”
“Lynn, it’s really complicated, and definitely not like what you and Nick have or Jen and Jon.”
“Brit, Nick is so amazing. I never knew it could be this good.”
I look at him on the deck. He’s talking to our parents about the house and his renovation plans.
“And you’re so amazing. You deserve each other.”
“You’re sweet. How’s
your work situation?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve got some singing gigs scheduled. I should be fine until the end of the year.”
“Good. Singing is truly your talent. What’s up with Claire’s fling?”
“No clue, but there’s this pic on Twitter.”
Brit scrolls her phone before handing it to me.
“Oh Goddess!” I say, glancing at the pic.
“Right?!”
Nick approaches while Brit and I are in powwow about our friend’s new fling.
“Our parents want to have lunch. The weather is nice, so I thought it might be easier to barbeque some burgers, steaks, and veggies on the grill instead of trying to get a table. All my stuff is at your place. Do you mind if we do it there?”
“Okay. I’m a spacey hostess, but I’ll do my best. I haven’t used the grill in my backyard since before I went vegan. It may need propane.”
After dinner last night, I took Nick out to my deck and the backyard I share with Lilly. He made plans to build a fire pit and add more lighting. There are definitely perks to dating a contractor with an eye for quality design.
“Just keep pouring the wine and it’ll be all good. Let’s head back. Alex and I will run to the store.”
“Perfect. Are you feeling any better?” I ask.
“I am. What do you think of the house?”
“It’s so you. I can’t help but love it.”
Nick comes within inches of my face.
“Could you live here, Lynn?”
His eyes, serious and searching, like last night when he asked me, well, demanded I marry him.
“Superstar, it’s way too soon… or too late for that conversation,” I say, smiling.
I’m trying to lighten the mood, but his dark furrowed brow is a signal that I’m only causing him distress. I stop with the jokes and play serious.
“If… and I truly mean if, we were to have a little girl, I’d want her room to be on the north side of the house, so she can peer out over the City skyline and dream of her happily-ever-after, or at least fantasize about having a lot of fun with guys who are as good to her as you are to me.”
Nick leans down and kisses me with a tenderness that (almost) makes me want to say, “I do.”
“Guy. One guy. The right guy. I don’t want her to be…” he says.
“Like her mom? How do you think I got you, Superstar?” I say, drawing him in for a kiss that makes us both wish we were alone.
For the rest of our lives, we’ll tell the story of how Nick thought I was just some shy, smart woman.
THANK YOU FOR READING
If you’ve enjoyed this read:
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Lilly + Michael are up next:
Can an ambitious African American scientist from Detroit and a Persian billionaire from Beverly Hills negotiate their way to happily ever after?
Smart Girl Mafia Series: Book Two
Strangely Amazing
Available Summer 2018.
Find it wherever you buy books.
LET’S CONNECT
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BREAK FREE PLAYLIST
Tunes to listen to while you cook, exercise, or just chill.
(listed in the order they appear in the story)
Sugar Ray, “Fly”
Lil Jon & The East Side Boyz’s “Get Low”
Sublime, 40oz. to Freedom (album)
Warpaint, The Fool (album)
At the Drive In, Relationship in Command (album)
The Mamas and the Papas, “California Dreamin’”
Mos Def, “Mathematics”
Adele, "Send My Love (to Your New Lover)"
Black Eyed Peas, “I Gotta Feeling”
KCRW, DJ Raul Campos
Jay Z and Alicia Keys, "Empire State of Mind"
Sheryl Crow, “All I Wanna Do”
Stevie Wonder, “I Wish”
Russ, “Losin Control”
John Coltrane, “Equinox”
George Michael, “Freedom”
Pearl Jam, Vitalogy (album)
Pearl Jam, “Corduroy”
Kendrick Lamar, “Alright”
Chet Faker, “No Diggity”
Beyoncé, “Run the World (Girls)”
Adele, “Someone Like You”
No Doubt, “Hella Good”
Juanita Hall, “Bali Ha’i” from the musical, South Pacific
Miles Davis, “Someday My Prince Will Come”
Chet Faker, “Gold”
Janet Jackson, “That’s the Way Love Goes”
Janet Jackson, “You Want This”
Janet Jackson, “Any time, Any Place”
Wu-Tang Clan, “Triumph”
Wu-Tang Clan, “C.R.E.A.M”
Wu-Tang Clan, “Protect Ya Neck”
KCRW (any of the Saturday night DJs)
THANK YOU
My Amazing Mom for reading all my books. You’re truly the best.
The early beta readers.
Dae & JB.
Aunt Pat.
Rob & Christina.
The folks of 1829.
My manuscript consultant, Bijou. You always point me in the right direction. I’m blessed to work with you.
All the editors who worked on this project. I’m better because of your contributions. Special shot out to Liam— you’re a true professional.
My cover designer, Angie. Your talent and diligence are refreshing.
My formatter, Elizabeth. Thank you for making this manuscript beautiful.
The community of indie writers & content creators who share their wisdom all over the web. We’re all better because of your contributions.
JMT. Word.
K.H. I always learn something new to write about when I talk to you. You’re a godsend.
All the wellness professionals and business coaches who help me keep my mind, body & heart in the game and on purpose. 1001 multi-colored thank yous.
Lynn + Nick. You two haunted my quiet time for a year before I finally sat down to play in your world. Nick…what a gift you gave me with that first line.
The Divine. May I be of service in all ways. I’m so lucky to make art in this time and space.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
If you mixed a Jill Scott song, a 2 Dope Queens podcast, an episode of Sex and the City, and a Susan Elizabeth Phillips novel in a blender, you’d pour out Amiee Smith.
Born in Arkansas, but raised in Southern California, Amiee is a hybrid of impeccable manners and laid-back/good vibes only.
She writes smutty, interracial tales about brainy heroines and hot heroes from her dining room table in Oakland, California. Music is always playing in her apartment and there’s usually a mason jar of fresh tulips on her dresser. You can find her at www.AmieeSmith.com and @AmieeSmithBooks on Facebook & Instagram.
