Space Between (Smart Girl Mafia Series: Book 3)

by Amiee Smith

  “Oh, yeah and so much more. Good thing school is over for you, because you’re not going to be able to think straight come Monday.”

  Cupping his face with my hands, I cover his mouth with mine. An intense kiss to send the message: I’m all in.

  At least for this weekend.

  ***

  On my back. Legs spread. Knees bent. I’ve been in this position for hours. Warm sunshine pours through the window in my bedroom casting a golden glow over the bed.

  Alex’s tongue circles my clit. Continuous. Fluid. Just enough pressure applied to the spot. That spot.

  “Oh. Right there. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” I moan.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, my body convulses with pleasure. Dragon relentlessly sucks and licks my sex. I’ve always known he was a giver, but now I really know.

  Oh, how I know. Hour after hour. Orgasm after orgasm. Each blissful moment fades into the next. I wish he were mine. I wish...

  He drags his mouth away. “Come for me, pretty girl.”

  “Yes. Yes, daddy. Yes.”

  I press my palm into his head and thrust my hips against his mouth. He grips my thighs, holding me in place. He’s so strong. All 5’10 of me feels so... delicate.

  Alex eats my pussy like it is nourishment. Like it’s giving him life. He licks. And sucks. And licks. And sucks. Over and over. Increasing speed. Decreasing speed.

  It’s like his tongue is the rhythm section of the band. Keeping time. Maintaining harmony. Waiting for the melody to erupt.

  So, like, I love eating and music and fashion. It’s the woman I am.

  Can I add Alex going down on me to the list of what I love?

  No. Because if I do, I may not be able to uncouple the man from his tongue. I’ve learned to engage and disengage what I love at will. It’s taken practice (and a stint in rehab) to maintain some sense of control.

  I’m not sure I can control my reaction to him, or his pussy-eating mouth. I’m not sure I can engage and disengage at will.

  A pressure builds between my trembling legs. My clit throbs for relief. Alex lifts my hips higher. He tongues my nub so intensely I could just die from pleasure overload. Nothing is supposed to feel this good.

  My orgasm builds and builds, I cry out; my voice a lower octave than usual. I shimmy and jiggle against his mouth. Wild. Unfettered. I dig my nails into the back of his head. Alex groans against my clit. His deep, long guttural sound vibrates my center. A sound so sexy, so masculine, so natural, I come apart; a glorious crescendo all over my husband’s face.

  Even as my body contracts and surrenders, Alex continues to bathe my clit. My inner thigh drips with wetness, leaving the sheet damp. Our relationship, in life and in bed, a sloppy mess. And I... just want to stay here.

  He does too.

  There is no break for a little nosh (umm, pancakes and bacon with a side of bagel, lox, capers, and super thick cream cheese would be fabulous). No pause for a few sips of water. No time to catch my breath. Alex pushes my knees to my chest and tongues my pucker (yes, that pucker).

  “Oh, daddy. That is so dirty,” I coo.

  “Dirty good, right?” Alex mutters between vehement licks.

  “Yes. Yes. Am I pleasing you, Dragon?”

  Alex releases his hold on my legs and sits up on his knees.

  “Brittney, I don’t have the words to explain how much you are pleasing me. Flip over,” he commands, tapping the side of my thigh with his hand.

  There is no time to think. I do as I am told, turning over onto my shaky knees. I shift my curly hair to one shoulder before kneeling forward on my forearms. I expect to feel his mouth again, but instead his very hard cock at the opening of my aching, craving pussy.

  “Alex, we’re out of condoms.”

  “I know. I’ll use the pull-out method. I looked it up on the Planned Parenthood website last night. It’s 77% effective.”

  “But that’s if you time it perfectly. You’re out of practice.”

  “Do you trust me, pretty girl?” he asks.

  Alex rubs his tip from my opening to my clit and back again. Clit. Opening. Clit. Opening. Each stroke hypnotizes me with pleasure. My center slick and needy. My husband is a persuasive salesman and right now, he’s using his dick to close the deal.

  “Yes, I trust you, Dragon. Always.”

  He grunts and pushes his bare cock all the way inside with a definitive urgency. Pausing for a moment, we both moan as my sex stretches to receive him.

  “Oh, my... that’s... that’s...”

  “Amazing,” Alex concludes.

  He presses his wide palm into my back, guiding my chest all the way down. Extending my arms forward, my nipples graze the warm fabric of the sheet. His fingertips feather down my spine and I shiver. There’s tenderness in his touch... until there’s not.

  Gripping my hips with both hands, Alex pulls his dick out to the tip before smashing back inside. Over and over. Continuous. Rhythmic. Pounding. My flower is so long gone and replaced with a wanton cunt only my husband’s cock can appease. With each thrust, my lady muscles clinch his thickness.

  Our fourth round of intercourse is intense and fast. And still, Alex increases speed.

  The constant friction feels so fantastic, I forget to breathe. Tears form at the corner of my eyes. This is the highest form of pleasure. Skin smacking skin, our bodies applaud in complete reverence.

  I know he’s so close, but I’m not ready for this to end. Mid-performance, I call for a different tune.

  “Slow it down, Dragon,” I say, my voice deep and breathy. Strong.

  And Alex does what he’s told. No hesitation. No negotiation. In a graceful expression of his agility, he transitions into the pace of a heartfelt ballad. Long sensuous cock strokes acknowledge every groove of my sex. My hips sway with him. In. Out. In. Out.

  Reaching around, his middle fingers strum my swollen nub. I cover Alex’s wet fingers with my own, forcing him to rub the exact spot in the exact way I want. The sensation I crave, the sensation I long for, swells in my center. Almost orgasming, but never fully there.

  “God, Brit....” Alex utters in a low groan.

  “I know. Amazing.”

  We stay this way for a while. Fully aroused. Swinging back and forth. Drenched with perspiration. Rocking our bodies to climax. Nearly fatigued. Suspended in the bridge of our slow song. An almost nine-year-long tune only we can hear.

  And I can’t stand it anymore.

  “Finish, Dragon.”

  “Not until you do.”

  “I’m not sure I can.”

  “Is your toy charged?”

  “Yes. Yes, daddy.”

  Alex withdraws his cock, leaving the bed to retrieve my Magic Wand from the nightstand drawer. I continue to finger my clit awaiting our reprise. Without the pressure of his dick, I easily find my orgasmic spot. I moan with sweet relief.

  “Stop, Brittney. After almost nine years of a no-sex marriage, this weekend is for me,” Alex says, repositioning himself at my opening.

  “You could have tried more... to be with me,” I say, thoughtlessly.

  I want to tell Alex he could have bought me flowers. Told me I’m the “one.” Or simply say he thinks I’m beautiful and wants to get to know me. Not as my fake husband, or boss, or student, but just a boy wanting a girl. A man wanting a woman.

  But that’s not Alex. He’s just a privileged white dude trying to do the right thing with his poor brown weirdo wife he married for money. This is all a farce. Just one big game of make-believe.

  “Wh...wh...wh...” Alex stutters from behind me.

  He only stutters when he’s nervous or pissed. Maybe all this starting and stopping, speeding up and slowing down, is killing the vibe? I’m killing the vibe. He’s been good to me. He deserves this. I deserve the opportunity to please him the way he pleases me.

  “Let’s skip the Magic Wand,” I say, turning around to face him.

  In the light of day, with the sun cascading over his naked mus
cular body and gorgeous face, he’s breathtaking. Alex has always been handsome, like really, he’s a Willingham. But this morning, he’s perfect.

  Lifting on to my knees, I wrap my arms around him. My body melds with his body. His erection pokes at my tummy. My pierced nipple meets the dragon tattooed on his left pec. He smells like sex and me and me and sex and a refreshing scent, that is uniquely him, which for years permeated every part of my life.

  In probably the not-so-distant future, he’ll have a new wife. A woman he loves and cherishes. A pretty, well-behaved woman. And he’ll do anything to make her happy... gifts that’ll make her squeal with delight, a big house in a lux neighborhood, afternoons in bed, and regularly eating her pussy while telepathically telling her how obsessed he is with her.

  I am not that girl. I’ll never be that woman. I’m not a pretty girl.

  I’m just a messy weirdo with a big voice and a bionic brain.

  “Lie on your back,” I say, taking my vibrator from his hand and tossing it to the side.

  Alex is quiet as he settles into the center of the bed. He often stops talking after a stutter. In the past, I unconsciously used those moments to get my way... a pair of shoes, an instrument, a coat, a dog, a Saturday afternoon of food delivery and binge-watching documentaries of my choice on Netflix in bed at the mansion. And he’d oblige, grunting and handing me his debit card.

  Now, I don’t want any more stuff. I just want company. Company that truly wants to be with me. (Though, I’ll never say no to Manolos.)

  I wrap my hand around Alex’s cock, massaging the underside of his shaft with my thumb.

  “So, Dragon, I’m going to give you the messiest, dirtiest, sloppiest blow job ever. Then I’m going to order pancakes and bacon and bagels and lox, and while we wait, we’ll eat empanadas and listen to KCSM. What do you think?”

  Alex grunts his approval, palming my breasts and teasing my taut nipples.

  I suck my husband off so well, Lynn would cheer and give me a standing ovation.

  CHAPTER 17

  ALEX WILLINGHAM

  I awake a little after 2:00 p.m. in Brit’s bed. After eating a huge breakfast, I convinced my wife to sit on my face while I ate her. Now less reluctant to engage my fetish, my wife heaved and thrusted her way to orgasm all over my nose, mouth, and chin. We both fell asleep after that.

  Well-rested, I’m ready to talk. Rolling over, I reach for her, but she’s gone. I put on my glasses and get out of bed. I retrieve my underwear and shorts from the floor near the foot of the bed. In less than 24 hours, I’ve started to create my own puddles in Brit’s space.

  Walking down the hall to the living room is agony. Every muscle in my body aches with fatigue. Our sex marathon has got me longing for a Gatorade, followed by a hot shower and massage.

  Maybe Brit will be into spending the evening in recovery with me?

  I find my wife sitting on the white carpet in the living room wearing a partially open purple kimono, no bra, and an old pair of my gray sweatpants that went missing eight months ago. Her dark curly hair hangs around her torso. She holds a thick blue Sharpie in her right hand, writing in a spiral sketchpad. She’s surrounded by sheet music, two of the guitars I bought her, and the MacBook Pro I gave her last summer to write her dissertation.

  She speaks without looking up at me. “I took Miz Pepper out and ordered Gatorade and snacks from Amazon Now. There is a Cool Blue in the refrigerator for you.”

  “The low sugar one?”

  “Yep.”

  I love how well she knows me.

  I go to the kitchen, retrieving my beverage from the French door stainless steel refrigerator. The space is orderly and the light scent of lemon cleaner hangs in the air. All the takeout containers have been discarded. The dishwasher hums with a load.

  The Brit I once knew would have let the mess pile up until it became a half day project just to get it clean. It’s one of the reasons I hired a housekeeper for the mansion.

  Returning to the living room, I sit on the floor next to her.

  “What are you working on? I thought the semester was over?”

  “Yeah, it’s done. I’m working on the setlist for my show tonight. I have to email it to everyone before 3:00 p.m.”

  “I forgot about the show. How do I buy a ticket?”

  “You don’t buy a ticket. It’s a private event space in SF, a converted warehouse owned by a group of tech kids. You have to be invited. Unfortunately, the performers can’t do the inviting.”

  “There has to be a guest list?”

  “No, Toto, you are not in L.A. anymore. You need a QR code to get in.”

  “Who do I need to call? How much do I need to spend?”

  Brit glances up from her setlist.

  “Alex, this isn’t something you can throw money at. Celebrity doesn’t even work in the Bay Area. Jen tried a few months ago. She threatened to trash the owners on social if they didn’t give her and all the Mafia + Men QR codes. They threatened to launch a bot attack on her Instagram account. She thinks Instagram is her ticket back to stardom, so she surrendered. It’s a bummer, though. I’d love for the girls to see my performance. This is the last show of the spring Friday night concert series. They haven’t invited me back for the summer. Emma has a QR code because she knows how to speak Bay Area and can talk her way into anything. I dropped her a text to see if you could have hers for tonight, but I haven’t heard back. I’m shocked she hasn’t been blowing up my phone to ask if I still have my flower. The stage manager for the venue is a Mills girl. If I don’t reach Emma, I’ll drop a text to her to see if I can add you to my crew. You may have to carry some equipment and look busy, but you’ll get to see my set.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Focus on your setlist. What time is the show?”

  “Doors open at 7:00. I go on at 9:15.”

  “What’s the name of the venue?”

  “The Open Source House in the Outer Mission.”

  “I’ll make some calls,” I say, getting up and heading to the bedroom to get my phone.

  “Alex?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I like this gig. It pays way more than I would ever make in L.A. If you get to go, you’ll see that nothing like this would ever exist there. They treat me and my band well. You can drop my name, but please don’t piss anyone off. The tech kids run the Bay. Play by their rules.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  ***

  If this were L.A., I’d have a database of people who know people who could get me on a list in a moment’s notice. But this is the Bay Area.

  Sitting on the edge of Brit’s unmade bed, I consider all my options: I could not go. I could just get a QR code for myself. I could just get five QR codes for the girls.

  I opt for the latter.

  I want to make Brit happy. I want the girls to know I’m trying to do right by her. I want to be a part of the group again.

  Scrolling my contacts, I dial the one person I know who may have some major influence in this march-to-the-beat-of-their-own-drum area. The phone rings twice. A deep voice comes across the line, brisk English with only the slightest hint of Farsi at its edge.

  “Alex.”

  “Michael.”

  “Are you coming to Jon’s tonight for poker? The girls are going to dinner, so you don’t have to worry about the wrath of Jen.”

  “No, man. I’m in Oakland. At Brit’s.”

  “Hold on.” I hear movement on the other end and an exchange between Michael and his wife, Lilly in Farsi. “Alex, I’m going to put you on speaker,” he says.

  Lilly’s deep, genteel voice comes across the line. “Michael says you’re at Brit’s house. I know this is a personal question, but did anything happen between the two of you?”

  “Yes, it’s personal, but I assume you’ll find out eventually. We were intimate.”

  “Like flower smashing intimate?” Lilly asks.

  “Yes.”

  There is a brief pause before the sound of t
hem cheering and high-fiving blares through the phone.

  “Yes!!! We won!!”

  “I told you the crystal would work!” I hear Michael say.

  “What did you guys win?!” I snap.

  Lilly’s deep voice sparkles with glee.

  “So, there was a bet going as to how Brit would lose her virginity. Michael and I, Jon, and Dana thought it would be you. Nick, Lynn, and Claire thought Brit would hook up with some guy one time and she’d be so disappointed she’d go back to you. Jen wasn’t involved. You probably know why.”

  “What was the bet?”

  “$5,000 to charity.”

  “Well, it needs to go to one of Brit’s charities. Greenpeace. Send it to Greenpeace,” I respond curtly.

  “You are absolutely right. We will send it to Greenpeace. The bet was totally immature and meddlesome,” Lilly replies.

  Michael’s voice comes through the phone.

  “Yes. Yes. Everything Lilly said. But it feels so good to beat Lynn + Nick. They think they are experts on love since they’re so perfect together. But Lilly and I know a good couple when we see it. You and Brit just have some bugs to work out.”

  “Thanks, man. We do have some bugs. I’m trying to impress my wife and I need your help. Tonight is her last show in SF for the foreseeable future. She’s bummed the girls haven’t been able to see her play. I guess it’s an invitation only show. Could your team figure out how to get five QR codes and can the girls in L.A. use your plane?”

  “I’ve heard it’s difficult to get codes. I’ll see what I can do. Do you want to go?” Michael asks.

  “I would love to see my wife perform, but if space is limited, I’d rather the girls go.”

  “Oh, Alex, that’s super sweet. I considered asking Michael if his team could help, but Jen made it her mission. I’m new to the group so I didn’t want to cross the queen bee,” Lilly says.

  “I’m already on her hit list, so put it all on me,” I say.

  “I’ll reach out to my assistant and call you back,” Michael says.

  “I really appreciate it.”

  I disconnect the call a few seconds before Brit enters the room. She strips off her kimono, revealing bouncy breasts with small silver barbells through deep brown nipples. I will never ever get bored of seeing her naked.