Break Free (Smart Girl Mafia Book 1)

by Amiee Smith

  Nick gives my nipple one last lick. He slips the eye mask over my head. My heart runs marathons in my chest. Not having my sight is both invigorating and nerve-racking. Mixed with my arousal, I’m a kaleidoscope of emotions.

  Nick presses a soft kiss against my mouth.

  “Are you still wet?” he asks.

  “Oh, yes,” I hum.

  “Put your arms out.”

  Nick secures the soft, sturdy cuffs on each of my wrists. The tension of the restraint causes me to moan softly. I now know why people are into bondage. It is both naughty and surprisingly liberating. All things dirty and sexy are acceptable in this space. I’m giddy and curious, as if I just discovered a new toy.

  “How do they feel?” Nick asks.

  “Wonderful.”

  Nick kisses my forehead.

  “You’re wonderful. I’ll be right back.”

  I hear the click of a light switch and a drawer opening. The quiet echo tells me he’s in the bathroom. I sense him as he comes closer, my nipples reacting to his nearness. I hear a squirt of something. Hmmm. The familiar scent of lube hits my nose. Nudging my legs open with his hand, he spreads cool gel over my lips with the tip of his fingers. I moan.

  “Per the instructions for #41, this will make it easier for me to slide inside of you,” he says.

  His heat disappears. I’m antsy, shifting my weight from side to side. The scent of rose water covering his skin signifies his return. Nick’s incredibly strong hand glides over the curve of my thigh, calming my restlessness. I love his hands. Real-man hands.

  “You’re good, my horny girl. Lift your arms above your head.”

  I do as he says. Nick nuzzles in close. His hard shaft strokes my tummy.

  “Things are going to happen quickly, Lynn. I’m going to lift you and push in. When you’re comfortable, lower your arms around my neck. Tell me to stop if something doesn’t feel right.”

  I nod my head. The care and concern in his voice is so soothing. I want to float away, but this is a risky position even without restraints. I will myself to stay alert.

  Nick lifts me. With his hands cradling my bottom, he leans my shoulders into the wall. He moves past my opening and pauses. With his cock buried deep inside my pussy, I wrap my thighs around his muscular body. My legs tremble. Not out of exertion. Nothing sexual has ever felt this good. I lower my arms around his neck. It’s amazing how well we fit together.

  “Oh. My. Nick,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

  “You okay, Lynn?”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “I’m going to move now.”

  Nick shifts my hips closer to his torso, pulling the tip of his dick out a bit before pushing into me again and again. Over and over. Each thrust more insistent. Passionate. Ravenous. I have no control. The pace is hard, fast, and fluid. I’m completely at the mercy of this sexing moment. This is so good. I wish I could slow him down and savor this. I never want it to end.

  The position of our bodies is dirty. Raw. Real. His strength and power meet my softness and willingness. This is so good, I can’t even make a sound. My voice, silent. All I hear is our labored breathing and Nick pushing in and out of my core. My orgasm is already so close, but still so far away.

  This is so good. I try to rock my hips a bit, but I can’t. Nick’s grip is firm as he pounds my pussy again and again. I must trust the position to take me there. I must trust Nick to respect my orgasm as much as I respect his pleasure. I give in with a guttural moan. My journey toward climax; natural. Primal. Integral.

  I tilt my head. My mouth, sweeping against the stubble on Nick’s cheek. I’m focused and present. My imagination, on pause. My bouncy mind, still. I’m totally aware of Nick’s vitality, his rock-hard body moving against mine again and again. His dick plunges in and out of my pussy. This is so good. So very good.

  Nick grips my ass tighter, drawing my shoulders away from the wall. His godly body bears my full weight. I squeeze my legs around him and nestle closer. Nick’s cock hits an even deeper spot inside me. I gasp. He groans. Perspiration covers our skin. Our orgasms so very close. All parts perfection.

  Shoes pounding on the hardwood flooring jolt me completely out of the moment. My pending orgasm, grounded. My head perks up.

  “Nick? Someone is in the house.”

  Goddess, he’s so sexy. For the first time, he’s louder than me. His groans overpower my voice. I clench the muscles inside, preparing for his orgasm. The hard length of him, heavenly. The fulfillment and pleasure in his deep moans is almost enough to boost me into climax, but I’m halted just short. The footsteps get louder.

  Nick shudders, thrusting in and out at a greater speed. His body is a mighty force sheathing my smaller frame. This man is strong. Powerful. And so very real. He groans and jerks, orgasming in time with the knocking at the door.

  “Dude, I’m sorry to disturb you. We really need to speak with Lynn.”

  I recognize Alex’s muffled voice. After everything, why would they come back here tonight? On my date night? On our kinky night?

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I say, my tone so sharp Nick winces.

  “Are you okay, Lynn?”

  “Nick, put me down. Your brother and Brit are at the door.”

  “What door?”

  Post orgasm, he’s not entirely coherent. Oh, I’m so envious. I love the after-sex haze. In its absence, I’m filled with an intense rage.

  “My magical man, Alex and Brit are at your bedroom door. You gotta put me down,” I whisper.

  I lift my arms, Nick eases my feet to the floor. My legs feel more fatigued than ever before. But my anger is a crutch, keeping me upright. My jaw clenches.

  Nick removes the eye mask. In the candlelight, I meet his glassy stare.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Unfasten the cuffs.”

  Nick doesn’t question me. As soon as I’m free, I grab his shirt from the floor and slip it over my head. I don’t even check to see where he is before swinging open the door. Alex and Brit stand as tall as skyscrapers on either side of the door jam.

  I focus my attention on Brit. We lived together for three years, she knows she’s crossing a boundary.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I roar.

  I only use this voice when yelling at a bad call while watching a USC game or when some jackass unnecessarily slams on the brakes in the pouring rain on the Bay Bridge. Never in my life have I focused this much anger directly toward another human being.

  In my head, disrupting my orgasm during kinky sex with a man as thoughtful and beautiful as Nick Willingham while in a sexual position I had written off as not-going-to-happen-to-me-in-this-lifetime is absolutely inexcusable.

  It’s war.

  CHAPTER 26:

  NICK WILLINGHAM

  It’s a known fact, Willingham men have tempers. When I was young, I could be an asshole. My brother would fight. My dad would yell. Over the years, I’ve learned not to let mine get too out of control. Tonight, my pixie girlfriend is a screaming teapot and could bring a Willingham man to his knees.

  Hell, I don’t even know why she’s screaming. I’m still recovering from the sex (and those hits off the vape pen). I get to the bathroom just as Lynn opens the door.

  “I’m sorry to impede on your date with my brother, but Brit really needs your help,” I hear my brother say.

  After relieving myself, I slip on the robe hanging on the back of the door and return to the bedroom. Lynn stands at the door, bare-legged in my black shirt that barely covers her parts.

  “I… was put on leave because I haven’t completed my dissertation. I got the email tonight,” Brit says.

  “I’ve tried to get Brit to work with a tutor, but she doesn’t trust anyone to read her work. Would you read her dissertation? I would pay you. I’ve done some research and here’s a check for what the top dissertation tutors charge,” Alex says, handing her an envelope.

  My brother is a cheap son of a bitch. He only donates to ch
arity for the name recognition and the tax write-off. Why would he pay Lynn to read Brit’s dissertation? Something isn’t making sense.

  “How long?” Lynn asks, recoiling from my brother’s extended hand.

  “It’s 350 pages,” Alex says.

  “No. Brit. How long have you known your job was at risk if you didn’t complete your dissertation?”

  “My chair told me at the beginning of spring semester.”

  “The beginning of spring semester? Over nine months ago! When I was still fat and didn’t have a boyfriend! Why didn’t you say anything in January?”

  “I finished writing it over the summer and I thought I had more time. I think I can get my job back, if I submit my manuscript. Since you’re on vacation this week, I’d really appreciate if you could help me,” Brit says.

  “I don’t know anything about dissertations. Why won’t you let Alex hire a tutor for you?” Lynn asks.

  “You’re the best writer I know. I trust you to tell me the truth,” Brit says.

  “I appreciate your confidence in me, but the answer is no. Hell no. You just had to come over here tonight. I’m so tired of having to sacrifice my happiness for you, Brit,” Lynn says, moving past them and leaving my room.

  Brit and Alex follow her, giving me a quick moment to get dressed. I pull on my underwear and jeans lying on the floor and a white T-shirt from the closet. I understand Lynn’s frustration because this is all really ridiculous. Why couldn’t it wait until morning?

  “Lynn, this was my idea. Trust me. Brit can’t be without a job,” I hear my brother say from the kitchen.

  “Why do you care so much, Alex? I’ve been her best friend for twenty-five years and right now I don’t even care that much.”

  “I want the best for her,” Alex says.

  I enter the kitchen, resting my hipbone against the countertop.

  “You want the best for her? Well, why didn’t you tell her to write her dissertation when she finished her course work six years ago? Why didn’t you tell her to stop messing around with part-time adjunct gigs and take the steps to make tenure? Why didn’t you tell her to stop housesitting that big creepy mansion in Silver Lake and get her own place that she pays for with her own money? Because that’s what we’ve all been telling her for years,” Lynn says, her voice nearing a yell.

  My little teapot is pissed off. Drinking water, her chest heaves.

  “Lynn, you don’t understand. It’s more complicated than that,” Brit says.

  “No, it’s not, Brit. I have ridden with you on the excuse train for far too long. I have been your greatest champion. I would do anything for you. But you clearly do not respect my boundaries. One week! I wanted one week with Nick and I can’t have it because you want me to spend my free time reading your dissertation.”

  “Lynn, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… Gosh, I’ve never seen you so upset.”

  “You know why you’ve never seen me upset? Because I left L.A. to get away from situations like this. My happiness gets pushed to the bottom of my to-do list because you need me to make you feel good.”

  “I was there for you… when you were missing,” Brit says.

  “I wasn’t missing! I just needed Nick’s address. I didn’t ask you to come over here. You made up some drama so you didn’t have to deal with your own life.”

  Lynn’s voice fills the room. Little teapot, blazing.

  “I was genuinely worried about you,” Brit says.

  “Don’t worry about me. I have a job. Hell, I was lost doing my job today. Worry about yourself. You know what?... Fuck this shit. Fuck L.A. I’m outta here.”

  Lynn goes into the laundry room and returns with an arm full of clothes.

  “Where are you going?” Brit and I say in unison.

  “Home. I can’t do this.”

  Lynn moves with lightning speed to the guest bedroom. I follow.

  “What do you mean you’re going home?” I ask.

  Now, I’m pissed.

  I stand in the doorway. Lynn takes off my shirt and puts on a pair of jeans sans underwear, a bra, and a white tank top. She puts on her running shoes and leather crop jacket. Opening her suitcase, she removes the clothes Raquel picked out from the shopping bags and packs them away.

  “Nick, I’m sorry. You’re amazing. Like so, very, very amazing. But you live here. No matter how blissful I am with you, our time will inevitably be cut short by some drama. L.A. is the land of drama. I have to go home,” Lynn says, her voice cracking with emotion.

  My chest aches for her.

  “Lynn, please stop so we can figure this out. You don’t need to go back tonight,” I say.

  “Yes. I do. I’d rather be alone and happy than here and dealing with problem after problem. Please, don’t make me feel bad for taking care of myself.”

  I don’t know what to say. I need her to be here, but I have done a terrible job of keeping her safe. From not telling Michael on Sunday we were together to not kicking my brother, Brit, and everyone else out of my house tonight. I left her exposed and having to fight for her freedom because I wanted to be with her. I wanted her to make me feel good.

  Just like Brit, I’ve been asking too much of Lynn.

  She didn’t need clothes or weed or even kale chips, she needed a refuge from the noise. Now I understand why she’s only in town one weekend a month, and stays in hotels instead of with her folks or friends. Lynn’s trying to keep her sanity and maintain some sense of self.

  I watch her pack. She pauses to do something on her phone. I go to my bedroom to get her clothes, flip-flops, fitness tracker, leather cuffs, eye mask, and laptop. Returning, I drop everything on the bed without saying a word.

  I don’t give back any of her panties. I’ll think of them as a parting gift... No. A promise gift. This thing between us is too good to end like this.

  “Thank you,” she says, packing the items and zipping her suitcase.

  Lynn checks her phone again, puts her laptop bag over her shoulder and wheels her suitcase out to the living room. I trail behind her.

  “Lynn, I’m so sorry…,” Brit says.

  “Please, Brit. Not now. I will always love you, but I need some space. I will call you in a few days. Alex, I’m sorry I yelled at you. Nick, thank you again… for... being you. My Lyft is here,” she says, opening the door.

  And she’s gone.

  I stand immobile in my living room, my mind circling.

  “Bro, I’m sorry. I didn’t… think,” Alex says.

  “Please see yourselves out,” I say, my voice cold.

  I go to my bedroom, hauling my brown and tan Louis Vuitton suitcase from the top of the closet.

  I’ve gotta get a flight to San Francisco.

  • • •

  After packing, putting on white Adidas and a jacket, styling my hair, blowing out candles (damn, Lynn!), changing the code on the front door, and leaving a message for my cleaning lady, I’m ready to request a car to take me to the airport when I realize I don’t have Lynn’s address.

  I consider calling my brother to ask Brit, or Jon to ask Jen, but I’ve had enough of them for one night. I dial the one other person who knows where she lives in the City.

  “Nick. How are you?” Michael’s voice comes over the line.

  “I’ve had better nights. Listen, can I have Lynn’s address? I’m heading to San Francisco tonight.”

  “So, your brother’s plan didn’t go so well? Brit tried to tell him going over there tonight wasn’t a good idea. What happened?”

  I recall they all went to dinner tonight. Michael seems genuinely concerned. I want to play it cool, but I don’t have the energy.

  “No. It didn’t go well at all. Lynn left me.”

  “Do you really like her? I mean, this isn’t just a pissing contest between you and me?”

  I’ve held my tongue with Michael before, and it only caused Lynn a lot of grief. I’m not going to make the same mistake.

  “Yes, I really like her. And with all
due respect, you never had a chance. Lynn and I were already together when you saw her at the Pasadena Club. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I thought it might jeopardize the deal. Right now, I could care less about the project. I need to see her.”

  “I’ll give you her address. I’ll do you one better, and give you a ride there.”

  “No. I’m not going to drive up. I’m going to fly,” I say.

  “So am I. I was going to fly up on my plane in the morning for a meeting, but I can go tonight. I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”

  Of course, Michael Ahmed has a private jet. But I’m not going to look a golden horse in the mouth.

  “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”

  • • •

  Two hours later, we arrive at SFO. As I exit the jet, I’m smacked in the face by cool, damp wind. I zip up my black North Face Denali jacket to shield myself from the change in temperature. Over the last four years, I’ve spent enough time in the area to be prepared for the climate, but it still startles me every time.

  “We’re not in L.A. anymore,” Michael says, buttoning his charcoal wool coat.

  We walk the tarmac. While I have a suitcase, he carries only a Burberry briefcase.

  “Why no luggage?” I ask, approaching a black Tesla parked in a private lot.

  “I have a wardrobe at my house in Pacific Heights. Speaking of which, where are you staying tonight?” Michael asks, settling into his car.

  “I want to go to Lynn’s place first to make sure she made it home safely. I’ll try to get a room at the St. Regis.”

  We exit the lot and head into San Francisco, thirteen miles away.

  “You can stay at my place,” Michael says.

  “That won’t be weird?”

  “No. I knew something was going on with the two of you on Sunday. I watched you watch her throughout dinner. You were more interested in her than the project.”

  I nod. So much for being discreet.

  “But you made a play for her anyway?” I ask.

  “Lynn is great. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. If she were my woman, she’d have been at the table with me. If you were too stupid to have her by your side, I saw it as my opportunity.”