by Lulu Pratt
We couldn’t set up a fake bedroom in Knox’s house because of Piper. So, after I officially agreed to move in, Knox built an extension on his garage. It takes up more of the backyard, but I now have my fake bedroom-office in a room at the back of the garage.
A windowless room, so Piper can’t look in, but Knox put in skylights so it’s nice and bright for filming.
Piper thinks it’s a storeroom. And she thinks I’m taking a very, very long time to finish my novel.
“And over here is the bed. You can see it’s my old bed, I love the headboard far too much to leave it behind at my old place.”
Especially when he drapes me over it to lick my pussy.
It might be the same headboard, but Knox put in a really good mattress. And with him working in the next room all day, it’s going to get a lot of use. Because in the daytime, when Piper’s out, I get to yell his name as loud as I want.
I’m careful not to show them the back wall with the shelves stacked with the products I promote, or the other closet that’s jam packed with lingerie I’m sent to promote.
My embarrassing plea to Knox video went viral, and I got my target of ten million subscribers within days. I swear the whole nation saw it, but, miraculously, somehow this corner of Ohio missed it and no one in town knows what I do. Including Piper.
But as a result, I have triple the products to pimp as I did before. And my income has shot up as a result.
Darla is jealous of my new studio, especially since, and I quote “Your perfect specimen of a man built it with his own two fucking hands.”
She’s doing okay, her vlog hasn’t taken off like mine but she’s increasing her numbers daily. Along with the number of men in her life. She decided one man at a time wasn’t enough to please her in the bedroom and now exclusively engages in sex with two or more guys at a time.
Young, old, she’s not discerning, as long as there’s at least two cocks in the room. Knox and I nearly died laughing when we found out one of those men is often Marcus.
After it came out, Marcus confessed to Knox that he couldn’t get enough of her. He drives the hour to her place just for a booty call.
“Anyway, enough of the tour, I want to move on to today’s topic. It’s something you’re going to be hearing a lot about and I’m sure it’s something many of you struggle with. How to have good sex when you’re pregnant.”
“Let’s start with the early stages, as in, the stage I’m in now.” I pause to let my viewers digest the news.
It was no accident. The reason Knox officially asked me to move in, was because he decided with Piper in high school, and therefore practically all grown up, he decided he wanted another child.
Which sounded perfect to me. Playing mother to Piper flipped a maternal switch in me, and the thought of a baby in my arms was ideal. Plus I already know ahead of time what an amazing father he is. I have far too many friends whose husbands turned out to offer no support, other than playing sports with the kids and showing them age-inappropriate movies.
We made an appointment to have my IUD removed the very next day.
I carry on talking, “When your boobs are so tender and you want to smack your man if he goes anywhere near them.”
I certainly wanted to hit Knox hard last night when he put his hand anywhere near my breasts. I’d read they’d be tender at first, but holy hell, tender doesn’t begin to describe it. Of course Knox isn’t complaining, as they’ve gone up a cup size already and it’s only early days.
Piper is ecstatic to become a big sister. Now her would you rather questions are all on girl versus boy. “Would you rather have a baby who pees straight up in the air when you change him or one who takes forever to clean up after she poops?” Or “Would you rather have a baby who gets to wear cute dresses, or who you can dress up in a mini tuxedo?”
She’s already promised to do all the free babysitting we want. I wonder if she’ll start asking questions if we get her to babysit while we go into the garage for an hour or two.
High school has been great for her, since she was already so grown up going in. The transition to her new school went super smoothly, and she’s joined the debating club. She’s made lots of new friends, though she hasn’t brought any boys home yet. Knox would probably implode, but I’m here to back her up.
We haven’t heard anything more from her biological mother. Piper’s decided she doesn’t want anything to do with her, and that she doesn’t need her since she has me now.
The door opens, and Knox asks, “Ready?”
I spin the webcam around and bring Knox into the frame. “Here he is now everyone, meet The Unicorn.”
Knox scowls at the lens.
“Let’s do that again, can you smile this time?”
He flashes a big smile for me, and it lights up his whole, gorgeous face. No matter how many times I see it, it still melts my panties. My viewers are going to die when they see him. They’ll probably demand I put him in every video.
“Okay,” I say and stop recording. I’ll piece it all together in the edit.
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Knox holds open the door of his Thunderbird, and I climb in. He gets in the driver’s side, put the key in the ignition and turns it. But not enough to turn the engine over, just enough to turn the radio on.
“I put this radio in just for you.” He takes my phone and fiddles with the Bluetooth settings until my phone connects to the speakers.
“What happened to being true to the era?” He’s always so particular about restoring his cars.
He doesn’t say anything, but scrolls through my playlists until he find the Red Hot Chili Peppers and starts my playlist. “Take Me to the Other Side” starts playing.
“I figured this would be worth it. Because you know, this is the song where I first realized you were different.”
My brow creases but I don’t say anything. He takes my hand in his. Our eyes connect, sending a now familiar feeling of warmth through me, but also a shock of electricity that makes me shiver.
Knox lifts his hand, and brushes his calloused finger down my cheek.
“This seemed like a good idea at the time.” He takes something from his pocket and holds it in his fingers, his hand between us.
“Marry me, Avery. I picked out a vintage ring for you, but we can change it if you don’t like it.”
The ring is beautiful, with a cluster of diamonds on a white gold band. It matches the car, Knox, and I love it.
I swallow hard and tears prick the corners of my eyes. Flinging my arms around him, I whisper into his ear say, “Yes! A million times yes! And I love the ring.”
Knox pulls his lips to mine, and we sit in the front seat of his Thunderbird, necking.
Hung
When I decide I want something, I get it. And I want her.
Billionaire Lawson Heywood is ruthless and unforgiving with his business. He’s earned the right to be arrogant. With his broad shoulders and panty-dropping charm, he can have any woman he wants.
He sets his sights on a young artist and gets one taste.
A sweet innocent kiss that tempts him for more.
But Skye Simmons isn’t going to be a notch on his headboard. She’s not interested in his sh*t.
Lawson has no intention of letting this angel slip through his fingers. He won’t stop until he has her against his wall, panting and begging for more.
*** A steamy STANDALONE contemporary romance with a hot, dominant alpha. No cliffhanger, no cheating, and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.***
The Rich Bitch
(Skye)
“Don’t give up,” Ava says.
“It’s not like I have a choice,” I say, frowning as I examine the way I’ve captured the movement of water on my canvas.
“There’s always a way. We’ll find it, have faith.”
“I’ve been here six months and have sold exactly one painting.”
“And that one painting was great, just like all your others,” she says gripping my shoulders and squeezing. “It’s just about being discovered. It will happen. You’re too good for it not to.”
“I’m too crap, and that’s why it won’t happen. If I was any good, it would’ve happened by now.” I fling my brush onto my wooden tray and sigh. Being faced with rejection every day has destroyed any belief I had in my abilities.
“That’s not true. If you weren’t any good, I wouldn’t let you live here rent-free. I’d go find an accountant who arranges all her rent payments upfront.” Ava wears a bohemian scarf wrapped around her head, and it bobs as she waggles her head.
“Thanks for reminding me what a freeloader I am.”
It hadn’t started that way. When I first moved to Santa Barbara I paid Ava rent, funded by an inheritance from my grandmother. But art supplies cost a fortune, and I was running through my inheritance so quickly that Ava decided not to accept any more rent from me, no matter how hard I tried to pay her.
“You aren’t a freeloader. You’re going to owe me the commission from your tenth and twenty-fifth paintings sold, remember?”
The corners of my mouth turn up and I can’t help but laugh. “One painting isn’t going to make up for all the rent I’m not paying you.”
“Yes, it will. It won’t take as long as you think, not if you keep on painting like that.” Ava nods her head to the bold colors and delicate swirls on my canvas. We both stare at it for a few minutes. All I can feel is frustration at it. Frustration that no matter how much effort I put into it, no matter how much of my blood, sweat and tears, it’s most likely going to end up gathering dust in the attic.
“I don’t know how to thank you for all the support you give me. Both financial and emotional. I would’ve given up weeks ago if it wasn’t for you.”
She squeezes my shoulders and says, “Skye, listen to me. You are one of the most talented artists I’ve ever come across. You’re a dream come true to me. Every art history professor dreams of discovering a talent like you. It’s an honor to have you in my home.”
“I’m going to request extra shifts at the restaurant. I know they said they only need me on the busy Thursday, Friday and Saturday evening shifts, but I heard a rumor that one of the guys on the day shift has been slacking and is going to get fired.”
“Absolutely not. You cannot work during the day. You need to be here, capturing the natural light.”
“But…”
“There is no but. Either you’re serious about supporting yourself from your art or you’re giving up. There’s no in between.”
I take my brushes to the utility sink in the next room and begin cleaning them, Ava continues to stare at my work in progress.
She’s very kind but I struggle to understand why. My own parents have disowned me for wasting the money my grandmother left me. They insist painting is a hobby and not a real job, and that I need to get myself a real job real fast.
Ava found my blog online and, according to her, knew in an instant I was set for big things. She even paid for my plane ticket from Michigan. At first I’d assumed she was rich because she has a nice house with a view of the ocean in the distance. Then I found out she’s given away most of her money to various charities for fighting poverty and realized she only kept the amount of money she felt she needed.
I should’ve known, given the anti-poverty and ‘share the wealth’ themes of my paintings.
Knowing she isn’t rolling in money makes me feel even guiltier about not being able to pay her rent. As it is, on top of my paycheck, I’m still dipping into my inheritance and all I’m covering is my art supplies, the upkeep of an old banger I bought to get to and from work and my groceries. Though I take as much food from the restaurant as I can.
“I see it,” she says from the next room.
“See what?”
“The meaning. I see what you’re doing. It’s genius.”
Patting dry the brushes in my hands, I walk back into the room she has converted into a studio for me. It’s mostly empty, and light floods through the large windows onto the easel standing in the middle of the room. Ava is a few feet away from it, staring at it with her hands on her hips.
“What do you see?” I ask, knowing there’s no way she sees the real meaning, which is my lack of a sex life.
“The movement in the water represents the movement of money. It’s all gathering over here,” she says, pointing to the top corner, “in a sort of whirlpool. I assume that’s the one percent?”
“Is it too obvious?” I’m not about to tell her the whirlpool is actually my poor pussy, and the movement in the water is all the action I’ve never experienced.
Instead of going out and socializing like everyone else in high school and college, I spent every waking second studying and practicing different techniques. Twenty-three and never been kissed. It’s pathetic, even if I do know a zillion different ways to lay paint on a canvas.
“Not in the least. Remember, I have the benefit of knowing you and knowing your themes. It’s perfect the way it is. You really are amazing, I hope you see that. To most people, this is a beautiful image of the seaside. It would look pretty on any wall.”
“You really think so?”
She turns and grabs the tops of my arms, shaking me gently. “Stop doubting yourself. You’ll drive yourself crazy!”
“Thank you. For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without your support.” Especially without my parents in my life. Ava’s now the closest thing I have to a mother, even though she’s nearly old enough to be my grandmother.
“Stop being silly.”
“I have to get ready for the money-making job now.”
***
Late for my Saturday night shift as usual, I rush into Johnny’s Roadhouse, making my way as fast as I can to the staff changing area. I say changing area, it’s more or less a big closet lined with hooks to hang our stuff on.
I grab my apron out of my bag, and tie it around my waist. The dress code is pretty boring: black pants and a white T-shirt. At least I don’t have to wear any buttons or flashing lights.
“You’re late,” my boss Kevin says, his overgrown eyebrows narrowed and his gnarled finger pointing at me.
“Sorry, Kevin, won’t happen again.”
“Two customers just sat down at table six. I was going to give it to Melanie, but get on it.”
“I’m going.”
I grab two menus, plaster a smile across my face and make my way through the rows of tan wood booths in my section of the restaurant until I spot the table that’s just arrived.
“Good evening and welcome to Johnny’s Roadhouse. I’m Skye, and it’s great to see you both here tonight. The specials are on the first page of the menu.” I say this so many times each shift that I practically go into a trance now I pretend I’m looking at them, but really my eyes are scanning the license plates on the wall behind them.
When I finally do look at the couple, the woman sticks out. She doesn’t seem like she belongs in here. This isn’t exactly the kind of place where you wear an evening dress and sparkling earrings that hang to your shoulders, but clearly no one told her that. I want to ask her if she got lost on the way to the mansion party, but don’t. Wouldn’t want to mess up my tip.
I pass her a menu and turn my attention to the man. For a moment, I’m speechless as I take him in. He doesn’t look like he belongs with the woman. He’s wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt that’s pulled taut over his broad chest, with two full sleeves of tattoos on display. His dark hair is intentionally messy and there’s a day’s worth of stubble peppering his strong jaw. He’s most definitely appropriate for this joint. Or any joint.
He pulls the menu from my hand, and I realize I’ve been frozen in place instead of handing it over.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“No problem,” he says. He looks at me, and when we make eye contact a jolt rushes up my spine.
I let go of the menu and
hurry to my station. It’s a cramped spot hidden in the back corner of the dining area; a place I can watch my tables without them seeing me. Normally I think of it as my jail cell, but tonight I use it to spy on the hot guy.
Drawn
(Lawson)
My eyes fix on that fine waitress’ ass as she walks away from our table. Skye, she said her name was. Appropriate for such a heavenly body.
Despite what my sister Julie had promised, my date had turned out to be yet another gold digger.
I hadn’t intended to bring Freya here. But when I picked her up and she was dressed that way, and she had giggled, actually fucking giggled, at every little thing I said, it had become pretty fucking obvious that she was more interested in my money than in me.
Why did I let my sister set me up on a blind date? I knew it would end up like this.
Normally I show them a good time for the evening — in and out of my bed — but Freya annoyed me from the start and I thought I’d have a little fun with her.
When I saw the glowing red Johnny’s Roadhouse sign, I slammed on the brakes of my Maserati and pulled into this place. Freya’s mouth had hung open in shock when I told her there’d been a change of plans. Yacht party out, low-end restaurant in. If she handles herself well here she might — and that’s a very big might — get a second chance.
This place is perfect for Freya. I’ll bet it’s her first time sitting in a booth. Or the first place she’s ever been with license plates on the wall. Why am I wasting my time with her?
Skye returns to our table and asks, “Have you decided yet?” Her big brown eyes shine as she says it.
“Where are the salads? I don’t see any on the menu,” Freya says.
“There’s chicken Caesar in the chicken section,” Skye says, pointing to the menu.
“That’s it? Where are the healthy ones?”
“I can do it without the chicken if you prefer.”
“Do you have any idea how many calories are in Caesar dressing?” Freya’s lip curls into a snarl as she says it, implying Skye is the dumbest person alive.
“Would you like the dressing on the side?”
“No, I would not. I’m not about to eat plain romaine lettuce.”