“Sanitation? Look, June. You think you were just having culture shock when you jumped that hottie’s bones. I don’t think so. I think you were really going for what you wanted for the first time in your life! Being in Africa has changed you, sure. It’s made you bolder, more daring.”
“More brutal,” I muttered, swallowing the last of the wine.
“I think you should just drive back up to Lytton’s house and demand some more pot. And some more nookie.”
“Nookie? Emma, where have you lived the past ten years? Africa?”
“You’re changing the subject. Just drive on up there, get the lay of the land. He’ll let you in.”
“Yeah, so I can run into the whores he’s got lying all around there. No, thanks. I’m not that desperate.” But I was. “There are plenty of pieces of smoking man candy hanging around Ford and Maddy’s house.”
“Don’t they all have old ladies?”
I thought. “Well. Yes, I think so. Turk doesn’t, but I think he hates me for running off with the guy who wanted to take over his business.”
Emma giggled. “You slut.”
“There’s a new guy, a Wild Man, but he does nothing for me. I’m telling you, Emma. I’ve
never
been as attracted to a man as I am to that half-breed. He’s just sucking up all my thoughts.”
“Among other things. Listen, you have to see this through. If you don’t confront Lytton again, you’re always going to wonder. Did he just blow you off because he was full of hatred for his brother, and he associated you with him? I’m sure it was nothing personal. I’m sure he’d
love
to see you again, June.”
“Yeah. So I can pass out on his bed again, make him sleep on his own couch.” That’s what had happened, because his associates Tobiah, Helium Head and Crybaby took up the other three bedrooms.
But Emma’s words of encouragement got to me. I wanted to run my tongue over that velvety tribal tat that draped over his shoulder. When he wore that white wifebeater, the stylized eagle ink looked like the top carving in a much taller totem pole, but I’d never seen him shirtless.
I had to see him shirtless.
I was bold enough to take Emma up on her dare. “But I suppose you’re right. Ingrid
does
need some more of that excellent pot.”
“And you know how she gets when she’s out of something she needs. Do it, June! Just take a nice drive up there. I’d say I’d come with you, but I don’t think you want me hanging around.”
“No, I do not.” I was gaining confidence. What was the worst that could happen? Lytton would ignore me. Okay, something worse could happen. I could walk in on him receiving a hella blowjob from one of those sluts whose faces looked like a box of melted crayons. Yes, that would be worse. He would glance at me as though I were a flattened worm on the sidewalk, and he’d go back to fucking that whore’s mouth with his long, juicy cock, and—
“So you’re doing it?”
“I’m doing it. And I’m going to kill you if this turns out badly.”
“I wouldn’t blame you.”
So that’s how I came to be sitting in Lytton’s kitchen chatting up Tobiah. I liked Tobiah, I really did. He was the epitome of the purple nurple and swirlie recipient who played trumpet in the marching band. I liked the juxtaposition of such a nerdy gaywad being in charge of a massive weed plantation. I felt him on many different levels. I, too, wanted to be a former dipwad who suddenly started being cool. And it didn’t get much cooler than running a pot farm.
After discussing Doctor Who for awhile—I had been out of the loop for many years without even the South African cable TV channel up in the desert—Toby broke out the Eminence Front and we toked a bowl. It was a sativa that gave us a “head buzz.” We laughed unnecessarily long about a Henry Winkler cameo as an OBGYN on
Parks and Recreation
. Now that I had all three hundred channels of real TV over at Madison’s McMansion, I was utilizing it to the fullest. I had nothing better to do, when not playing with Fidelia.
Once we calmed down, it was Tobiah who steered the conversation around to Lytton.
He chewed a handful of caramel popcorn and spoke with his mouth full. His bloodshot eyes brimmed blearily and he smiled goofily. “You know, June, I’ve never seen our man Lytton so concerned over the health of a…” He stopped himself, embarrassed, and swallowed loudly.
“You can say it, Toby. A slut.”
“Well. I was going to say ‘slave,’ but ‘slut’ works just as well.”
It was my turn to be shocked and embarrassed.
Slaves?
In what way was that woman I had seen a
slave
? Maybe Lytton was creepier than I ever imagined. “Uh,
slave
? What does that mean?”
Tobiah tossed his head casually. “Oh, you know. Slave. Some people call them ‘subs,’ I guess. Submissives. You know. Bondage, dominance. Sado, masochism.” He shrugged.
Yes, it was starting to sink in. I had thought when Lytton tied my hands behind my back that he was experienced with knots because, well, marijuana farmers needed to tie lots of knots. I’d never imagined it was an actual way of life for him.
I wasn’t against it. I’d played some pretty tame and mild bondage games before. I suppose what mattered was the degree to which he got into it. “Does he walk around wearing those latex harnesses?”
“Oh, God, no. He doesn’t wear those rubber executioner’s hoods with the zippers. But he
does…get…
” Toby’s voice always rose in pitch when he became nervous, like now. “Into it.”
“You mean dominant. He likes to dominate, I presume. I can’t see him being submissive.”
“Right. Dominant. So you might want to run now if you get claustrophobic or if you resent being, ah, dominated.”
I hadn’t minded the experience at all. In fact, it was kind of sexy to be seemingly helpless while he slapped my tits. It stung and aroused me, sent arrows of lust directly into my inner pussy, and it helped that I knew he wasn’t truly a nasty man. But he sure played one to the hilt. The key was that by seeming to be submissive, I actually was
more
in control of the scene than Lytton. The more he seemed to have the upper hand, in reality, I did. Because my reaction controlled his. Every time I cried out like a helpless little girl, it stimulated him, made him harder, made him crave me more.
Wasn’t that every woman’s power? To have a man so stimulated and excited by her that he couldn’t control his own orgasm? Lytton had flooded my mouth with his delicious come not because I was a great cocksucker. He’d been pushed over the edge by the way my tits bounced when he slapped them. It was empowering to see him go all weak and lop-sided, deranged with lust just because my hands were bound, and my boobs slapped.
“Well, it’s a moot point anyway, Tobiah. After Lytton had the big blow-out with Ford in the lawyer’s office, he sent me away. He wants nothing to do with me, I’m sure because I’m related by marriage to the brother he now hates.”
Toby’s voice was as high as a cartoon chipmunk. He looked at something over my shoulder. “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. I’m sure he wants plenty to do with you. Make up your mind right now, because—”
“Did you tell her about Chad—”
Lytton stood in the kitchen doorway, tall, rangy, beautiful. Still breathing heavily with the exhilaration of the ride up the mountain, he was just stripping off his black leather jacket. Now he froze, his shiny black hair tousled, staring at me with disbelief. “Tobiah,” he whispered.
Tobiah leaped to his feet. “Right! June, Chad McFarlane was a guy I met on an online role playing game. Only I thought he was Dolores, Amazon warrior woman, with incredible manga bazongas.”
However, we couldn’t keep talking about Tobiah’s date forever, and eventually Lytton and I were left to stare vacantly at each other while Tobiah feebly explained,
“June here just stopped by to get some more Eminence. Don’t worry, I accounted for it in the MJ Freeway program. I found a loophole so our buddy Saul won’t notice the stuff we give away as missing.” He feebly told me, “We’re buddies with the inspector, but at the rate Lytton gives it away, I had to find a way to account for it.”
I said, just as feebly, “Oh, you don’t have to
give
it to me, Toby. I brought cash.”
Tobiah rambled on, something about me being a volunteer in Africa and not having much money, and the whole time Lytton and I stared wide-eyed at each other, unblinking.
“…and, you know, we’re the big-time weed growers, we can afford to—”
Lytton made his move. In two long strides he had closed the gap between us, reaching a hand out for me to take. Of course I took it straightaway, his big, manly hand enclosing mine. Now he was slightly smiling, the corners of his luscious mouth turning up.
“Come.”
He dragged me toward the back door, then paused as if remembering something. Leaving me there, he squeaked back into the kitchen. “Toby, I’m going to need you for a job. Let me explain it later.” He vanished for ten seconds, reappearing as he stuffed something in the back pocket of his 501s.
Still grinning, he held the back screen door open like a prom date. I finally had to take my eyes off his in order to watch the steps leading down from the back sunroom. The roly-poly cherub-faced guy they called Crybaby was heading toward the house from the greenhouses. He tipped an imaginary cap at Lytton.
“I’m going home now, boss.”
“Did you put the thermostat on auto?”
“Yeah. And I fixed that duct with duct tape, but left the roll out in case we need it again.”
“Wow,” I remarked, as we continued down the path. “A duct that was fixed with duct tape. I thought Crybaby lived here with you?”
“No. Lives with his brother down in Happy Jack.”
I frowned. “But you have four bedrooms. Toby and Helium Head live with you, right? Is one a guest room?”
“Ah, not really. Listen, here’s my grow room. It’s got a fresh, super-oxygenated atmosphere. Thought you might like to see it.”
The high-ceilinged greenhouse was about the size of half a football field. Indeed, the air was so oxygenated I went immediately lightheaded, and had to take deep, slow breaths to erase the tiny bubbles from in front of my eyes. Once I got used to it, wandering down the aisles between the towering, fluffy plants had the effect of hiking through the humid jungle. Fans and heaters kept everything circulating in such a predictable, soothing way. I was soon lulled into a sense of security.
But I really wanted to talk about “us” with Lytton. I didn’t want to just discuss water pump timers and duct fans. At the end of an aisle, the raised platform that held hundreds of labeled plants had an open area, waiting for more plants to be moved. Plastic sheeting covered the wooden stage here and I perched on the edge. Lytton, still smiling, sat next to me. He even took my hand.
I said, “Lytton, I don’t want you to think of Ford and Madison when you think about me. I truly barely know them. I grew up mostly with my friend Emma, living at her house. I don’t want you thinking I’m going to tell any of your secrets to them. They are my legal, or blood family, but that doesn’t mean I have to run blabbing every detail of your life to them. I’m separate, my own person. I want to have my own separate life too. Once I get a job and back on my own two feet, I’ll get my own place. I want you to know I felt a very strong connection with you, and I don’t want that ruined because Madison happens to be my sister.”
Lytton tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I’d left the cowboy hat in my rental car, but he could not have failed to notice my new rocker hair, dyed a brassier shade of blonde. And I was very glad I’d worn the tight, fringed bolero jacket into his house. The goal had been to make him look at me with fresh eyes that weren’t clouded with hatred of his brother, and it seemed to be working. His other hand grabbed a handful of my jacket lapel, yanking it wide to display my skin-tight mesh top.
“June.” His lovely deep, rich eyes sought out mine. “I made a fucking mistake saying I didn’t want to see you. If you don’t know about anything I do, how can you tell Ford? We’re not here to talk business, anyway. That’s not what you came for, is it?”
“I did come for my mother’s pot,” I admitted, touching my knees to his and squeezing his hand in mine. “But I’ve been hoping you’d show up.”
“You look stunning.” He cupped my chin in his palm, turning my face this way and that as if he’d never seen me. “You’re becoming a modern American. Not so African anymore.”
“I need to be able to fit in, Lytton. I don’t want to look like that hippie bleeding heart former Peace Corps volunteer. That’s not me anymore. I have to take care of my dying mother. I can’t be so soft, such a do-gooder.”
His eyes were glittering, overwhelmed with an emotion I couldn’t pinpoint. “You’re gorgeous, little one,” he said, and he kissed me.
His lips were so soft as they moved over mine, seeking, questing, experimenting. Soon his lips slanted away and moved to my neck. When he made light butterfly kisses against my jugular, every tiny hair on my body stood up at attention. Just knowing his sculpted, bowed lips were sliding over my clavicle had my inner pussy shivering with delight. I held him by the shoulders, drinking in his red and black eagle tattoo. My mouth watered to taste it, so I dipped my head and took a big, fat lick from his shoulder.
That was good, so I did what he was doing. I slipped my finger under the strip of fabric that was his sleeve and pulled the wifebeater down. I wanted to run my tongue over that velvety, musky skin and I did, licking a trail up to his ear where I nibbled at the earlobe.
Ah. Heaven.
When I breathed hotly into his wet ear, I knew he was shivering, too. And now I could stab my fingers through that lush, thick mane of black hair. This was where I was meant to be.
I had felt silly buying the lacey, cream-colored push-up bra. Who would ever see it? But when Lytton lowered the straps of my mesh tank, I squirmed out of the shirt altogether, knowing my boobs had never looked bigger, fuller, fatter. I even shimmied my shoulders a little as he tossed the mesh to the ground and admired me. His hands hovered over my boobs as though afraid to touch them.
I knew he wasn’t, though. If this guy was one of those serious Dominants he wouldn’t tolerate it for long, me stiffening his cock by nibbling his earlobe. I was right. He held me away from him, his expression firm and determined now. Looking me in the eye as he lifted one boob from its underwire cup, he said, “Eminence Front.”