Strangely Amazing Page 5

  Then some dude messed it up. I hate those guys. Guys who don’t know how to appreciate a brilliant woman like Lilly. Guys who use the sacredness of romance to get a girl naked. Guys too cowardly to back off, so a woman can be open-hearted and available for a real man who will do anything to make her happy. Guys who force real men like me to spend Sunday eating eggs and bacon in a packed restaurant, instead of sucking and inserting new life into Lilly’s bare pussy (the wisp of blue fabric between her legs hides nothing).

  “Plain Jane’s brunch menu is being reviewed by a food blogger with three million followers, so I gotta make an appearance this morning. I’d like you to be my date,” I say, scooping coffee into the basket.

  Most of what I said is true. There is a blogger dining at the restaurant today. But I don’t need to go. My partner handles all media coverage.

  “I’ve read Plain Jane’s graham cracker French toast is fabulous, but getting a table there on Sunday is nearly impossible,” Lilly says.

  My dick aches as she picks her dress up from the floor, slipping it over her head. Thank G-d for her sweet tooth, because I don’t know how much longer I could hold out watching her stand there in nothing but those panties.

  “We’ll be seated at the best table, a perk of having a billionaire boyfriend,” I say, filling the coffee pot with bottled water from the mini frig.

  “I’ll consider it a perk if brunch includes an amazing hand job. Because I could go home now, get myself off, and watch ‘Game of Thrones’ with a bowl of French Toast Crunch,” Lilly says casually, adding a fresh layer of concrete to the pile around her heart.

  Gathering her bag from the chair, she heads through the double doors in the direction of the “her” bathroom I advised her to use while she is here.

  “So, you’re good with me being your boyfriend now?” I call to her.

  Maybe I can get in before the concrete sets.

  “It depends on how the hand job turns out,” she calls back before shutting the door.

  It’s going to be a very long day.

  I really hate the guy who broke her heart.

  ◆◆◆

  Clear skies and loads of sunshine. It’s a stunning day in the Mission District of San Francisco. It almost feels like L.A. Lilly and I are both in Ray-Ban sunglasses. We discovered we have the male/female versions of the same pair on the drive to Plain Jane.

  “Michael, brunch was a lot of fun. Thank you for inviting me,” Lilly says as we stroll down Valencia Street to the parking garage.

  “Having you there made it fun,” I say, taking her hand.

  Our brunch turned out to be a five-hour affair of photo-ops, pleasantries, and food tasting. Growing up on the Westside of L.A., I’ve learned how to turn it on for the cameras and the media. It’s one of the reasons I get my teeth cleaned every second Thursday of the month.

  I thought my scientist Lilly might struggle with the experience, but she handled brunch like a pro: gracious with my partner, Suong and her husband; complimentary to the culinary and wait staff; conversational with the blogger; down-to-earth with the patrons. And she could turn a smile on a dime when a lens was pointed in our face. Lilly was the perfect date.

  “How do you know Suong?”

  “USC. We took a lot of the same business classes. A few years back, she called me when she needed a financier for her restaurant. I never planned to invest in the hospitality industry, but her business plan was solid, so I went for it. Plain Jane has turned a profit every month since it opened and requires very little oversight on my part. Suong handles the day-to-day.”

  “Do you typically do business with people you know?”

  “Yes and no. I’m most interested in highly profitable ideas, ventures which fulfill a need in the marketplace or solve a problem. Innovation is also important. I tend to invest in projects on the leading edge of their industry.”

  “I imagine you’re involved in a lot of ventures. Am I going to get an ‘I’m too busy’ text from you in the future?”

  I don’t mention the fact she sent me an “I’m too busy” text earlier this week.

  “I’ll never be too busy for you, Lilly.” I squeeze her hand to affirm my sincerity before continuing, “Actually, I only work a few hours a day. In the past, my health was less predictable. I made it a habit to invest in low-maintenance, high-yielding ventures. I tend to partner up with someone with a solid plan who needs a money guy. Luckily, it’s worked in my favor.”

  We stop at a light at 20th and Valencia.

  “How long are you going to keep your health stuff a secret from me?”

  “It’s not a secret. But it’s not something I lead with.”

  “So, you’ll tell me when you’re ready?”

  “I trust you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “No. But when the time comes, I’ll answer all your questions.”

  Lilly gives my hand a squeeze. The light changes, and we stroll across the street.

  “Your tattoos are amazing,” someone calls from behind us.

  “Thank you,” Lilly calls back (she just knows they’re talking to her).

  In a city of geeks crowding the crosswalk, she’s among her people. But Lilly stands out. Yes, because she is taller than most women and some men, but also because she’s got a fierceness to her gait. With her short, dark curled hair streaked with gray strands of wisdom and her chin always turned up, she can rock a resting bitch face like no other. But her laugh. Her wide glorious grin is captivating. Inviting.

  “Are all your tops backless or shear?” I ask.

  Her ivory short sleeve button-up hipster blouse is conservative in the front and a shear wet dream in the back. At brunch, she kept her red cardigan on. Probably a gesture to counterbalance my conservative tan loafers, tailored khakis and tucked in indigo polo. But out on the street, with her purse and sweater dangling from her arm, she can strut her unique brand of weird in true blue skinny jeans and beige oxford shoes without socks.

  “Some. I’m not a hallmark of womanly curves. So, I flaunt what I do have… a back full of expensive tattoos,” she says with a light chuckle.

  “Beautiful Lilly, you are perfection.”

  “You say that now, but wait until you see my orgasm face.”

  “I can’t wait,” I say, holding open the door for her to the parking garage.

  “The sentiment is mutual.”

  “What’s on your schedule for the rest of the day?” I ask while we wait for the elevator to take us to the top level where my car is parked.

  “Probably nothing, but let me check Wunderlist,” Lilly retrieves her phone from her purse. “Just grocery shopping. It can wait until tomorrow.”

  “Do you have a list?”

  “Yes. Why? You want to go grocery shopping, billionaire?”

  “Fuck, no. I haven’t been in a grocery store in years, but text your list to me and Molly will do the shopping. She’ll bring the groceries to your flat tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Molly?”

  “My house manager here in the City.”

  “No, Michael. I’ll do my own shopping.”

  “Please. Consider it a perk, plus she needs more to do since I’m only here every few weeks.”

  “I keep forgetting you don’t live in the City.”

  “Believe me, I pay enough in property taxes to prove I do live here. Send me the list.”

  The elevator opens, and we step in. Once inside, Lilly texts me the list. I lean in to reward her with a kiss, but she pulls away.

  “No. No. No elevator kisses. A hand job would be more original,” Lilly says with a laugh before biting my neck.

  A painfully sexy, full-on bite. Her teeth against my skin is hot as fuck. My dick raises its head for more. For a moment, I’m speechless.

  This woman will bring me to my knees, and if I’m not careful, she’ll destroy me. Flesh bites I can handle, but the emotional chunk she’ll take with her if she bolts will leave me as wound
ed as she is. And yet, as I assess the risk, I want her.

  I want her in the best-worst way.

  I need to change my strategy a bit. Reduce the emoting. Increase the fucking. Give her what she wants… so I can get what I want.

  Her heart.

  And yes, I also want her cunt. In the best-worst way.

  CHAPTER 7:

  LILLY SHEPARD

  Michael is quiet as we cross the near empty floor of the parking garage. He must pay extra to have all this space in this area of the City. I can’t swing my hand in the Mission without someone bumping into me. The same must be true for cars.

  Maybe I went too far when I bit his neck. It was meant to be a sexier way of expressing my gratitude for him sharing Molly with me. After thirty-one years on this planet, I have yet to master the art of seduction. My teeth against his skin, while incredibly arousing to me, may not do the same for Michael.

  I wish I knew what turns him on. This morning, I stood in front of him almost begging him to fuck me and he just smirked. Smirked! His morning coffee was more seductive than “string bean, Lilly.”

  Ugh. I don’t want to mess this up. I like him. And with my liking comes a blast of emotions I haven’t felt in years. Emotions I pledged to keep locked away until I finished my PhD. I don’t want another relationship to distract me from my vision.

  Researching and developing pharmaceuticals to heal and eradicate disease is my life purpose. And I don’t do failure. But ditching a guy as great as Michael would also be a bright red F. I need to turn down my “fuck me” dial and try his approach. Less sex, more romance.

  We arrive at the car and he opens my door. And for a minute, we stand there. Unmoving.

  “Michael…”

  “Lilly…”

  “You go first.”

  “No. Ladies first. What were you going to say?”

  I wrap my arms around his neck, dragging my fingers over his impeccably faded hairline. I love his height. Being a taller woman, it’s nice being with a man whose size makes me feel feminine. Almost dainty. Our frames are a total match.

  Michael’s amber eyes hold me captive.

  “Thank you for the groceries. I’m sorry about the bite. I’ll be better at controlling myself on our next date. Though in my defense, it’s difficult. You are fine as…. I mean, you are a very handsome man and I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. What were you going to say?”

  Michael circles his arms around my waist. His hands cradle my ass, hauling my body against him. Umm. I melt into his torso like ice cream dripping from a cone.

  “Lilly, I leave for L.A. tomorrow and I can’t come back until the week after next. I want you to stay with me tonight. I don’t accept your apology about the bite. I liked it and I fully intend to bite you back when we get to my house. Not your neck, but between your thighs. I’ll leave my mark so you don’t forget me while I’m away. After I’m done biting and sucking, I’m going to beat-it-UP so well, you will dream of me every night until I return.”

  Michael’s words are self-assured and confident. Seduction done right.

  I moan. My lips try to embrace his, but he retreats.

  “Get in the car. Unbutton your jeans and let’s get this hand job out of the way. When you stop seeing stars, you’re going to say I’m your boyfriend.”

  Michael releases me and strides around to his side of the car. I don’t move. I can’t. My mind turns to slush. My inner thigh quivers. I want this man so badly I ache with need.

  Arousal is a hell of a drug. Michael is a hell of a drug.

  “Get in the car, Lilly,” he calls from inside.

  I slide in, shutting the door. I drop my sunglasses in the center console next to his. I toss my sweater and purse in the back seat and unbutton my pants. His brash sexuality scrambles my typically methodical thought process. My hands operate on rote memory. Right now, I don’t care about anything but his fingers inside my pussy and against my clit.

  Michael doesn’t touch me.

  “Lilly, tell me what you like.”

  I can’t speak. I’m not this woman. I’ve given speeches at conferences and lectures to thousands of undergrads. I’ve sat in meetings and seminars with some of the most brilliant minds on the planet. I’m a brilliant mind! I can always contribute to a conversation. Always.

  With my speech on sabbatical, I use my hands.

  I hold up two fingers. Then one. Then two. Two. One. Two. Two. One. Two.

  Does he understand? Does he understand how badly I need to experience his hand moving between my thighs? Does he understand he’s turned my body on high and my voice on mute? Does he understand the power he already has over me? So soon.

  “Two in your pussy. One over your clit. Two in your pussy. Repeat,” Michael says, with his dazzling smile. (Can he be any more attractive?)

  I nod. (He understands!)

  “How much pressure?” Michael asks.

  Ugh. Michael. My arousal stole my speech! You stole my speech! Stop with the questions and just do it already.

  Covering his hand with mine, I guide him past the waistband of my panties into the very wet spot between my legs. I lead him through a round of two-one-two before retracting my hand. Letting him take over, I rest my head against the headrest and brace myself for impact. Closing my eyes, I return to the tiniest unit of matter that unites him and me.

  His first solo round, he’s tentative. Second round, Michael is all skill. My sex hums, coos, and cries for more and more. His long ring and middle fingers coax the inside of my pussy. Pulling out, he rubs my clit. And dips back in. Caressing the sweetest spot with each thrust. Over and over. A brilliant equation of rhythm, speed, and pressure. My nipples peak. My body trembles. My mind turns into a mushy mess.

  Michael is smart and fine and sexy as fuck. If I could speak, I’d beg him to marry me (good thing I can’t).

  His fingers against my cunt… perfection.

  Two. One. Two. I need to come with a life-saving urgency. Lord. Darwin. Man of the Mountain. I need this orgasm. Two. One. Two.

  Together, Michael and I will save the planet. Two. One. Two. When I can speak again, we’ll spearhead research to create pharmaceuticals designed to eradicate disease.

  Two. One. Two. Yes. Yes. Billionaire boyfriend. Yes. Yes. Two. One. Two. We’ll do all of this together. You and me. And then we will get married and create another human, who will continue our work.

  Two. One. Two. Lord. Darwin. Man of the Mountain. Thank you! Two. One. Two. Thank you for this incredible man giving me the most life-changing hand job on a Sunday afternoon. Two. One. Two. In a parking garage. In the middle of the Mission District. Two. One. Two.

  My climax begins as a slow rumble deep in my core and turns into vigorous quakes all over my body. I thrust my hips. My face grimaces. My mouth opens. Mentally, I scream his name, coming undone all over his hand. Orgasming has never been this good. Michael followed the formula like a brilliant scientist. A master. A Lilly pussy fucking genius.

  Two. One. Two. He slows, letting my body return to center. Two. One. Two. His touch now feathery light against my clit. Two. One. Two. He continues. Two. One. Two. Until my hips still.

  I separate Michael’s hand from my center. Inserting his fingers into my mouth, I suck him clean, the taste and smell of me everywhere. A deep, caveman-like groan sounds from the center of his chest. His amber eyes are as dazed as I feel.

  “Are you on birth control?”

  I nod. Speaking still ain’t happening in my world. I need more. He needs more.

  Michael slides his seat back before unfastening his belt, unzipping his khakis and pushing them to midthigh.

  “Lilly, get on my cock. Now.”

  Ummmm. Let’s pause for a moment.

  Michael’s cock is not regular.

  It’s colossal. Copper-colored. Circumcised. Commanding.

  Michael is not a prince. He’s a fucking king.

  Standing up straight, his dick summons my pussy. Really. It issues an edict to strip of
f my shoes, jeans, and panties and climb over the center console into the arms of my man. (There is no way I’m letting him go after this.)

  By my calculations, my legs are too long for this car sex situation, but the intensity in Michael’s eyes says it’s a “make it work” moment.

  And I want nothing more than to make this connection between the two of us work.

  CHAPTER 8:

  MICHAEL AHMED

  My geek queen has the most beautifully ugly orgasm face I’ve ever seen.

  And I can’t wait to see it again.

  She’s gone on silent retreat, miming her sexual formula. Her urgent “fuck me” eyes are why my pants are down in the middle of the Mission at three o’clock in the afternoon.

  Lilly’s lanky body leaps onto my lap from the other side of the car. I’m trying not to laugh, but she’s all flailing and fumbling limbs as she straddles my thighs. Her crown of curly hair hits the sunroof and her elbow bumps the door.

  “Ouch. That move was supposed to be exponentially more graceful and seductive,” she says.

  Lilly’s wet cunt teases my cock. She’s so close, I can feel her heat. Clawing my shirt, nails dig into my skin. I moan. Lilly may not be graceful, but she is definitely all seduction.

  “You don’t dance, do you?” I ask.

  My hands grip her ass to hold her upright.

  “Not well. Is it obvious?” Lilly asks, distress on her face.

  “Yeah, babe,” I chuckle, my lips skating over her chin.

  “Michael, can we go to your house? I promise, with the right amount of space, my pussy will curtsy for your dick skillfully enough that you’ll invite me back.”

  “Lilly, you already have a standing invitation. Any time you want.”

  My lips embrace hers, but she’s in control. Her tongue strokes mine. Possessive. Sensuous. Lilly’s kiss is breathtaking. Insistent. Our clumsy attempt at car sex has not diminished her fire. I can’t wait to see her beautifully ugly O face again.