Hey reading family! Here’s my first un-edited Sunday Sample from STRIP, Heavy On the D book 2. Enjoy and tell me what you think in the comments!
Jumping out of my sleep, I took my blurry vision around the bedroom, searching for the noise that interrupted my slumber.
In my hand, my loose grasp held on to a vibrator, the one I’d fell asleep gripping after cumming so hard I’d collapsed into a coma.
I hit the button to silence it, then dropped back against my sheets. Lately, my vibrator had been the only thing to make sure I slept well through the night. Well, except this time. That was no fault of the vibrator, however.
After a disastrous breakup with my now ex-boyfriend, Robert Finnegan, almost a full month ago, resting at night shouldn’t have been a problem. I mean, he was a jerk. A cheater. An asshole. To get rid of that baggage should’ve calmed my spirit. I should’ve been sleeping eight solid hours every night, knowing there was no one out there cheating on me.
But no. Instead, annoyance had set up in my soul. The fact was, I spent three of my precious years with Robert Asshole Finnegan. And like most men, he’d been charming in the beginning and full of excuses and noncommittal issues in the end.
I exhaled and turned to check the time. It was three am, and again, annoyance riddled through me that once more I was up, thinking about that disaster. Make no mistake about it, I didn’t miss him. But I can’t lie, I did miss the D.
Sighing, the illumination of my cell phone caught my attention, and I reached for it, seeing a notification that had been sent right after I passed out. It was from Lincoln.
I hope you had a great day, and have a restful night.
I stared at that text too long, didn’t respond, and tossed my phone back on the pillow next to me.
Lincoln Black was someone I’d met while searching online for a photographer.
Three years prior, I was an award-winning author who’d inked a six-figure deal with one of the top five big publishers. My career soared. Expressing myself through words was poetic for me. But things in the industry slowed when indie publishing boomed. My publisher was no longer offering deals with six-figures, and I was too much of a boss to settle for anything less.
I studied the market and played with thoughts of diving into indie publishing as well but at the time my desire was to mentor aspiring writers, and help them get their manuscripts ready for querying or self-publishing. That all changed when I spotted an ad in the paper for a marketing consultant. So after a year of trying to figure out my life, I decided to go for it, submitted my resume and was accepted for the position.
That didn’t last long.
A year into that job I gave my resignation as one of the top advertising experts in the region. Yeah, I was good and could take any company to the next level depending on their needs and budget.
I made good money too. Six high figures a year—more than my contract with the publishing house. Unfortunately, it wasn’t what I loved. The job became something I did to make money. It wasn’t fulfilling, and I knew that a change was gonna come.
At heart, I’m a lover of the written word. Fiction scribing had always been my thing, even in grade school. So to elevate my writing career the same way I’d promoted other companies, I dusted off my laptop and turned my attention back to publishing. And getting headshots for my website’s official launch was needed asap.
Mulling through pages of options online, I came across Lincoln’s handsome face, and that is an understatement. The man was gorgeous. I mean, dark rich chocolate skin, thick lips, a broad nose, intense dark eyes with a hint of green that sparkled depending on which way his gaze settled over you.
I shivered, thinking about him.
The man was fine, fine. That’s what stopped my browsing. Clicking on his website, and one appointment later, I found myself in his studio, propped on a stool as he circled me like prey.
In his hands, his camera flashed at all angles, and a strap clung to his neck connected to his camera.
“I’m only looking for headshots,” I had said.
“The extras are on the house.”
My brows rose. “Why?”
He strolled to me, three long strides that had his scent sifting up my nose, drawing me closer to his magnificence.
“Because your beautiful, and the camera agrees.”
Turning the still images towards me, my eyes widened, a soft gasp leaving my throat.
I looked like, shit, my forever first lady of the U.S. Smooth skin, hair with the right curl and bounce, brown eyes crystal clear, medium shiny lips, a perfect smile. I was laughing as if I just heard the best joke there was to hear in some of the pictures.
The off the shoulder top gave me a playful and relative appearance, and I was digging it.
“Damn,” I’d said. “I’m kinda fine, huh?”
Deep laughter barked from Lincoln, igniting my entire body and making my pussy tingle. What a pleasure it was to hear his thunderous laugh, I thought, sliding my eyes up his white casual oxford button up and down the plaid pencil pants kissing his muscular thighs. The makings of a tattoo peeked from the undershirt he wore, clipping off right at his thick neck. I wondered what it was but was too polite to get in his business and ask about it.
Nodding, he spoke, “There’s no kinda needed.” His wide mouth eased into a sexy grin. “You’re beautiful, Ms. Addison.”
“Patience,” I said.
He nodded. “Patience it is.”
We lingered there far too long, staring at each other. That visit turned into me suggesting I would need additional professional photos for my business and Lincoln giving me a business card with his personal telephone number on it.
I wasn’t lying. I did and would need more photos, but I can admit, wanting to be merely in his presence again was initially the thing that made me point out needing additional assistance.
It had been almost a month of us casually reaching out to one another. After my disaster, I’d made the mistake of confiding in Lincoln on a phone call.
“Let me come over. I want to be there for you.”
I wanted him to come, but I closed my eyes and shut out my mind and body’s desire to have him close.
It was risky, and before I knew it, he’d be my boyfriend two weeks after a breakup. These were rebound methods. I convinced myself of this. Also, I didn’t want to cuddle with him.
I was on the verge of turning forty. One week to be exact. And what I really wanted was to be fucked.
I nodded while staring at the ceiling. I wanted the D so bad that I imagined the penetration, the plunging, the hard, pussy-wetting churning that would have me singing an opera tune.
Yes. That’s what I wanted. Not a relationship. Dick.
I called myself pulling back from Lincoln. Not that we were close but, we were close enough for me to feel me bugging out on what-ifs.
What if he was the man of my desires?
What if he wasn’t?
What if Lincoln was sent from heaven and I was avoiding God’s gift?
What if the devil sent him?
I shook out of that long enough to get my mind together. Patience Addison only wanted to be physically yet recklessly handled.
After convincing myself, I remembered The Den.
I smirked, thinking about next week’s visit. The Den was a popular upscale all-male strip club, often frequented by Atlanta’s celebrity A-listers. But what lay beneath was a risqué den of rendezvous, where women went to have their desires fulfilled.
It sounds slutty at first, but according to one of my best friends Asia McClendon, it wasn’t a whore house after all.
Entertainment was the focal point. But if you were put on the list, then you had the option to dive deeper.
Asia used to be the timid of the three of us. Me, Brandy Collier, and I. But after her first experience at The Den, she became the most daring of us. At first, my girl kept her risqué rendezvous to herself. But at one of our weekly luncheons in which Brandy and I could use some good news, she spilled the juice.
“Who have you been having sexual intercourse with?” Brandy asked.
I laughed, and Asia rolled her eyes and pursed her lips.
We both pushed our lips out and cocked our heads to the side.
“All right.” Asia exhaled, gathering her nerve. “I fucked a guy at The Den.”
Sharp gasps flew from us, and our mouths hung open. Asia lifted her mimosa and took a sip as a giddy chuckle bubbled up from her lips.
Brandy pushed her shoulder. “You better not be lying to us!”
“Please. That’s the last thing I’d lie about. And, besides, is my brow twitching?”
Whenever Asia would lie, her brow would twitch up a storm. For that reason, she was never able to tell us a tall tale.
We stared hard.
“She’s not lying,” I said.
“Holy mac and cheese,” Brandy added.
“Holy mac and cheese? Really?” Asia sipped more of my drink.
“You really did it.” Brandy couldn’t stop staring. She was shocked. “How was it—I mean, how’d it come about?”
“There’s a menu.”
Our eyes rose.
“I selected from the menu, and luckily the lover that I selected wanted me too, so we fucked.”
We were thoroughly intrigued and astounded by her confession, but she didn’t stop there, letting me know it was worth it to find out for myself.
“He fucked me goooood, too. So good I went back last Friday.”
“AH!” Brandy screamed, covering her mouth.
Asia laughed her ass off. “You guys wanted the truth. There it is.”
“Oh, hell, no, I’ve got to go now!” Brandy shouted.
But meanwhile, I was already planning my visit in my head. There was just one issue. You had to be on the list.
To get on, someone who’d been a frequent visitor had to refer you. From there, an intensive background check happened, and if you were accepted, you would get an encrypted email to which you could only open with your social security number.
They were not kidding about safety and privacy measures at The Den. So, I told my friend what I wanted, and I don’t know what I expected. Judgment maybe? But I should’ve known better. Asia was more than happy to oblige.
This past Wednesday, I’d received my email. I wasn’t nervous as I had always been a bit on the bold side.
I didn’t want the bodyguard that Asia had. I didn’t want anyone looking over my shoulder. I was going straight for the entertainer. I needed to see what The Den was all about.
However, this weekend I was celebrating my birthday with my girlfriends because next weekend, I didn’t want to see them heauxs until Monday morning. My weekend was reserved for whoever would be chosen to wax this pussy.
I laughed and stretched then rose from the bed, my feet sinking into the plush carpet. Strolling to the window, I pulled back a curtain, and moonlight spilled through the opening.
I lived on the sixteenth floor of a high-rise tower downtown, The Resiling. The luxury condos were also rented—some owned by A-listers in Atlanta. The cushion I’d saved for my leap back into my writing career allowed me to pay up my mortgage for three years.
That’s all the time I needed to get my business off the ground and hopefully have a career that could sustain the life I was used to.
My thoughts traveled to Lincoln, and I sashayed to the bed, lifted the phone, and scrolled to his name, sending off a text message.
Thanks for the lovely words. I hope you had a great day and a good night as well.
I dropped the phone and stared at it for a second. Maybe I should get my vibrator going again, and I could get back to sleep.
I nodded and turned away from the phone just as it lit up.
A phone call.
I cleared my throat and glanced at the time again, then answered.
“This is booty call territory here, Mr. Black.”
A deep, authoritative voice spoke. “Then you shouldn’t be texting me during booty call hours, Ms. Addison.”
We were doing a song and dance, and this was why I was desperate to stay away from him.
“I like Mr. Black, though.”
He chuckled. “Why is that?”
“It’s mysterious like you’re a guy who’s sexy and makes women bend to your will at the drop of your voice.”
My mouth opened, and my tongue stretched across the outline of my top lip.
“Yeah. At night when you go out hunting for prey.”
His guffaw stole my breath—its deep, easy groove showering my body with chills.
“I can assure you, Patience when hunting season is in, my prey usually knows it.”
The fine hairs on my neck were rising, and a ripple of warmth flooded my core. A squirm and a flop on the bed later, and I was reaching for my vibrator.
“Tell me, Mr. Black. How does one know? What are your methods?”
I turned my vibrator on and slipped my legs under the cover along with my hand to stifle the hum.
“First, I build a friendship with my prey to gain her trust and let me in.”
“Is that right?” I pressed the stimulator against my clit, arching at the speed against my sensitive flesh.
“Yes,” his deep voice strummed. “Then, I show her why I’m the best person to be in her presence for more than a friendly relationship.
“Mmhmm.” My lips parted as I pressed harder.
“If she’s feeling me beyond friendship, one of two things happen.”
“I trust her with my heart.”
“Really?” I moved the vibrator round and round, dipping into my pussy to soak it, then drag it back to my clit.
“Then, I show her the way to my pipeline.”
I sucked in a breath, moaned, shook as heat attacked my skin.
I gripped the phone and came hard. Too hard. It was the easiest and fastest release I’d ever had.
When I woke up, it was the phone’s loud ringing that stirred me. Discombobulated, I reached for it and saw Lincoln’s face.
“Oh shit.” I’d drifted off again.
Coming this month.
If you have not read book one, grab STIFF here.