Stay Vertical (9 page)

I could practically
taste
the smooth lushness of his creamy skin. Sliding my hand up the corded back of his neck, I plunged my fingertips into his wavy black hair. The roots were slightly damp in the humidity of the greenhouse, and I sensuously massaged his scalp, holding him close to me.

I knew Lytton would be fantastic in bed—or anywhere else, for that matter.

And he would not bitch about his spice rack.

LYTTON

L
ytton felt no remorse whatsoever about taking advantage of a sick girl.

He knew malaria, or yellow fever or whatever she had, wasn’t contagious. The same mosquito that bit her would have to bite him in order for him to catch it.

And who would say no to a stunning, curvy woman throwing herself on him? Lytton went for it.

There was also probably an element of getting revenge on Ford. Ford may be telling the truth when he said he didn’t know he had a brother. That may very well be true. Sadie Driving Hawk may not have even
told
Cropper he had a son. That could be why Cropper had never acknowledged him or tried to get in touch with him. It was pointless to ask Sadie now, with her living in a dream world of alcohol-fueled brain damage.

Lytton knew it would irk Ford that he was macking on his sister-in-law. It wasn’t difficult for her to arouse Lytton. He’d been keyed up all day. First the confrontation with his fucking brother. The asshole had denied his entire existence. As if Lytton wanted to patch into his fucking stupid club anyway. He must’ve been high to think he wanted to be part of that twisted, deviant “family.” If what June said was true—that in order to be accepted as Ford’s brother, he’d have to join their dumbass club—he’d better give that a long, hard think.

Snatching June from that Citadel parking lot had been an act of revenge. Now, proudly showing off his pot farm, Lytton discovered he had a lot in common with the do-gooding hippie. She literally understood his lingo when he spoke of using molasses as a nutrient, shoot initiation, and somatic embryogenesis. Apparently she had gained knowledge of those things during her UC Berkeley years or her African years. The two of them understood each other.

It was a win-win-win to crush the woman in his hands and tease her with his tongue. She felt delicate, as though made of tiny bird’s bones, her large fat boobs smashed to his chest. His finely tuned Dom’s senses zeroed in on how to handle her submissive side. She was obviously eager to please. She would be highly trainable, even if she’d never actively engaged in any sort of power exchange.

Releasing one of her arms, Lytton slid his hand to lightly cup her juicy tit. Women went wild when he caressed their erect nipples, and Lytton wanted to draw that out, to send her over the edge. She would be panting and begging for it when he slid his cock down her throat. For now, he taunted her with his skilled tongue, holding her jaw in one hand while fluttering his other hand over her tit, her nipple so stiff it stood out like a bullet. He knew her inner cunt was trembling with arousal when he feathered his palm over the sensitive nubbin. He could feel her heart beat against his rib cage.

Lytton prided himself in being able to remain somewhat aloof from his subs. Already he was more swept away than normal, maybe due to the day’s emotional events. He put more passion than usual into his kiss. It meant more to him than usual to bite her upper lip between his incisors, his bulging prick pressing against her belly.

To regain the upper hand, Lytton broke the kiss, keeping her affixed to him with his eyes. He didn’t need to see the coil of nylon cord sitting on the bog garden’s wooden frame. Blindly snatching it, Lytton made short work of a few half hitch knots, twining the rope between her wrists at the small of her back. His vast experience meant he could feel the knots with his fingertips and talk while he worked.

“You’re a stunning woman.” Praise always worked women up, but this time Lytton meant his words. He brushed his lips against hers. “Riding two up with your tits pressed against me had me stiff as a board. You’re the sexiest back warmer I’ve ever had.”

It was all true. Lytton had been tiring of the usual yes-women, the subs who complied like robots. When one knew what to expect from a sex partner, it became stale and routine. This new, innocent, inexperienced woman was just the ticket. He was a stranger to her, but she allowed him to bind her hands at the small of her back, her eyes limpid, questing.

He could see fever eating away at her. How else to explain why she said what she said? “You’re a smoking hot piece of man candy. I wanted you the second you busted into Ford’s office, Lytton. You’ve got me all excited and stimulated. I’ve never met a man like you.”

He had to smile at that. “Even in exotic Africa? Must be a lot of intrepid, interesting guys there.”

June said in a rush, “Not as glamorous as you. You’re banging hot. You already live a wild, outlaw sort of life up here in the mountains. You don’t need Ford’s club to prove you’re bad.”

It was time to move to tweaking her nipples—hard. June winced, but Lytton knew her pussy was clenching with need. Her fat tits were outthrust with her shoulder blades pressed together like that. It was true, Lytton’s prick had been up like a hammer for a while now, straining against the buttons of his jeans, constricted inside his tight boxer briefs. June leaned her bound fists, her butt, back against the wooden garden frame and graced Lytton with her giant, pleading eyes. He knew he pushed her limits when he slapped her big, lush boob, making ripples like a stone thrown into a still pond. She looked confused, unsure how to feel, unsure if she was being abused or teased.

He purred, “You’re a fine hottie, June. I could just eat you up.” That was his first fucking lie. Lytton was always in it for himself. He could care less if the woman got off, so why would he bother eating her pussy? He knew it aroused women, though, so he usually flung his words around lightly. “You like it when I slap your tit like this? Your chest is getting red. I want to see my handprint on your tit.”

Not waiting for a response to his rhetorical question, Lytton viciously yanked her top down by the neckline. The tits he’d been longing to get an eyeful of popped out, white and pristine. They glowed eerily under the greenhouse’s dome. Before his brain could stop him, he found himself bending at the knees to slurp one of the sweet kernels into his mouth.

“Ah!” June’s gasp was about two octaves higher now as she squirmed to climb up the wooden frame. “Oh, dear
God
Lytton, you’re tantalizing me to death! I’m going to scream, Lytton, I swear to God I’m going to scream if you keep teasing me like this!”

Would he have to gag her? The bandana he had tied around his neck always came in handy for that, among other things. But for some reason, Lytton liked to hear her frenzied response. He moved his mouth to the other nip, noshing and biting there while pulling and twisting her other nipple between his fingers.

One octave higher seemed impossible, but she reached it with a wild mélange of English and what must have been Swahili. “Lytton!
Kafirwe salama! Mkundu!
Stop driving me insane!
Zaidi, zaidi!
I swear if you don’t fuck me now I’m going to scream so loud your whore at the house will hear me!”

He was beyond pleased by her reaction. She was a sensitive, someone who felt things more acutely than most. It probably didn’t hurt that, as he suspected, she was probably not terribly experienced with men. This idea sort of turned him on, the thought that she was somewhat innocent. It meant he could corrupt her, mold her into the shape he wanted.

But he had no rubbers on him, so he did the next best thing. Detaching his mouth from her nipple with a loud sucking sound, Lytton stood tall, holding her at arm’s length. She was flushed, her pupils dilated with fever and lust. Her head wobbled on her neck as she tried to focus on his eyes. Lytton used his suave, reassuring Dom’s voice to keep her steady.

And he kept her excited and attentive by moving his hand to his belt buckle. Her eyes wavered to his crotch when he took a big handful of his erection and squeezed sensuously. “Would you like to service me, little one? Would you give me the honor of pleasuring me with your sweet little mouth?”

He could tell he’d had her at “would.” The sweet little gullible woman was instantly on her knees before he’d even had a chance to unsheathe his cock. With her hands bound behind her, all she could do was seek his cock with her mouth, and it was fun to see her bobbing her head this way and that like a seal with a ball on its nose.

She was skilled, though, once she sucked down his length. All the fine hairs stood out on the backs of Lytton’s thighs and gooseflesh peppered his chest, stiffening his nipples. He tore off his plaid shirt and flung it, raising the white wifebeater up his abdomen so he could admire the sight. Hands-free, June suckled his fat tool admirably, with an enthusiasm that couldn’t have been solely caused by the fever. No, she was truly, genuinely gulping his long prick down her throat.

And quickly driving Lytton past the point of no return.

He tried holding her off. He gripped her shoulders and tried backing her off his dick. “Whoa, there. Whoa.” But because his tone wasn’t sincere—he didn’t
really
want her slowing down—she must not have been convinced, and she was soon lapping him into oblivious bliss.

Lytton ejaculated down her throat with volcanic force—as though he hadn’t just come a few times that morning. His body froze into one rock solid unit as his dick pulsed, emptying milky jism into her hot mouth.

Son of a bitch. This girl can suck.

Lytton jumped and twitched as she continued loving his cock with her mouth. Instant regret flooded him. Regret wasn’t a concept or feeling Lytton was familiar with, but he identified it as such. He had
used
this poor woman for his own selfish ends. Normally that wasn’t an idea that filled him with much sorrow, either. He had callously, selfishly
used
her to A, wreak revenge on Ford, and B, get off. What sort of an asshole had he become?

He had had no intention in the world of giving
her
any pleasure. He never did when he enacted a scene. As she detached her mouth, smacking her lips with satisfaction, Lytton grabbed her by the biceps and lifted her. When her eyes met his, he saw that fever was causing her eyeballs to swim in her head. Pressing the back of his hand to her forehead, he knew she was unreasonably hot, even for just having given an enthusiastic blowjob in a greenhouse.

“I’m putting you to bed. After taking your temperature.” This caring, nursing attitude was foreign to Lytton, and he was glad when someone yanked the greenhouse door open. His associate Tobiah stormed in then—he’d been storming a lot lately.

“Typical, just fucking typical!” Tobiah yelled. He stalked the way Lytton imagined a scarecrow would stalk, all loose-jointed and flappy, like a crazed shorebird. “I leave you alone for one fucking minute and suddenly Cropper Illuminati is your
father
and you’re patching into The Bare Bones? Lyt, we don’t need that biker element drawing attention to our enterprise. If I wanted more attention, I would’ve just had someone sky write ‘free weed’ over our farm. Why don’t we just hold a Stan Lee comic book signing here as well?”

Lytton didn’t let go of June’s shoulders. She was regarding Tobiah with detached amusement, as though he were the day’s headliner entertainment. “Toby, I didn’t patch into the Bones. That would require a year of heavy service as a Prospect.”

Tobiah stood on one jiggly leg, kicking the other out like an antsy dog. “Really?
Really
? All this, and
that
is what you took from it? Not the part about Cropper Illuminati being your father? God
damn
!” Tobiah looked to June for support, pointing at Lytton as though he were amazing. “Amazing, isn’t he? A brilliant pot farmer, yet somehow oddly determined to run our business into the ground with his shenanigans. And you. Look at you. Standing here having a business-related discussion with your dick hanging out.”

Lytton had honestly forgotten his dick was hanging out, so he stuffed it back into his pants. He also politely untied June’s hands from behind her back. “Listen, Tobiah. It’s not my fucking fault. Those fucktard Cutlasses who busted on in here told me about Cropper Illuminati, and I went to The Bare Bones’ clubhouse to confirm it.”

“They’re not convinced yet,” June added, “but he did a DNA test that should come back in a few days.”

“DNA, my, my,” said Tobiah. “We’re getting fancy. Well, what are you hoping to gain with this new association of yours? I don’t want to distribute through their stupid Joint Effort, if that’s what you’re aiming at. You already have me almost convinced to sell through those hoodlum Cutlasses. I don’t need two rival gangs fighting over our Young Man Blue and knifing each other in our grow room. If I had to choose, I’d pick The Cutlasses any day. At least they haven’t committed fratricide yet…that we know of.”

Lytton was confused. What was Tobiah referring to? “Fratricide? Who killed their father?”