Stay Vertical (The Bare Bones MC #2)(32)
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 *, 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.