Space Between

EXCERPT

Can a Secret Lead to Forever?

BRIT PALMER

“Brit, come sit on my face.”

Arousal floods my sex.

It’s Saturday morning. Hints of dawn peek from behind the white plantation shutters in Claire’s floral country living room. A bird chirps a constant melody.

Last night, Alex and his brother’s friends crashed the Smart Girl Mafia quarterly sleepover.
Even in our 30s, my friends and I still kick it like we did in college. But now, we do so with fine food and booze. And lately, fine men.

“What if someone walks in?” I ask, quietly.

“I doubt anyone is up this early,” he whispers.

I want to do it. Alex is skillful with his tongue. So skillful. It’s his thing.

For eight years, he’s asked: “Can I go down on you?”

Every time, I responded: “We’re not there yet.”

Last night we arrived. It was our first sexual experience. We haven’t even kissed.

I was a little drunk and high on the relief of finally being done with my dissertation. Finally being done with my doctorate degree. Finally being done with the last eight years.
He lies across from me. We were assigned to sleep on two sofas facing each other with a coffee table in between. The scent of homemade cinnamon apple potpourri wafts in the air.

“How do we do this?” I ask, tossing the thick white comforter off my body.

“Take off your panties and straddle my chest.”

He’s shirtless, on his back. The white comforter bunched at his feet reveals black boxer briefs. The life-like dragon tattooed across his muscular pec summons me forward.
Rising from the sofa, my peacock kaftan-style nightshirt falls mid-thigh. I slip off my black bikini panties and toss them on the pile of clothes I wore last night. I pause at the edge of his sofa.

“I’ve got a lot of thigh. How will you breathe?”

I’m 5’10. 162 pounds. While Alex is 6’1, fit, with a broad chest, he’s just a man. A man who needs air to live.

That would be a hell of a story to tell my friends on our truth hike: I accidently killed Alex, orgasming on his face.

“I’ll survive. Be a good girl. Come here,” Alex says, removing his silver titanium glasses.

I’m no pretty girl. I’m no distressed damsel waiting for a man to rescue me. But when this blue-green-eyed man says “good girl” my body flames with need.

Imagine the most attractive man… Alex Willingham is hotter than him.

At 31 years old, he appears older and wiser than his age. Light olive complexion.
Conservatively cut deep brown hair. Chiseled jawline. Always clean-shaven.

“Stop worrying, Brittney. You’re not going to kill me.”

“How did you know that was what I was thinking, Dragon?”

“After eight years, I know how my do-gooder wife thinks.”

Space Between, Smart Girl Mafia Series, Book #3
Copyright © Amiee Smith, 2019