Authors: Lynn Ray Lewis
Dizzy's Story
At the Lake 1
Dizzy’s Story
Dizzy Benson is a free-spirited woman who follows her own path.
Her hair looks like it has been styled with a tornado, and she is short and chunky. But she is also brilliant and owns her own company.
Dizzy is looking for someone special to share herself and life with, someone big and hunky and rich enough that she doesn’t have to worry about being taken for her money. She meets Jon Drake, a real estate broker with a killer smile. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who would come on to a woman bigger than a size zero, but he sees Dizzy and decides she would be just what he wanted, smart, independent, and sexy as hell.
They find out that they have much more in common than either one of them dreamed. Jon has a “special” surprise for Dizzy, and she loves it. When his brother arrives unexpectedly, Jon and Dizzy have a healing birthday gift for him.
Note: There is no sexual relationship or touching for titillation
between or among siblings.
Genre:
BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length:
20,805 words
DIZZY’S STORY
At the Lake 1
Lynn Ray Lewis
MENAGE AND MORE
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www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage and More
DIZZY’S STORY
Copyright © 2013 by Lynn Ray Lewis
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-172-5
First E-book Publication: January 2013
Cover design by Christine Kirchoff
All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
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Dizzy’s Story
by Lynn Ray Lewis from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.
Regarding E-book Piracy
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To my favorite critics. I can always count on you for the truth.
DIZZY’S STORY
At the Lake 1
LYNN RAY LEWIS
Copyright © 2013
Dizzy was in the best mood of her thirty-three years. Last night had been wonderful, and she wanted to talk about it with someone.
Her best friend Jane was at the bar last night, but maybe she would come over and chat for at least a little while. It was just after 9:00
a.m., and Dizzy felt like she was going to burst if she didn’t talk this out with someone. Her body still felt like it was humming from last night’s activities. She wasn’t used to falling so hard and so fast like this. It had been years since she allowed herself to be picked up in a bar and went home with a guy on the same night she first met him, and that had only been one time when she was nineteen. Even for someone who considered herself very independent, that was something Dizzy would not normally do.
Jane would be able to talk sense into her when she needed it. She was the voice of reason when it came to other people’s relationships.
Dizzy hoped that Jane would tell her to keep seeing Jon. But she was pretty certain her friend would tell her to “enjoy the man but don’t hang your heart on him.” That was Jane’s usual advice for her friends who thought they had found the man of their dreams.
When Jane groggily answered the phone with the words “this better be good or a disaster,” Dizzy apologized for waking her up.
Dizzy’s Story
9
Then she bribed her with “coffee, hot, cream-laced coffee.” Jane promised to come over as soon as she got her clothes on.
She showed up in a baggy pair of shorts and a ratty old T-shirt.
Dizzy smiled at the flip-flops on Jane’s feet and the old-time scrunchy holding the long blonde hair on the top of her friend’s head.
The girls were settled after getting the coffee and Dizzy had thoughtfully made toast. Jane could tell that it was not from a need to be a good hostess. Dizzy was wound up tighter than normal, and she needed something to do to keep herself from bouncing off the walls.
She started yacking the minute Jane came in, and Jane had to hold up her hand and give her the owl-eyed look, croaking, “Coffee,” before allowing any further talk.
“Okay, now what has you so fired up this early in the morning?”
Jane sipped the hot, heavenly, caffeine-laced coffee and prepared to be regaled with Dizzy’s news. “And I am warning you, this better be worth interrupting my sleep-in. I worked closing last night and then did a load of laundry.”
Dizzy sat in front of Jane with her hands clasped together and began her tale. Jane choked on her toast when she heard, “I fucked a guy with the most amazing cock, and he was the best fuck I ever had.
I think I am in love!” Dizzy gushed about the man. He was so smart, he was so knowledgeable, and he was the best thing since sex was invented.
Yadda yadda.
Jane had a hard time believing what she was hearing. Dizzy did not brag about a man. She would talk about sexual escapades but never actually brag about fucking a guy, miracle cock or not. Jane lived vicariously through her friend’s sex life. In her experience men either wanted a sugar momma or they thought they were studs in bed.
So far she had not found a man that fulfilled her needs sexually or mentally. She had given up looking for that “special” man. She had already looked for that elusive satisfaction everywhere she thought he might be hiding. Now Dizzy had found what sounded like the perfect specimen of manhood.
Lucky bitch.
10
Lynn Ray Lewis
* * * *
Dizzy told her that she had been trolling The Club last night while Jane was busy working behind the bar. Jane had not even noticed Dizzy was there. She chose a high table back in the corner so she could scope out the clientele and would know if a man came in with another woman, and she took note of who was drinking too heavily for her evening’s purposes. “I always watch before I try to connect with a guy. I am not looking for a drunk or a druggie to drain my bank account, you know. I am smarter than I look.” She grinned. Jane knew what Dizzy did. Dizzy was a free-spirited type of gal who was not afraid to go after someone who interested her. She refused to even talk to a man that came in with another woman or had a telltale white ring around his finger where a wedding band had been a few hours before.
She was not one of the baby dolls that would normally slink into The Club, and she was proud of the fact. Her hair would never be curly or considered sexy. It was white-blonde, cut short, and laid straight as a board. She liked to spike it like that famous bleached-blonde chef on the Food Network. She was known to say that she was
“gifted” early. At age twelve her breasts were already in a C cup.
Now at the ripe age of thirty-three, they were in the double-D range and heavy. Her waist was at least smaller than her wide hips but not by much. She knew that wearing a G-string would be a joke. No one would see the strings unless they looked between her small rolls of chubby.
Dizzy was a tactile creature. Whether fabric, skin, or food, if it felt good, she was all over it. Her personality was bubbly, and many people made the mistake of underestimating her intelligence. She was a business owner and had two diplomas, one from UCLA and one from WMU, one in chemistry and the other in business. At thirty-three she had all the material possessions she wanted and had worked
Dizzy’s Story
11
like a dog for the rewards of her independent lifestyle. Lately she was looking for a more permanent situation. She was looking for her happily ever after.
While she was checking out a table of men, someone walked up to her table on the back side. She jumped a bit when a man’s voice asked if he could join her. She turned and looked at the man, who was seating himself in the chair closest to her. Her surprise must have shown on her face when he gave her a slow, sexy smile. He was not her usual type of man. He was not tall and hulking. He was slender but thankfully not skinny. He was probably two inches taller than she was, and that put him at five eight or so. Men like this guy did not come on to women like her. His face had what she would call that fallen-angel look, beautiful, large blue eyes and lips worth giving a woman fantasies about them pleasuring her body all over. He had dark hair, and his beard was dark and thick looking. The kind of man who had to shave twice a day or rasp a woman’s flesh red.
He confused her. Men like him did not hit on slightly overly curvy, medium-height blondes that looked like someone stuck their hair in an eggbeater. So she asked him the normal “Hi, how are you?”
questions and answered his questions in return. His name was Jon Drake. He was a real estate broker and specialized in commercial properties. By her estimation of the cost of his clothes, she knew he must be successful at it. Those garments were not purchased at the local Walmart. When the waitress came to take their orders, he ordered a longneck Miller and she ordered her usual Canadian Club on the rocks. His eyebrow raised when the waitress discreetly passed Dizzy two notes and then walked off. “Problems?” he asked as she turned the papers in her fingers and narrowed her eyes at him.
