Crave: Nikki's Story: Crave Series, #1

By Heidi Lowe

When Nikki Cox-Everett gets a phone call from her estranged father telling her that he's engaged, she discovers that her future stepmother is none other than her ex-girlfriend Angel. She's that one unforgettable ex that no other woman can compare to in the bedroom. And she isn't quite done with Nikki yet. 

There's just one small problem: Nikki is happily married to another woman, and they have a child together. She has the perfect life. Surely she wouldn't risk it all for a nostalgic fling?

Crave: Nikki's Story is the first book in the Crave series, a 2-part lesbian drama. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heidi Lowe Books
• Release date: Nov 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781516327959

Heidi Lowe

Heidi Lowe writes steamy lesbian fiction.

Book preview

Crave: Nikki's Story

(Crave Series, Book 1)

by Heidi Lowe

Published by Heidi Lowe Books, 2016.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

CRAVE: NIKKI'S STORY

Second edition. November 12, 2016

Copyright © 2016 Heidi Lowe

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CONTENTS

TITLE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

CRAVE: FAYE'S STORY – FIRST CHAPTER

OTHER BOOKS BY HEIDI LOWE

BLURB

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ONE

I'm always the first to wake up in the morning. There's an internal alarm that seems to go off every morning at seven, telling me to get my butt out of bed and get ready for the daily grind.

I glance at the screen of my phone – just two minutes past the hour. I hear her gentle breathing beside me and roll over to look at her. Her eyelashes are fluttering slightly, like she's pretending to be asleep, but I know different.

I stroke her face with the back of my hand, and her breathing changes pace for a second. She can feel me in her sleep. A tiny smile, so faint it would go unnoticed if I didn't expect it, appears on her lips. She's in that limbo between sleeping and waking. She might be the most beautiful she's ever been right now. But I think that every morning.

That time already? she asks without opening her eyes. The lazy smile is still present.

'Fraid so.

She groans. Have I told you how much I hate weekdays?

She has, a thousand times. I hate them too, at least at times like this, when I'm forced to get out of bed.

Gotta make the money that keeps you in those expensive heels you like so much.

She finally opens her eyes, and we laugh lazily together. It's complete nonsense; she doesn't do expensive, and only dons heels on special occasions.

We kiss for the first time of the morning, and it's the sweetest kiss ever. It always is, marking the end of an 8-hour-long hiatus since our goodnight kiss. We don't even care that neither of us has brushed our teeth yet.

Pinch me, I tell her, and she rolls her eyes jokingly. She does it anyway.

Yep, you're definitely awake, baby, she says with a laugh. It's kind of our thing. Confirmation that I'm in fact wide awake and not dreaming. Because this set up I've got here, this life, it's too good to be real.

I'm going to call in sick. The boss won't mind. And if she does have a problem, I'll tell her to go to hell. I comb my fingers through her thick brunette locks, which she insists need trimming.

Bad idea. Your boss can be a real hard-ass. I mean, she's the hottest woman I've ever met, drives me wild, but she's a tyrant when it comes to her business.

Hey! She's laughing hysterically as I straddle her. She has the most infectious laugh; it's adorable. I'm a hard-ass, huh? And a tyrant? You take that back, lady.

She's already apologizing profusely because she knows what's coming next. Too late, though, I start tickling her. Her laugh is equal parts scream. I go easy on her this time, end her suffering with a kiss that she doesn't see coming.

You could never take a day off, she says once the kiss ends. You love your job too much for that. And I love that about you.

"I love you too much," I say in response. She's right, though, I hate taking time off work. What's the saying? When you find a job you love, you'll never work a day in your life.

Besides, it wouldn't be fair on Sandra if you played hooky just because you wanted to get a little nooky.

Sandra's a big girl, she can run the show for a day without me. That's why we're partners, so that if one of us wants to get laid, the other can hold the fort.

She giggles. Oh, so that's the reason? It's all about getting lucky.

I kiss her again, pinning her arms to the bed in the process. You know how hot it makes me when you think about other people's well-being? I thread my fingers through hers, and I see her ring and mine. Five years and we've never taken them off, not for any reason. I'm never taking it off. It's going to the grave with me.

That's what turns you on?

That and everything else about you.

I could tell her I love her again, but she's heard it a million times, and I'll say it several times before I leave the house for work. Does it get to a point when the words simply aren't enough to convey the true sentiment? It's as if they lose all meaning when you meet that one person who, you realize, you don't just love, you adore with every ounce of your being. That's how it is with Faye. They don't make women like her anymore. That sweet, loving, would give a complete stranger her kidney even if it was her last good one type of saint. Perfect and pure. You know there are just some people who deserve to be happy? Well, Faye's one of them. I like to think I'm her happy ending.

Our bedroom door creaks open and a little head pops in. It's full of messy, mousy brown hair. Big brown eyes and a pout greet us. I quickly climb down off my wife, get in a more appropriate position.

Good morning, sleepy head, I say. The three-year-old doesn't wait for an invitation, and comes trotting over to our bed. Faye pulls her in between us. Did you sleep well, honey?

She nods, and Faye and I take it in turns kissing her on the forehead. It's all part of our little family routine that sets my day up and reminds me how perfect my life is. How many people get to say that and actually mean it?

Do you want some breakfast, Emily, sweetie? Faye asks her.

She nods again. This early in the morning we can't get much out of her. But give her enough time to wake up fully and she'll talk your ear off.

You heard the girl, Mama, she wants her breakfast, Faye says to me.

Oh, that's just grand, I say, taking mock offense. It's not enough that I work my butt off to put food on the table, now you ladies expect me to prepare it for you too.

I'm not sure whether Emily fully understands, but she laughs anyway, probably because Faye does. It's so uncanny, a little spooky even, how similar they both look. They have the same huge, Bette Davis eyes, the same nose, everything. It's kind of hard to believe that my wife didn't give birth to her, though it's obvious to anyone with eyes that they're related.

You wanted this life, Faye says, chuckling. Welcome to marriage and parenthood.

I wouldn't have it any other way, I think to myself as I lean over and kiss her.

We're so perfect it's sickening!

Bitch! is the first thing I hear as I step into the office later that morning. It instantly brings a smile to my face. As difficult as it is to separate myself from my family, within minutes of arriving and hearing Sandra's angry cursing, I get over it.

What is it this time? The fax machine? Or maybe the copier?

She looks up from behind her computer, her beautiful face screwed up in frustration. The computer.

I nod knowingly, the smile never leaving my face. I knew it had to be an inanimate object of some description.

Why does technology insist on screwing with me?

Here's an idea: How about you learn to use it better, then it won't give you so many problems. I set my purse down, shrug my jacket off and wander into the small kitchen connected to our office. Everything here is small and cheap, and fit for its purpose. We've been in this office block since Sandra and I set up the company, an intermediary bringing product creators and testers together. The rent's cheap, and most of the people in the adjoining offices are pleasant. Currently we're not looking to expand, despite Sandra's complaints about feeling cramped.

Are you making coffee, because I could murder one right about now.

I guess I'm making coffee then, I say. What's with the mood anyway?

What mood?

I stifle a laugh. Typical Sandra, doesn't know when she's in a bad mood. Which means she has boyfriend trouble. That's usually the case.

People in good moods don't normally hurl insults at the furniture. What is it this time?

She joins me in the kitchen, arms folded. It's her favorite stance. He stood me up, again.

Again? I say, feigning shock but not at all surprised. You had plans last night?

I thought I did. The jerk left me waiting outside the bar, and it was freezing. I looked like a cheap hooker trembling because she needed a hit!

No, you could never look like a cheap hooker... Now an expensive one, that I'd buy.

She shoots me one of her looks, and it's all attitude. I love messing with her. Her fuse is so short she makes it so easy for me. All right, bad joke. So what was Anthony's excuse?

Can you believe he said we didn't have plans? Said he told me he was going out of town on business. Please.

What's that now, the third time? When are you going to cut him loose?

I know I should, but the sex... Man, the sex... She looks off dreamily.

I stick my hands over my ears. Spare me the details please.    

Would you cut a guy loose who looked like a young Lenny Kravitz?

Well, I wouldn't be with him to begin with. He doesn't exactly have the right equipment, you know.

Yeah, but still.

That's another typical Sandra thing. She seems to think my sexual orientation is fluid, changes with the weather or something. We've been friends since college, so seventeen years, and she still thinks that a good-looking man will magically undo thirty-six years of lesbianism.

Okay, if it's that simple why don't you let me hook you up with some of my female friends? I can't promise you Lenny Kravitz, but I do actually have a friend who looks a bit like his ex-wife.

Girl, you know that's not my scene.

No, it isn't, but she doesn't see the irony. She'd rather date douchebag men who treat her like crap. We are what we are, I guess.