Lunchtime Chronicles: Fire Roasted

by L. Loren

  “I guess I got carried away. I’ll buy you another pair.”

  He helped me straighten my dress and tied my mask back on. It was a little damaged, but we were able to get it to work. Just as we came from behind the wall that hid our love fest, we saw none other than Sia’s salty ass.

  “Oh, Pilar, there you are. I was looking for you. It appears that you won the silent auction for the weekend at the Bohemian Outlaw. I wasn’t expecting to find you coming out of the fuck cubby with the one man in the place that I want for myself.”

  “Sia, we came out here for some fresh air. Don’t try to start those stupid rumors you are so famous for.”

  Gryphon tried to play it off that we were coming from the notorious fuck cubby. It was famous around the club. Everyone knew it was there and most had used it at one time or another.

  “Don’t even try to play me, Gryphon. You were back there fucking, and I have proof.”

  The woman’s voice sure could carry. She was purposely speaking loudly to make me squirm.

  “What I don’t understand is how you could choose this creature over me. Just look at her face. How could you touch her? No seriously, how did you even get hard? I need to know.”

  Gryphon moved so quickly toward Sia that I never even saw him flinch. He grabbed her by the arm and got in her face.

  “Watch your mouth. Don’t you ever say anything against the woman I love. Pilar is beautiful, inside and out. If you can’t see that, then that’s your issue. You need to leave before I forget you’re a woman.”

  “Don’t threaten me Gryphon Long. If you want to save your little girlfriend, you better start being nice to me. I have you guys on video. If you don’t want it to get out, then you had better change your attitude. I would hate for Mrs. Coates to find out.”

  “I already know!”

  We all turned to see my mom along with half of the ladies from her group standing there. She wore the look of murder on her face, but she wasn’t looking at me or Gryph. She was glaring at Sia. Lord help her.

  “Mrs. Coates! Did you see what your daughter has been up to? I just can’t believe a girl of such good standing would be caught in such a compromising position. And in public.”

  Sia batted her eyes just about causing a tsunami with those huge eyelashes she was wearing. She looked foolish with those things on her eyes. Mama wasn’t having it.

  “Shut your trashy mouth Sia. I saw you out here watching my daughter and that fireman getting it in. Your jealousy reeks. You’re just mad that my girl could pull the man you want even after her accident. Now you try to spread that video around and I will sue your trifling ass for every red cent you have.”

  I was shocked that my mom would defend me. Sia’s shoulders dropped, and she moved away from Gryphon and me. Once the crowed dissipated, Mama moved closer and set her eyes on me. I knew it was too good to be true. She was about to tear me a new asshole and I deserved it for embarrassing her.

  “So I guess you made your choice. I told you to find a man, but damn Pilar I didn’t mean for you to fuck him tonight.”

  My eyes got so big they almost popped out of my head. Was this my mom talking dirty and joking about sex? What in the world?

  “Oh girl, calm down. Your daddy and I used that little fuck cubby more times than I can count. It’s no big deal.”

  Hell had just frozen over. It felt like my ears were burning. I did not want to even think about my parents having sex let alone doing it where Gryphon and I had just been. Gross.

  Gryphon

  After that charity auction things between Pilar and I heated up. She and I took the opportunity given by her mother to continue seeing each other. She told me she changed her mind about me seeing her daughter after seeing how I defended Pilar at the party. She realized how much I cared for Pia, and she didn’t want to block the blessing. Her words, not mine.

  In about two minutes I will be off from my twenty-four-hour shift. I am headed home to shower, take a quick nap and then my girl and I are headed up the mountain for our romantic weekend at the Bohemian Outlaw Mountain Inn. They have horses, llamas, goats and loads of walking trails.

  I met the hosts, Josey and Jax, at the charity auction, and they seem like a great couple. I can’t wait to see their ranch and have some much-needed alone time with my woman.

  “Hey, baby. I missed you.”

  There she was. The love of my life. Pilar came by the station to pick me up and she was a sight for sore eyes. She looked good enough to eat in that yellow sundress. My god she was a vision. My girl had made so much progress with her confidence over the last three months. She was finally ready to go away for the weekend and allow strangers to see her face. After much deliberation and going against her mother’s wishes, Pilar decided not to have the plastic surgery to improve her burns.

  Secretly I was happy that she decided against the painful and dangerous procedure. I love her just the way she is. There is no need to try and fix perfection.

  “There’s my girl. Damn, baby you look good. Get over here and give your man a kiss.”

  My woman dropped to her knees, unzipped my pants, and started licking the head of my cock.

  “That was not the kind of kiss I was asking for, but I’ll take it.”

  With a giggle on her lips, Pilar continued licking my shaft. Her mouth felt so damn good. When she closed her lips around me and started sucking on the tip, I wanted to scream like a little bitch. Wet, juicy and warm. Those were the sensations that enveloped me, and Pia bobbed up and down on my dick.

  “Damn, babe. That feels so good. Please don’t stop.”

  My words seemed to fuel her because she doubled her effort. She spit on the shaft and lick it up, so the saliva stretched from her tongue to my cock. Just the sight alone had me ready to bust. She took me to the back of her throat and swallowed. It felt like a thousand hands were massaging my head and I had to concentrate to keep from spilling down her throat. The woman gave good head.

  When her hand snaked up my thighs and started rubbing my balls, I lost it. I grabbed her hair and started pumping in and out of her mouth. She had no idea how crazy she was making me. A few more pumps and a grunt later and I was done. My cum shot into her mouth and she swallowed it all. It was the most enticing sight I had seen all day. I felt dizzy so I leaned against the wall for support. Damn!

  This was my life now. I was happier than a fox in a hen house. There was no way I would ever let this woman go. We were going to be together forever. She was the fuel to the eternal flame within me.

  I hope you are enjoying The Lunchtime Chronicles, hot, short and sexy books to be read and go back to work. Keep reading for a sneak peek of S. London’s upcoming addition to the chronicles, Salt Shaker. It drops October 6th. Preorder it here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09F29VXCG

  Excerpt from Salt Shaker by S. London

  Nesa

  “Really, Malcolm?” I hiss between a string of scathing words I would deny uttering if my editor were in earshot. “You stand me up on my birthday, and now you’re not picking up the phone?” I scream into the receiver, one finger pressed against my vibrating eardrum in a feeble attempt to drown out the DJ’s hip-hop remix. The track is one of my favorites, which, under normal circumstances, would have lured me back into the maze of bodies creating a fluid mosaic across Club Al Di La’s illuminated dance floor.

  Boy toy or not, Malcolm knows how important it is for him to be on my arm tonight. That’s why I’m giving his voicemail the riot act. Every moment I’m not behind my camera, I’ve spent planning this weekend at The Governor Hotel in downtown DC and its exclusive night club. With its Connecticut Avenue address, coffered glass ceiling, celebrity-chef designed menu, and keycard entry VIP section, I invited my ride or die friends from Sinclair State University, our alma mater, into the city for a weekend they’ll never forget. Fiona the published author, Tynesha the female Marine and war hero, Lucy the owner of Storybook Layne Bridal, Deja the creator of the N2U Dating App, Siah the quiet libr
arian and LoveErotica group leader, and the most influential of us all, Amanda “Messy Mandy” Murphy the tea-spilling Lunchtime Dish gossip columnist.

  Did I mention I’m the last single standing? Every one of my queens has found her king... except me. Not that I need a man to validate that I’m living my best life, ‘cause at forty-five, a sister got excellent credit and a Georgetown address. Yeah, Wonder Woman 1984 could’ve been neighbors—okay. But when this night is over, I’d rather be stroking a sweaty chest instead of the usual television remote. The idea that Malcolm would ditch me on my day just feels like a violation of our pseudo relationship. Ignoring my friends dancing in a disorganized Soul Train line, I swallow back the growing ball of disappointment souring my stomach. It’s the one time of year when I should feel special, but now I feel... betrayed, angry, and insignificant.

  “Nesa, tell Malcolm you appreciate his gift—not his absence,” Amanda megaphones with one hand curved at the corner of her mouth, “and then turn that phone off. It’s time to partay.”

  I’m not shy or easily embarrassed, but I prefer to avoid the gossip columnist in the group witnessing my non-existent social life.

  “Mandy, please, take your nosey behind back to the group,” I snap, then immediately blow her an air kiss in apology. Malcolm deserves my snark, not one of my best friends. Mandy is my girl, and I appreciate her concern. She’s the messy, fun-loving glue that keeps our sisterhood bedrock solid no matter where my assignments have led me around the globe.

  Slowly, Mandy extends her manicured fingers as if catching my sentiment in a tangible hold. I grin in response, shaking my head at her antics—that is— until she flexes her wrist, tosses my sincere gesture of affection to the white-lighted floor, and then administers two swift imaginary kicks to my apology. Now...that heifer is so wrong for that. I know her Big Mama taught her better manners. I point in the direction of the lengthening dance train. “Just go.”

  Until she mentioned it, honest to goodness, I’d forgotten about the plain-wrapped box scribbled in Malcolm’s elegant script I’d received at check-in and left on my bed. Admittedly, the crude wrapped package set my heart aflutter when I thought he was coming to join in the celebration. Gifts are cool, but the most important thing I wanted was to spend this weekend with the people who care about me. I thought... believed Malcolm was among the few. I know... I probably moved too fast, again. Falling hard and swift is my pre-wired setting when a man is within ten yards. I tackle first and ask his name later. But what really pisses me off — I convinced myself Malcolm was the right guy to meet my chosen family. We kind of fit together—me a trained adventure photographer with the eye for action shots, him the investigative journalist with the power of the pen. Malcolm worked with ProPublica-like news organizations, spending months, sometimes years, delving into political corruption and organized crime. While I captured life in motion, think Simone Biles’ spinning through the air with arrow precision captured in brilliant color, Serena Williams with racket in hand, muscles flexed, auburn curls flowing on the wind, returning a serve with power and grace, or Mrs. Obama’s sleek silhouette with long legs running across the emerald White House lawn with Bo, in all his glossy black fur, on her heels. We could have had explosive chemistry, maybe—eventually—between our travel schedules and him being headquartered three thousand miles away on the west coast.

  “Nesa,” Mandy calls again, and this time I hear the telltale slur of too many Butter Pecan Moonshine shots. She’s as buzzed from the alcohol as I am. While the slow drift of her half-mast lids tells me she’s feeling the full body warmth of excess imbibing, I’m toasty for a different reason. I want to ride more than a good feeling for my birthday. I want funky, butt naked sex until my voice is hoarse, my nails are chipped and broken from gripping the headboard, and my Robin Givens in Boomerang silk press looks like James Brown’s stylist fucked with my afro.

  “Girl, go back to your man,” I raise my voice, straining my vocal cords above the base thrumming my bones like a tuning fork. I’m trying to devise a clever, yet stinging final message to Malcolm before I disconnect the call. I’m absolutely astonished at the games these men play. It’s like I’m a magnet for boys masquerading in men’s clothing who got a taste of the playground and never left.

  “Not leaving,” Mandy stumbles, before righting herself. “Stop cursing out anchorman Anderson Party Pooper. We should be filling glasses and shaking asses.”

  I inhale, releasing a deep sigh in acceptance. Yep, this call needs to end. “Give me a minute,” I acquiesce to my girl.

  “Yass, that’s what I’m talkin’ bout, Miss Dumont. It’s time to shake what your mama gave ya’, girl!” she yells, offering a mock salute with her shot glass before tossing back her head and upending the colorless liquid within.

  She’s right. Some, not all, of my attitude I attribute to Malcolm being an asshole. The rest is the realization that I’m running towards fifty, but my life is different in ways I never anticipated. Twenty-five years ago, I envisioned myself as the woman with a master’s in business, a devoted husband, and two point five children who possessed my wit and my husband’s killer smile—I don’t ride dicks attached to raggedy tombstone looking teeth. What life gave me was a steady hand, an eye for detail, and a series of nots.

  Not a MBA.

  Not a wife.

  Not a mother.

  So, Mandy’s right. I gotta work with what I’ve been given, which, as of this second is, not a Malcom. Tightening my grip around my phone, I’m about to tell Malcolm’s voicemail to kiss my size fourteen ass, and also that he should think twice before attempting to pick up his Brooks Brothers suits from my place because I have Pepper Spray and a big foot to bury in his ass. Thanks to him, I’m forty-five years old and still don’t have a date on a Friday night.

  But none of that happens.

  A man—nope, a gift from the gods, with a body build for crime and punishment descended from the VIP staircase. A blast of heat slams into me, clogging my lungs as the rush of attraction does a treacherous crisscross over, around, and through my erogenous zones. Dear guardian angel, thank you for answering my nasty wish. My eyes rove down his body, widening as I snap mental pictures of his clean shaved head, the fine lines of a mature man bracketing his dark liquor eyes, an angled nose above firm, full lips, and the trimmed onyx beard with a few strands of platinum. Tanned skin and a rugged terrain of trained muscle and lean brawn on unapologetic display make for an intoxicating masculine package. His chest is broad and chiseled beneath his tailored shirt, and his stance—wide-based with an edge of play at your own risk—says he can wreck my shit. He even has a scar on the back of his left hand. Men with visible signs of hard work on their bodies, battle scars my mom used to call them, are sexy AF.

  “Dayum.” I shudder, not believing my reaction to the sight of him. I clear my throat on a series of short, ragged breaths that part my lips and warm my skin all the way down to my two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar spa pedicured toes.

  My friends, they’re giggling and laughing watching me lose my shit over this apex predator. I push one button, ending my third and final call with my ex. Goodbye, Malcolm.

  For a moment, my mystery man just stands there, and the sound of laughter and loud music fades. Could he be my savior? Probably not, a voice whispers. Shut the hell up, I think to myself. My heart is racing, yet I feel like I’m in a trance as I move in his direction. When I reach him, his presence more than his height—a full six inches taller than my five feet, five inches—overwhelms me. I force myself to meet his stare. Those dark orbs broadcast that this man shows no mercy. A tremor shakes down my spine, and my body braces for a retreat, but I swallow my trepidation.

  “What’s your name?” he asks.

  Oh, shit. His voice is ecstasy to my ears. It’s smooth, with a hint of bluesy jazz, enticing against all his hardness.

  “Hell,” I purr, offering my free hand in greeting. “I’m Nesa—Nesa Dumont, and it’s my birthday.” That’s right. I want to have
a good time tonight. He should know my smile is free, but everything else requires a hefty investment.

  His lips part, revealing white teeth with prominent canines... the look and build of a hunter heightens my awareness of him. Chuckling, he takes my hand in his, gently stroking the pads of my fingers as if searching for clues to my secrets.

  Voltage— raw and alive jolts through my veins, and I tremble at his touch.

  Callouses— old and new brush my tender flesh as his nearness encroaches on all my senses.

  His scent— twist and swirls — leather, cotton, man—surrounding me just as his body heat envelopes me.

  Before I can pull away, he releases me. I’m physically free, but the warmth of his hand lingers on my skin, trapping me with the promise of pleasure.

  “Happy birthday, Nesa.”

  He says my name like he’s digested each syllable, tasting my flavor on his tongue. A part of me knows this is all a game, but I feel an unspoken need hidden between the words. In this moment, he’s offering—and I think it’s a rare occurrence for him not to take. My fingers itch for my camera—to capture what I suspect most overlook in him. His gaze warms, but it’s calculating, dissecting me like a puzzle to be figured out.

  I give him a coy smile. “I was hoping you’d be interested in making it happier?” At this point, I have nothing to lose, and I can handle the nots of life.

  “Yeah,” he says, glancing down at my generous curves. “I got you.”

  For the first time since my arrival, I exhale, releasing the nervous energy biting at me since Malcolm’s abandonment. And because I’m that girl who tackles, and then asks questions, I remind myself, this is a stranger. A gorgeous unknown entity who I want all up in my chocolate-covered cherry, but I still need at least the basic information.

  Cocking my head back, I look up at him. “What’s your name?”