“Sir, I’ve taken that into account,” Koji said, looking at Trista. “There is a vacant faculty position at Oxford in the Medical Sciences Department. You can teach as many or as few classes as you like. There is even a traveling position in the British Ministry in your field. The choices are yours. Even if you want to stay home and start a family.”
Trista watched his face. Her bottom lip trembled as she looked at her father, then back at the man she had fallen in love with in a matter of days. It was all moving so fast, yet her entire life had been moving so slowly, surrounded by death. She wanted to live.
“My home here?” she asked.
“You keep it. For the rollout of the software, I have to be on site for at least three months to work out the kinks, problems, and that sort of matter,” he said. “Rollouts can be a bit bonkers, so I’ll have to be here. At home. With you. It’s completely up to you.”
“I think we need to take a weekend or two to figure it all out, and then I’ll make a decision,” she said, looking at the food that was getting cold.
Koji didn’t care about the food. He wanted his woman, but first he had to get rid of her father, a man who sat at the table eating macaroni and cheese like a movie was playing out live for him. He chewed slowly, watching.
“Daddy?” Trista said.
“Hmmm. This is like a real live soap opera. This mac and cheese is good too,” he said, nodding his head.
“Daddy, Koji and I need to be alone to work out the details,” she said to him.
“Sir, I hope I have your approval to marry your daughter,” Koji said. “I guess I should have asked that first.”
“You ain’t marrying me, but I have to know—Paris, London, all in one weekend, how you pull that off, then home to Japan? Man, you are spending a fortune in plane tickets,” Andrew said, munching on a leg of fried chicken.
“I have a private jet, Sir,” Koji said.
“Holy mackerel,” Andrew shouted, standing up. “Imma let ya’ll be alone, but make sure I know what’s going on. You gotta meet his family. Japanese, huh? My baby and a Japanese man. Whodda thunk that?”
“Good night, Daddy,” Trista said, pushing him towards the door with a chicken leg in his hand. “I love you.”
“Nice meeting you, Sir,” Koji said, watching Trista’s father leave the house. The food on the table looked appetizing, but it had been the longest week of his life. She hadn’t called him, and he figured she wasn’t going to, but it wasn’t her style to be intrusive. He’d built a company by going after what he wanted.
Trista didn’t need to call him because she knew he was coming.
She’d worked out how to keep him in her life.
He’d worked out how to keep her in his.
“Engaged. After only one week,” she said, looking at him. “Do you think it will work out in the long run?”
“Of course it will, Trista,” Koji said, going over to lock the front door. Walking towards her, he took off his jacket, loosened his tie, and unfastened his belt. “I don’t know how many meals we will ever get to finish, but I love you. I’ll scale walls, swim the Atlantic, and build a mountain to end my day next to you.”
“All of that, just to get to little ole’ dazzling me?” Trista said, unbuttoning her blouse.
Koji yanked the belt off, snapping the leather together. “Tell me, Trista, what I want to hear?”
“Or what?”
“I’m going to spank that arse,” he said, snapping the leather.
She shook her head no. Koji snapped the leather again. She unbuttoned two more buttons.
“Trista, talk to me, Anata wa watashi no monodesu, my love,” Koji said.
“If I tell you how much I love you, or the moment when I fell in love with you, or even the night I cried because I didn’t have the courage to call,” she said, talking off the blouse, “will you still spank me?”
“No, I won’t,” Koji said.
“Then I ain’t saying none of that shit. You’re going to have to beat it out of me,” she said, throwing the shirt at him. She took off running down the hall.
It had been his plan to seduce her and change the lady’s mind about a stupid app. Instead the tables were turned on him, and it had been quite a while since he’d personally interfaced with his own soul. She didn’t start the relationship off by playing games with him. Her answer was no to the app, but yes to him in her bed. His answer was to try. Plus, the way she challenged the way he thought stirred his blood. One dance in a house he hated, and it had become the place he envisioned raising his family.
With her, he saw a better version of himself.
In Trista, he saw a future of long nights soaking in a tub he’d never used.
With Trista, he’d learned in one weekend how it felt to be cherished, live in the moment, and enjoy the pleasure of just it being in a couple’s twinkling joys of “us”.
With Trista, he felt alive, but she was going to get that arse spanked, just the way he liked to do it. She came alive in his hands. He loved that about her and looked forward to his life, but right now, his dick was so hard, he didn’t know which language he wanted to start with on tonight’s sexy adventure.
“Bloody hell,” he said, adjusting his package and pulling off his tie, which he would use as her blindfold, and followed her down the hall.
- The End -
Messy Mandy Presents:
The Lunchtime Chronicles THICK CUT
BY
Siera London
USA Today Bestselling Author
She thinks she can hump and dump me. No damn way.
Griffin
I spent eighteen years in the Army and nothing hit me as hard as this woman. The first time I saw her picture, I wanted to drop to my knees and worship at her feet. Fiona Cooper is thick and curvy the way I like my women. I don't care that we've only talked online. She wants to be friends with benefits, but she's already mine.
Fiona
After the year I've had, I'm ready for some fun. My friend is getting married in the same city where my online boy toy lives. Griffin Phillips is big all over and cut to perfection. I have plans to satisfy my craving for him, but this attraction between us will forever be strictly physical.
CHAPTER ONE
Talk about love at first suck. It's lunchtime on Thursday and I'm still butt naked at the Daytona Beach St. Claire Resort fantasizing about what I'll do next with this delicious female once she exits the luxury bath. The room is chilled to subzero, but I'm overheated because of Fiona. She's invaded my mind unlike any woman before her, and it's got me buzzed. Not to brag, but as a former Army Ranger, I'm usually unflappable. Not this time.
A curl of steam snakes its way from underneath the door and I inhale. Her scent, juicy pear, has mixed with the sweet aroma of crisp, fall apples. My muscles tighten. I should join her.
Or, I could wait. There's no need to rush, I remind myself. She's not going anywhere.
Aching in my left leg reminds me insurgents tried to take more than I was willing to give and that I’ve been lazing in one position too long. Why am I laid out like a senior citizen waiting for some phantom nurse to stick a pudding cup in my face? Here’s the thing. The curvy beauty behind the closed door is five years my junior. And, well, she rode my ass till my one-eyed stallion did a three-legged donkey in the Carolina Derby face plant.
Did I mention we just met? Well, there's more to our story. I started chatting with Fiona about four months ago via that online dating app, N2U. At first, I didn't think much of our connection. That's e-dating code language for one-clicking her profile picture. But, as the weeks stretched into months, I've grown accustomed to our private nightly chats.
And now that I've tasted her... I've an instant addiction to something more.
Across the room, the cascade of water splashing on tiles stops abruptly. I bolt upright. With bated breath, I fix my gaze on the only other door in the suite, eager for it to open. No way I want to miss the show.
Fiona's thick
, the way I like them. Women with big tits and a bigger ass have my undivided attention. The pictures she has online are current action photos. She loves posting pics of herself about town, a daily mini-movie trailer of an exotic beauty's random adventures. I've told her more than once to take that shit down. Call me selfish, but I hate the thought of other men having access to her—even in pictures.
The video of her skiing at California's Big Bear, I've memorized. In my gut, there's this odd sense of familiarity, like she's an old friend. I notice things about her like the lift of her brows when she's about to say something wicked, which is often, or the twisted half-smile of hers when she's annoyed.
Damn, I'm hard again.
"Fi, get out here," I call, thinking she can be the six to my nine before I treat her to a gourmet lunch for two. My restaurant, the Double Decker is close, its location steps from the Daytona Beach Boardwalk. The rooftop deck, with its view of the Atlantic Ocean, makes it a destination hotspot for locals and tourists. For some reason, it's important to me that she sees the Double Decker.
"Go back to sleep, Griffin."
"Wasn't sleeping," I grumble. "When my eyes close I snore a little." I’m lying. A man's entitled to rest after throwing his back into it to satisfy his woman. Correction. A woman. Fiona is not mine, but—sparks explode in my veins when we touch.
Laughter sails through the air, and I find myself grinning once it reaches me. Her voice is smooth and seductive like a Rhythm & Blues songstress speaking to my soul. Man, what's taking her so long?
If she keeps me waiting much longer, a spanking is definitely on the menu.
When she asked for us to meet up, she neglected to tell me why she'd flown from San Diego into Daytona Beach for the weekend. At baggage claim, I slipped her carry-on off her shoulder then leaned down to kiss her cheek. She's deliciously petite, five foot two, to my six feet. Even though I've looked at her N2U photos a hundred times, in person our height difference was unexpectedly arousing.
After about swallowing my tongue over how damn beautiful Fiona was and that she'd walked right into my arms, my initial thought was: what would it feel like to eclipse her small body with my thick-cut physique? As I moved in close, I took notice of her scent for the first time. A gentle brush of sweet and juicy, firm, but soft like a pear. With her fingers, she grazed my chest and behind my zipper, my sleeping giant stirred to life.
It all happened so fast.
I envision picking her up, filling my big hands with those generous curves, pushing her soaked panties aside, and then surging into her steamy heat. My muscles suddenly tensed, my molars grind together. I might have growled. To my surprise she whispered, “I look fabulous out of these clothes. Do you?”
In case you missed it, that's code for I want to fuck.
And Rick-James-Super-Freak-me she did.
Daytona Beach is hopping this time of year, hotels are overbooked, but I'm a regular at the St. Claire. In the world of online dating, the last thing you need is some crazy female with gas money and your home address. Premier status at a quality hotel is an absolute must for a single man.
I checked us in. It's before the previous night's check out time, but hey—I got friends in low places.
The moment I stripped down to my boxers, she jumped on me with the strength of Wonder Woman™ missing a long-lost super friend. With both arms, I pull her into my body, and she wrapped those legs I'd been spying since baggage claim around my waist. She's feather-light, and I already loved the feel of us together.
With Fiona, everything is magnified two thousand percent. The kisses. The screams. The orgasms. She used her triple D breasts and thick thighs to give me the sweetest, sweatiest ride of my life. Seriously, the earth moved beneath our bodies, as did the mattress, the box spring, and the wood frame. Maybe I should invite her back to my place?
Damn. That would be a first. We'll discuss it tonight.
The bathroom door opens, and I swear she's moving in slow damn motion. Seriously, my mouth drops open like I'm watching Animal Planet©, thinking: how did they get this footage?
Her almost ebony eyes are expressive with sweeping lashes in a seductively teasing expression that holds me captive. Her oval face is dressed with sculpted cheekbones, an upturned nose, and a Cupid’s bow mouth. Her lips are full, lush, and custom created for my cock. Long rope braids, inky black, dance over her wide hips, and I'm fucking applauding in my head. Her ass looks amazing in this fitted red wrap dress. When she bends over, I notice the golden seam runs the length of her back, over her ass, down to her shapely calves. Did I mention her calves are delicious? My tongue can testify that the skin behind her knees is milk chocolate sweet, and ticklish. It's a pretty cool private party trick that I doubt is intentional.
"You look good," I say with a wide smile and a wink. “Naked is better though.”
She grins, giving me the briefest of eye contact. "I know."
There's no pretense of Fiona hiding her luscious figure under swing tops or baggy dresses better outfitted to one of those made-for-television weight loss contestants. She's an unapologetically curvy woman.
"What's with the clothes?" I ask. I let my eyes travel down her body once more. Her feet are bare, and my back tingles where her heels dug in for leverage. Removing them will be twice the fun. Okay, maybe I'm being an a-hole. She was traveling for hours, and then I got her into bed pronto. "You're ready for lunch."
It's a statement because we put Hip Hop Abs™ and Zumba™ to shame.
“You’re crazy behind the wheel of that Mad Max© mobile.”
“It’s a Lexus LC500. And I can race the rain... and win in that car.”
“Whatever.” She smirks.
“The faster we go. The sooner we can do other things.” I've never had a woman drain me so completely. I remember slamming her ample hips down onto my erection, losing myself in her hotness. We'll do it all again after I feed her.
"I'm not hungry."
Now, I'm insulted. Not every woman can handle a big man. Fiona can. Two hundred and fifty pounds is the skinny me. And man, she bucked and rode my cock till I practically begged her to cuddle my whipped ass afterwards.
Rest easy, I didn't beg. Instead, I held onto her, refusing to let her withdraw into post-coital regret.
"Take off the dress," I rasp. "Get in bed."
"Ginger Teddy." She pouts. "You are so cute."
I chuckle at her nickname for me: ginger teddy bear. My red hair and beard are inherited from my Irish mom. Well, not the beard.
"A man is never cute. Bring your ass here, woman."
I want Fiona again. The urge to ponder why I'm fixated on this particular woman beckons, but I shove it aside. Is it because my best friend is getting married on Saturday? I mean, he's forty-years-old, four years younger than me. This is the age, right? A wife, kids, a high-end SUV with good reliability and safety ratings in the two-car garage. Women come, and then they go. When is my turn coming? I look at Fiona. It would be nice to have a woman welcome me home.
"Okay," she gives me a coy smile before glancing in the mirror to fix her lipstick. I watch as she sashays over, those full hips having a hypnotic effect on my libido. When she's in reach, I grab her hand and pull her down onto my lap. The soft globes of her ass cradle my junk, and I'm rising to the occasion. Cupping one breast in each hand, I pull her back against my chest. She nestles in comfortably. I nuzzle her neck, before brushing my lips across her pulse. She releases a slow breath. This feels right.
She turns and threads her arms around my neck. I steal a quick kiss. Shit, my brain loads up a thirty-three-inch vinyl of Marvin crooning: “Let's Get It On”©. Yes, the woman is that good in bed.
"I just put this lipstick on, Griffin Phillips," she warns.
I gently bite her lip, and she moans. "I'll buy you more." Her skin is warm against my lips and the need to mark her grips me. I resist... for now.
Fiona softens in my arms. She's tempted to give in. I make a decision in that instant. She'll stay the n
ight. Should I broach the topic? My priority is her comfort and this might be weird. I mean, we met on the Internet. Strike one.
Yeah, the sex had my cock doing a Michael Bolton LIVE and in concert screaming. His song: “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You”© blasts through my skull and I immediately block that shit. I'm tripping.
"Boy, you crazy."
"A little," I admit.
Statistically, a repeat bang with some horny N2U chick is asking to be murdered by the crazy boyfriend she forgot to mention. Strike two.
Then again, she fried my brains to chicken nuggets, now I'm sporting a raging Fiona Cooper tattooed hard-on.
"Let's get out of the room," I suggest, thinking of an alcove off the beach where we could have some alone time after lunch.
"I am," she says hopping off my lap.
What the—? Before I can ask she has her “fuck-me-pumps” on and her weekender strap over her right shoulder.
I'm on my feet, face twisted, my rock-hard cock swinging. "Where the hell you going?"
"Out."
"Wait," I order, more than ask. Unease snakes up my spine. What I think is happening, better not be happening. "I'll be showered and dressed in five."
"No need." She walks toward the door.
What the hell? I catch her wrist, holding on. Marvin and Michael are in the background packing up the microphones.
"You seriously going to hump and run on me? For real, Fiona? This shit is not cool and I'm about to get pissed off."
Her eyes widen, but then a firm resolve settles over her face. I know what the hell she's going to say before I hear my name. Why did I expect more? Because it was Fiona. As stupid as it sounds, I trust her.
"Griffin, I had fun. You did, too," she says, "Let's not mess this up..." Her voice trails off.
Then she's gone. I stand there, dumbstruck. Screw this shit. Fiona just used my big dumbass for sex.
Technically, a woman walking out on me could be considered strike three. But... I never strike out before wrapping my hand around the bat. I will see Fiona again. Admittedly, California is a long way to travel to get my knob wet.
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