by Brisa Starr
My heart blooms with the warmth of the sunrise. The pieces of it, shattered and spread far apart from my troubled past, are coming closer together, slowly, bit by bit, with every sweet comment he makes. As I lean back and look up at him, my eyes fill with wonder, and his shine with lighter shades of sky blue today. I reach up to stroke his strong jawline with my finger, feeling his sexy stubble. Having feasted his eyes on me, he reluctantly releases me, and I head back to the stove to tend to the pork.
“It sure smells good. Making bacon?”
“Yes! It’s part of my special lunch.”
“Bacon for lunch?” He peers over the stove into the pot. “And oatmeal?”
“Yes siree. I’m cooking oatmeal and bacon, and then I’ll smother it in a bowl with a bunch of heavy raw cream, like a bowl of cereal.”
He shakes his head and winces.
I laugh, and, eager to tell him my news, I put my hands on his shoulders and face him. “Guess what!”
Hesitation dims the twinkle in his eye. “I’m almost afraid to ask. What are you up to now?” He narrows his gaze at me and takes a deep breath.
Undaunted, I charge forward. “There’s a hot sauce eating competition at the Lazy-J today, and I entered!”
“Oh fuck, you aren’t really, are you?” He rubs a hand down his face, which I’m starting to realize is one of his things.
Disappointed, I shoot back, “Hell yeah, I am. If it hasn’t escaped your attention, I eat damn near everything with hot sauce, and the hotter, the better. This was meant to be. Plus? First prize is three THOUSAND smackaroos!” He cringes.
“I think I’d rather have a tooth pulled without anesthesia than enter a hot sauce contest, or watch you in one. You can’t be serious about this.” His eyebrows furrow with concern, and he spins the ring on his finger nervously.
“It’s a done deal. My fate is sealed. I’ve been preparing for this my whole life. Well, that’s not entirely true, but I’ve always wanted to do it. I’ve even watched hot sauce competitions on YouTube. That’s why I’m making this lunch, because it’ll help defend my stomach when I start filling it with fire. I know a trick or two.”
I return to the stove and tend to my stomach armor food.
He comes up behind me and puts his arms around my waist, leaning down into my ear to whisper, “Is there any way I can talk you out of it? Can I just give you $3000?” He bites my ear, and I squirm. Longing shivers through my body.
I turn around, crossing my arms, “No, you can’t pay me to not do it! The competition is half the fun!” That was sexy as hell though. He’s always protecting me, and I love that.
“Fuck. Me.” He runs his hand through his jet-black hair and looks up at the ceiling. His reaction is cute. Sort of.
“Look, Mister, don’t cramp my style.” I poke the handle end of the wooden spoon in his chest. I continue, softening and lowering my tone, “Look, my online teaching doesn’t pay dick, so I need the money, and I’m not about to just take it from you. But more than that, it sounds fun. Plus, spicy food is one my superpowers. And I’ve got an adventure itch needing a scratch. This will scratch that itch juuuust fine.”
He exhales an exaggerated sigh, filled with frustration.
“Will you come and be my cheerleader?” I stand on my tiptoes to give him a kiss.
He wraps his arms around me, kissing me back, his hands grabbing my ass, cupping it before giving it an extra sharp squeeze. He steps back from me, looking in my eyes. “There you go again, getting yourself into trouble. Do not overdo it. Do you hear me? You tap out if you start to feel sick, OK?” he commands, his eyes making it clear he’s not joking.
“Oh, I aim to win, honey,” I say in my best Southern drawl.
He laughs but snaps back to serious and says, “I don’t really care to watch your mouth catch on fire, but I will be there to make sure you’re OK. Let’s hope I’m not saving your sexy ass. Again.” He tilts his head toward me, arching a thick and menacing eyebrow. I really need to learn how to raise just one eyebrow. It’s so cool.
I slap him on the shoulder, “I’ll be fine. This’ll be a piece of cake. Doused in hot sauce!”
I ladle a big blob of oatmeal and a spoonful of crispy, chewy bacon into a bowl. I stir in half a cup of heavy raw cream. It actually looks delicious. I look over at Adron and take a big bite, cream dribbling down my chin. His face goes from disgust at what I’m eating, to desire, as the cream drips, no doubt flashing memories of our romp in the shower.
He reaches up and wipes the cream from my chin, licking his thumb, while shaking his head at having his hands full with me. I like it. And I like him, even more.
“I have to leave in a half hour,” I say, spooning in more mouthfuls of creamy fat. “So why don’t you drive us over, and, even though I need to save all my winnings, I’ll treat you to an ice cream when I win. Dairy is a hot sauce girl’s best friend, and I might just need some ice cream to cool my tongue afterward.”
“I’ll cool your tongue with something creamy.”
“Yes, please,” I mumble, my mouth full of oatmeal and bacon. I giggle.
He looks at me, his face serious again. “I’ll take you to the competition and for the ice cream after. But I’m warning you, you’d better tap out if it gets too hot, or I’ll drag you out of there myself. And don’t think I won’t, because I will.”
My toes wiggle with excitement as I take his threat seriously. It’s hot. He’s hot.
“And if you don’t do as I say, and respect your own level of tolerance, I’ll have to put you over my knee and spank that sweet ass of yours tonight.”
My breathing intensifies as I think about yesterday’s spanking and fucking, and our time in the shower with his hands and fingers all over my ass. For a moment, I’m tempted to skip the contest – I have so much of my own spicy fire raging through me and shooting straight to my pussy. My underwear gets damp.
I swallow hard and shove these naughty thoughts from my head. I stand tall and show my defiance in my shoulders. “Well, with a threat like that, don’t be surprised if I tempt you.”
“I’ll get dressed and see you in a bit.” He smacks my ass before leaving the kitchen. I sit my shaking legs down at the counter and dive into my crazy lunch concoction. The rich, salty bacon flavor infusing each bite of oatmeal makes my taste buds dance, as I anticipate the adventure that’s coming. Both in town, and in my bedroom later.
I’m halfway through my meal, thinking there’s only one thing that would make this bowl of food better, and that would be to smother it in hot sauce. But I know better.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re on our way to the competition. Between shifting gears, he rests his hand possessively on my leg the whole ride over. I like it. And that space separating the pieces of my heart shrinks a little.
We pull into the dirt parking lot of the Lazy-J, and he leans over and cups my face in his powerful hands. He gives me a big, delicious kiss before pulling back and warning me, yet again, not to go too far with the hot sauce.
“I know, I know,” I say to him. “I heard you. I might be a rebellious hot tamale, but I’m not stupid.” Well, not usually.
We head into the bar, and the hostess tells us the competition is out back on the patio. We walk outside and join the other contestants and spectators. A misting system above the patio sprays clouds of fine water that evaporates, cooling the air.
I make my way to the registration table and collect my name tag and red T-shirt covered in flames, advertising both the Lazy-J and Dante’s Inferno, the hot sauce brand that’s sponsoring this event. The shirt has little sexy devils all over it… this might become my new favorite shirt. I happily throw it on and take a seat at the table with five other contestants. Two rotund good-ol’-boys, a young skinny fella, a bookish-looking older man with glasses, and somebody wearing a big cowboy hat.
I’m disappointed to see it’s all men, but I’ll show them. We each have a bucket in front of us, which, from watching YouTube videos, I know is a puke bu
cket. I have no intention of needing mine, so I push it away from me.
The judge hands each of the contestants a bottle of water. I know better. Drinking water is a rookie mistake. It does nothing to cool your mouth, and in fact only spreads the heat more.
As I’m pushing the water bottle away, the cowboy across from me tilts his head up and I glimpse a peek under the brim of his hat. I gasp. Fuck. It’s the dickhead cowboy from the bar who pushed himself on me that night in the parking lot.
I turn around quickly to see if Adron saw him, and I’m too late, because he’s boring holes into the cowboy from across the way. I stand up from my bench and walk over to Adron, who doesn’t take his seething eyes off the cowboy. “That’s that fucker from the bar, isn’t it?”
I glance over at the cowboy and look back at Adron. “Yes,” I answer.
“If he so much as looks at you the wrong way, I’ll cream the motherfucker.”
“How about we just play nice, and I cream him myself by beating his ass in this contest?”
He pulls me down for a quick kiss, a very public display to let everyone here know just who I’m with, in case there was any confusion. I return to my seat at the table, ready for some heat.
The contest begins, and the judge walks around to each of us. He pours the first bit of hot sauce onto our white plastic spoons. At his word “go,” we all put the hot sauce in our mouths and swallow.
This must be a joke, because it’s so damn sweet, it tastes like candy. We all lick our lips, enjoying it, and it fazes none of us in the least. Next up, another sweeter-than-hot sauce, and I’m wondering how long this thing can last if we keep up this baby-level of heat.
And so it goes, through the next three sauces, but each one gets a little hotter than the one before, thank god. Still, it’s nothing I can’t handle. I ate heat like this as a toddler and asked for more.
The last one, however, turned out to be too much for the skinny guy, and so, by the time we’re on our fourth hot sauce, we’re down to only me and four other contestants. Too early to get cocky, so I settle in my seat for the long haul and relax.
Sammy comes over and rubs my shoulders like a good coach. “Come on girl! You’ve got this! Make us proud!”
I laugh and say, loud enough for everybody to hear, “Got that right! I was born drinkin’ hot sauce straight outta the womb.” Maybe that will intimidate my competition a little. Sammy ruffles my hair and goes back to sit next to Adron.
The cowboy across from me dares to say something and mutters, “You ain’t as hot as you think.”
Fuckface, last time I saw him, he was wiping his butt with a parking lot. I’ll show him. I hear Adron clear his throat from behind me, knowing he heard the cowboy say something to me, though I doubt he heard exactly what it was. Thankfully.
The next round of hot sauce comes and is hotter than the ones before, as expected. But I think it might be too hot for some of the competition. They swallow their sauce and all hold steady for a moment, waiting for it to hit. It does, a few seconds later, but it’s nothing to me, mildly pleasant heat, nothing more… but then I see one of the large competitors sweating profusely, mopping his forehead with a napkin. And another shakes his head like a wet dog, trying to cool his mouth with water. The sweaty one starts panting and finally slams his hand on one table. “I’m out,” he shouts and stands up to leave.
Two down. Three to go.
Another round of hot sauce comes, and I admit this one tingles in my mouth quite a bit. But it’s the tingle I crave when I have hot sauce. That just means I like it. The other contestant who was shaking his head like a dog starts sweating and chugging down his water. A moment later, he seems to realize the water doesn’t help, and he sticks out his tongue, hoping the air will cool it. Amateur. “That’s it for me,” he says and exits the table.
Three down. Two to go, the distinguished-looking older gentleman, and our dickhead cowboy friend.
Hey! That means I’m at least a $1000 richer! I might be onto something here. Maybe I can do the professional hot sauce circuit and make a career of this. I laugh at my idea and refocus. I’m not stopping now, I want first prize. I see that my last two competitors don’t look too fazed by the previous hot sauces. I think I’ve met my matches.
“Come on, Alyson! Let’s do it, girl!” I hear Sammy bellow from her seat. I turn around and see Adron just watching, in his usual sexy way, eyes full of soul and mystery. I give him a thumbs up to relieve the anxiety I sense might be spooking him.
Because… I’m nowhere near my limit.
The judge brings around our next sampling of hot sauce and warns, “OK guys… and gal,” he says, looking at me. “This one ratchets up the heat. I’m just warnin’ y’all.”
Pff. I don’t let it frighten me. Mindset is everything when it comes to something like this. I’m going to sit here, telling myself in my head that the sauce is as cold as ice.
We slurp from our spoons, and, ow, OK, this is a delicious heat. It hits my tongue fast, and my taste buds dance a jig. I look at my competition, and I see a little bit of perspiration beading along the eyebrows of the professor, but dickhead doesn’t look even the slightest bit fazed as he looks right across at me. I meet his eyes without flinching.
I hear a growling rumble behind me, and I know Adron doesn’t like that guy looking at me. I have to admit that, although the latest hot sauce is working its way through my arteries, the grumble of Adron and his possessiveness heats me more, that familiar tingle between my legs again. It’s a welcome distraction actually, and I gear up for the next hot sauce.
The competitor with the sweat beading on his forehead takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabs the sweat. “Marvelous,” he says. “I must buy a case to take home.”
To take home.
“To take home” he said, and for a moment, I’m distracted as the next round of hot sauce comes. I lick it off the spoon, looking off into the distance, and my mind wanders to home. What is home? I don’t even have a home. I spin a good tale when I sing about home being where the heart is, but my heart hasn’t called anyplace home since…
Since my parents broke it.
Dammit.
I want a home to take hot sauce to.
Where can my home be? Could I make a home here? In Arizona? At the thought of Arizona, my dream bubble pops, and I’m brought back to the present moment, feeling the burning heat from the midsummer sun above, and the pro-level spicy hot sauce I just tasted. It feels like a little fire is burning in my mouth.
“Now that’s some heat,” I think to myself, but I don’t dare tip my hand to my competition. My poker face will carry me through to the end. Turns out it’s too hot for the professor. He keeps wiping off his face. “That’ll do,” he says and stands up, taking a bow before he leaves. The crowd applauds him for making it this far.
Four down, one to go.
It was five men, and petite little me giving them a run.
Dickhead cowboy tips his head up and says, “I don’t think you can handle any more heat, little missy. Why don’t you just bow out now?”
“Screw you,” I say, thinking it wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear. But everybody does, and I hear some whistles.
Adron gets up and walks around to the other side of the table so he’s behind the cowboy, eyeballing me to make sure I’m OK. I smile sweetly at him and flash my eyebrows… a promise of what’s to come later. I take a deep breath and imagine drizzling hot sauce on his big, hard cock and slowly licking, sucking it off. Hmmm, I wonder if that would hurt him? Must keep it away from the tip… ouch! Distracted by my weird thought, I spill a little of the sauce from my spoon for the next round.
Dickhead notices. “Scared?”
I roll my eyes at him. Now, that’s not something I normally do to people, because rolling eyes is a sign of contempt, but it’s damn fitting here. The judge refills my spoon, and at a count of three, we both put our spoons into our mouths.
I see him take a bigger breath than norm
al, and it boosts my confidence. But I know better than to get cocky. This hot sauce doesn’t hit you at first, it’s one of those silent killers. The kind that sneaks in, seems fine, and then BAM! – incinerates your tongue with a flamethrower. I swallow big, doing my best to keep a cool face, and I look across at my competition.
It’s getting a little hot for dickhead cowboy, and I see his eyes watering, and he has to take off his hat. It’s too bad he’s such a dick because he is good-looking. Not that I’d be interested in him after tasting Adron. Actually, it dawns on me that I’m not sure I could ever have somebody else after riding my dark horse.
I look up at Adron and his eyes haven’t wavered from me for one second. Just like the night at the bar, when he didn’t look away for a second, as he watched me dancing with dickhead. I wonder if he was feeling about me, then, the way I feel about him, now. Did he know something I didn’t?
My thoughts about our relationship, and the feelings I have for him, distract me from the fire burning in my mouth. I look over at the cowboy, who looks uncomfortable as hell, shifting in his seat, face red, and clearly in pain, and I’m starting to feel like I might have this in the bag. But so far, he’s not willing to give up.
For me, the heat is already dissipating as it makes its way down my abdomen and between my legs, and my attention returns to my Adron. I shift in my seat myself, but not because of hot sauce. Because of the way Adron is looking at me.
Sammy comes up behind me and whispers in my ear, “Girlfriend, you got two thousand smackers in your pocket. Now, you hold out just a little bit longer, and take it all.”
She sits back down in the shade, and the next hot sauce comes around. We each hold out our spoons, and I notice dickhead cowboy hasn’t touched his water either. Clearly no rookie. We both look at each other, narrowing our stares. Condescending misogyny in his eyes. Boredom in mine. We eat the hot sauce off our spoons.
This time, the hot sauce doesn’t mess around. It hits your tongue everywhere all at once, but it doesn’t stop there, because there’s an extra wallop of heat that sneaks in the back door and kicks you in the ass. I exhale sharply on this one, and I’m surprised flames don’t come shooting out my mouth. I look at dickhead, and if it could, smoke would be billowing from his ears. It’s messing with him, too. But he’s a tough bastard – a lot tougher than he was when he was laying in the parking lot – and he’s doing everything he can to not look affected by it. I’m betting he’s propped up by pride at the moment, can’t fathom getting his ass kicked by a “little missy.”
