Lunchtime Chronicles: Jolly Rancher

by London, S.

  A devilish smile splits his lips. “That ought to keep you quiet.”

  I don’t understand why I did it. I shove him as hard as a can. It must have caught him off guard, because he rocks back on his heel. I feel his weight shift, and then tilt.

  “Dammit, Amanda. It’s slip—”

  We’re falling. Slipping down the hill. Diesel holds on to me, tucking my head protectively against his chest.

  “I-I’m so sorry!” I yell.

  “Shut up, woman. Keep your head down.”

  The last words I hear before we barrel down the hill towards a huge stack of cut logs are, “I’m going to spank your ass.”

  We slam into the woodpile, the momentum stops, but my world is tilted, and bells are ringing. Diesel has a protective arm around my waist, but he isn’t moving.

  “Grinchy!” I scream, but he remains stoic with a grimace on his slack face. Oh shoot, I crashed the Diesel. He’s out cold, and it’s dark and snowing. How am I going to fix this mess?

  Chapter Three

  Diesel

  “Don’t wake him, okay,” I hear my angel say. “He looks innocent, but he’s really a menace to society.”

  I need to see her, but first I have to open my eyes. I’m not sure why this is important, but beneath the snark, I feel her concern for me. Struggling to pry my lids off my eyeballs, my vision is initially blurred. That’s not the only unusual finding. My head aches, as does my shoulders and back. With one hand, I move it slow and deliberate up my face until I reach my forehead. It’s covered in a gauzy fabric. Touching above my right eye, I wince.

  “Put your hand down, Grinch. We just cleaned you up.”

  She stops talking, but beside me the bed shifts on the right, and I reach out for the woman who should be there. The space is empty.

  It shouldn’t be.

  Shaking my head, I clear away the invisible fog.

  “Whoa, Mr. Conrad. Keep still. You suffered a blow to the head. “

  I’m surprised to see a young woman, brown-skinned and attractive, helicoptering above me, her dark eyes, assessing and gentle. She’s dressed in a loose wool sweater with the sleeves pushed up past her elbows and blue jeans.

  “I’m Cristene Dennis,” she says, her voice gentle as if talking to a child. “This is my husband, Race.”

  Behind her, but close enough to intervene is a middle-aged Caucasian man, lean, but strong with dark hair and gray peppering his beard and mustache. He nods in greeting but says nothing.

  “Why are you here?” I demand.

  Cristene laughs. “He’s definitely a Conrad. We’re the caretakers here.”

  “Past tense,” Race grunts.

  I don’t get the implication, but the hard set of his jaw says he’s unhappy about a change in the circumstances involving this place. His wife cuts a sharp glance over her shoulder. Like a well-trained husband, Race looks contrite, but when his eyes land on me, they harden again.

  “What my eloquent mountain man meant to say was, we were on our way with the horses when you and your friend fell.”

  I cut her off, shifting my back up against the pine headboard. The bedroom, cavernous and open, felt like a small apartment with its burgundy couch in front of the wood-burning fireplace, a view of a frozen pond through the French doors, and high vaulted ceilings.

  “My woman. Where is she?”

  Cristene frowns, and then looks to Race. My heart rate starts to pick up. Did something happen to her? I heard her voice. Didn’t I? Was it all a dream? Or worse, she was here, but abandoned me here with strangers?

  There’s a heavy quilt covering my legs. I toss it off, prepared to search, if need be. “When did she leave?”

  Yeah, she’ll have to run hard and fast to get away from me. I’ve lost too much in this life. I excel at getting other people to submit to my demands. Some consider me unscrupulous. I call it a successful venture. Before I can push to my feet, which will be a challenge, I feel her presence.

  Amanda appears in the doorway, and just stands there, silent. Her light brown eyes are clouded with sadness. This feels off, but I’m not sure why. I frown when she doesn’t approach the bed. I’m instantly on alert.

  “You okay?” I ask. My voice sounds rusty, like I’ve been encased in ice. Clearing my throat, I wait for her to reply. That doesn’t feel right either. Her tongue is sharp, and her wit is fast. I like that about her. She doesn’t let me bulldoze over her.

  She shakes her head, but she still doesn’t move. “Yep.”

  “Come here,” I grouse, shifting on the bed to make room for her.

  “Huh.” She twists her mouth as if she doesn’t know how to react to my demand. “I’m fine right here.”

  Doubt colors her words and confusion mares her pretty face. Cristene said we fell. Is Amanda hurt and trying to keep her injuries from me?

  “I’m not. Come here, Amanda.”

  She crosses her arms over really perky breasts. “Say your peace from there.”

  Why in the hell does she look ready to run and Race poised to pounce? The tension climbs in the room. I look to the other two people. Understandably, they are searching the floor and the ceiling, but not missing a thing about this weird interaction between me and Amanda.

  I look to Race. “You two excuse us.”

  That got a reaction. “No,” Amanda yelps. “Stay, in case I end up with a knot on my head.”

  “Amanda,” I snap. “Bring your ass over here.” Somehow, my bellow seems to ease her tension. Her shoulders visibly relax and a hint of a smile invades her scowl.

  “You bed-ridden Hulk,” she steams out, marching towards my location. “Don’t you be yelling at me in front of these nice people. I swear, it was an accident.”

  Never have I been so entertained by a woman just being herself. Amanda is a walking, talking holiday carnival full of surprises. I liked them all, big or small. I consider them a gift. I hadn’t gotten many gifts as a young boy. It made me appreciate them as a man.

  “Stop talking. Get that little ass in this bed.”

  Cristene’s jaw drops. Yeah, most people privy to me and Amanda’s conversations would be shocked. Race grabs his wife’s hand and drags her towards the exit. “Alrighty then. You lovebirds have a good night. Give us a holler if you need anything.”

  When Amanda is within arm’s reach, I pull her up and place her on top of me. With my hands, I roam her body making sure she’s uninjured. When I am satisfied I’m the one who took the hard knocks, I tangle my fingers in her hair, tilt her head back, and cover her mouth with mine. She seems shocked—at first. Then she softens underneath my touch, just like I remember. Damn, it feels like I’ve been waiting all my life to claim her mouth like this. The connection ends too quickly.

  She strokes one small hand down my bicep. “You scared the shit out of all of us, Grinchy,” she whispers. My shirt has been removed. Just my t-shirt and boxers remain. Amanda’s wearing one of my button downs.

  “I’m sorry for scaring you, sweetness.”

  She rears back, staring at me. “Sweetness? Who are you?”

  I grin, not releasing her. “You know who the fuck I am. I’m- I’m.”

  Cristene halts, spinning on her heel. “I was afraid of this. I think you have a concussion, Mr. Conrad. Memory can be affected.”

  “Bullshit, “I say, sitting my girl firmly in my lap. I like holding her.

  “Hey,” Amanda places a hand on my chest, “shut it. You getting upset is not going to help.”

  “Does it sound like I’m upset?” I balk.

  “Yes,” three voices reply in unison.

  My skin heats under her palm, and my heart rate kicks up a notch. She must feel the change because she sucks in a breath and holds it. I think this is the first time we’ve connected like this in a while.

  “Breathe,” I rasp to Amanda. “You’re wrong.”

  “Okayyy, Grinchy. “Why don’t you tell us what you remember?”

  “No problem. Me and my woman came to the ranch fo
r two weeks. She wanted a winter wonderland, and I wanted to give it to her.”

  Instead of relieved, Amanda looks absolutely horror-stricken. “Again, who-who are you, and who do you think is your woman?”

  “You are,” I growl.

  “Ma’am. I thought you said something about being a realtor,” Race mouths, wiping a weathered hand over his mouth.

  “I am the realtor,” Amanda screeches.

  “Bull shit,” I growl. “Did I or did I not spank your ass hours ago?”

  “Yes, but,” Amanda stammers. “That was—"

  I tangle my fingers in her hair, not letting go. I’m aroused just holding her. I can’t remember what it’s like to be inside her, but I know it’s going to be magic. “How we do foreplay, sweetness.”

  Cristene gasps, “He’s an ass-spanking cowboy, too?”

  “Thought it was just me?” Race starts grinning. “We got plans, babe. Let’s go.”

  Amanda whimpers, and I know exactly why we’re here. “I don’t give a fuck about my name.” I meet her eyes. “I’ll answer to whatever you call me.”

  “Fuck,” she hisses.

  Tightening my hold, I gaze into her wide eyes. “I plan to,” I whisper, nipping her ear. “But tell me the name you scream when you cum.”

  No bump on the head is going to ruin our winter wonderland Christmas.

  Chapter Four

  Mandy

  O-M-G, Diesel has amnesia. He thinks he’s my cowboy. It’s kind of cute, but no. Even though he has me nestled up against his hard chest, cradling his erection between my ass cheeks, it would be wrong to sleep with him under false pretense.

  But, he sure does look sexy, even with the head injury. Which brings me back to reality. Since I’m the one who knocked his brains out, I should be the bigger person and apologize.

  “If you’re playing cute and stupid because I made us fall, you can stop.”

  I give him a moment, hoping beyond hope that he’ll snap out of... whatever it is. I should’ve spent the holidays at home, dealing cards for another hand of Spades with Big Mama and Uncle Earl. This is my punishment for wanting a special Christmas.

  “How long have we known each other?”

  Thinking back to when Maxi first introduced us, I’d give or take. “About a year.”

  A low grunt is his response.

  “In twelve months, how many times have I played,” he pauses, “with you?”

  Not enough, considering his lengthening erection has me dreaming about red velvet walls and black cards. His boxers are stretched tight across that bulging muscle. The feel of him is so intimate, it’s distracting. My kitty cat starts to whine, why we got to be the one to bypass what has to be an impressive dick.

  No, this between-the-legs heifer ain’t rolling her eyes at me. I spent forty-nine dollars on a Groupon for a wax and trim. She better calm down before I let these coochie hairs run wild.

  “Diesel.” I look up at him. “I’m not your woman. You know that, right?”

  With his left hand, the one on my lower back, he pops my G-string.

  “I don’t know that, Amanda.”

  “You gonna get a spanking,” I scold.

  “Keep your hands off my ass. Now, does Keanu or Du-Haul ring any bells for you?”

  “Nope, just you. My Amanda.”

  My Amanda?

  Diesel grins down at me, with that bandage I helped to apply to his head. Girl, his eyes are all dreamy-looking and full of admiration. And maybe, determination.

  I feel downright therapeutic. Especially since he’s stroking his large palm up and down my back. Slowly, he moves his hand lower again, the sheer expanse of heat infusing my skin is sublime. I’m practically cooing.

  “Doesn’t something about this,” I see-saw a digit between us, “feel weird to you?”

  His hand pauses on my back. Instantly, I miss the special attention. I tell myself it’s for the best. Being single after forty means I’ve had my share of men misleading me. I can’t do that to Grinchy.

  Diesel leans in close. His scent and warmth so intoxicating, I bite my lip to keep my tongue behind my teeth.

  “Yeah.” He nods.

  “Alright, now we’re getting somewhere.” Inhaling a breath, I straighten my spine, steeling myself against the cascade of mixed emotions. I want him, but I shouldn’t—especially now. I shift on Diesel’s lap, and his cock pulses underneath.

  “Huh, okay. I’m going to get up and—"

  He clamps one meaty forearm over my bare thighs, pinning me in place.

  “You’re going nowhere, sweetness.”

  I give him the side eye. “Boy, stop playing. We both agree, we ain’t a couple.”

  “Nah, that isn’t what I said. I’ll tell you what’s weird. Me sporting wood and you not parting those thick thighs so I can hammer that sweet-smelling cunt.”

  The man has the audacity to pinch my ample thigh, on the fleshy inside.

  “Ouch,” I yelp. Right before I pivot, giving him better access. Hey, I might as well get some foreplay out of the deal. “I know your forgetful ass ain’t sniffing up my skirt?”

  “It’s my shirt,” he growls, soothing the spot he just abused with a gentle stroke. “Now, open up. Daddy’s hungry.”

  WTF? Daddy’s hungry.

  I hurry up and scramble off the bed before I have those full lips drinking from my fountain of youth. A taste of my juices has been said to heal the lame.

  “Bring your little ass back here.”

  I put more distance between us. “Look, white boy. Your stomach’s probably empty. I’ll cook you something.” He moves to swing his legs out of the bed.

  “Stay there,” I warn.

  “Why?” he grunts.

  ‘Cause you left your memory and good sense under the wood pile. Of course, I don’t say that. I offer comfort instead.

  “Bed good for Hulk. Me, Mandy make food.” I mimic finger feeding myself to the Neanderthal.

  Planting both hands on thighs the size of my torso, he glares. “I don’t remember you cooking.”

  I mirror him, placing one hand on my cocked hip. Returning his steely gaze, I say, “You can’t remember shit. Now lay your big ass down and let me be nice to you.”

  He collapses back on the mattress. “Be quick.”

  Thirty minutes later, I enter the double doors of the master suite, a wooden tray balanced in my hands and a game plan in my head. It’s now or never to clean up this mess I’d made. It’s my fault Diesel is confused.

  He’s adjusted his head onto two pillows, his long body dwarfing the king-size bed. Those arresting eyes find me and lock. So do my knees.

  “Smells good,” he says, licking his lips. “Bring it here.”

  Sitting up, he pats his thighs. I lick my lips too, probably because I’m drooling. His shirt, it’s gone. A brick wall of tanned muscles awaits me. My eyes are hitting so many ripples; I feel as if I’m about to wipe out. Lawd, he’s trying to make me fall and bump my head. There’s two angry red welts across his upper chest, reminders that he needs my care... not my moist creamy center.

  “It’s tomato soup and grilled cheese,” I stammer. “And something for the pain. You gonna eat?”

  “Eventually,” he says, watching me.

  The room has a homey, yet masculine efficiency design. A small square table with two-wooden chairs is arranged in front of twin doors leading to a patio. “Put your shirt on,” I blurt. “You should eat at the table.”

  “Nope. Bring it to bed.”

  “Hell to the n-o. After what happened before, I’m not coming near that bed.”

  “By before, you mean my hand on your ass? Or you sandwiching my cock? Or our kiss?”

  With every recount of our entanglements, my scowl deepens. “That was you kissing me.”

  “Same results.” He shrugs. “My tongue down your throat.”

  Steam radiates off the bowl, and the cheese is still shiny and soft from an old-fashion cast iron grill. “Look, food’s getting cold.
You want to eat or not?”

  “Eventually,” he repeats in a low voice that tickles my insides. My stomach dips as the heat spreads through my limbs. “Come here, Amanda.”

  “Diesel... I’m gonna tell you the same thing Big Mama used to tell me and my twin sister when we were younger and acting out.”

  “What’s that?” he muses.

  “If you’re not going to eat, lay your ass down and go to sleep.”

  He chuckles. “My only choices are to eat or sleep?”

  I lift the tray away from my body, presenting it. “You once said to me, choose. Now it’s’ your turn. You wanna eat or sleep?”

  “I’ll eat,” he concedes.

  Good. I pad over on bare feet, the fireplace casting a shadow twice my size. Our clothes were soaked and caked with gray sludge, but Cristene promised they’d be clean and dry by morning.

  “I want to eat your pussy,” he rasps matter-of-factly.

  I stop abruptly, far enough that he can’t launch for me.

  “What’s fuck, Diesel? Here’s a public service announcement... you done fell and bumped your head, literally. Stop being difficult before I get a two by four and do a Misery on your damn ankles. Now—eat and get better—so we can drive up out of this, How the Grinch Stole Mandy’s Christmas horror movie.”

  He crooks his finger, beckoning me forward.

  “You want a good patient, Amanda.”

  I shake my silky bob ‘cause a sister has good hair. “Yes, that would be nice.”

  “Then be a good nurse. F-e-e-d m-e,” he echoes each syllable like I’m the one with a reindeer antler growing out of my forehead.

  This man got me twisted.

  Feed him?

  No. Mandy don’t do that. “I’ll just leave it—"

  He moves faster than I can retreat. “You climb in this bed and put that sandwich in my mouth or—”

  “Or what?” I blurt.

  He takes a step in my direction. He sways, and I jump, but he doesn’t go down.

  “I’ll toss your little ass over my shoulder and carry you to bed, Amanda.”

  Dammit. He’s going to hurt himself, and then I’ll feel even worse.