Thick Cut Read online

  Lunchtime Chronicles: THICK CUT

  By

  Siera London

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Lunchtime Chronicles: Thick Cut

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Note from Siera London | Thank you for reading THICK CUT. If you loved Griffin and Fiona’s story, please do me a solid by leaving a review and recommending this book to other romance lovers. | Just in case you’re wondering, there’s more Messy Mandy Presents: The Lunchtime Chronicles coming to your e-reader. Follow Messy Mandy on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/thelunchtimedish/

  Xyla Turner’s Taste Test is the next story in | Messy Mandy Presents: The Lunchtime Chronicles | Here’s a sneak peek!

  The END

  STAYING THE COURSE Excerpt

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  THICK CUT

  Messy Mandy Presents: The Lunchtime Chronicles

  Copyright © 2019 K. PRINGLE

  Kindle Unlimited Edition

  http://www.sieralondonauthor.com

  Cover art by Dar Dixon

  Edited by One More Look Editing, Proofreading & Sensitivity

  First Edition, September 2019

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Certain real locations are mentioned, however, all names, characters, events and incidents described in this book are fictitious or a product of the author's imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  All trademarks, service marks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the current U.S. Copyright Act, with the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form in whole or in part by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without written permission from the author, Siera London.

  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 Saint Mathias 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 ove
rbooked, but I'm a regular at The Mathias. 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. Besides, the hotel is named after the city’s founder. It’s smart business to support local over the mega hotel chains.

  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. Removing them will be twice the fun. Her feet are bare, and my back tingles where her heels dug in for leverage. 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,” I wink, “in that car.”

  “Whatever.” She smirks.

  I feel the need to defend my Lexus sport. A car’s make and model is a reflection of the man behind the wheel, right? Reliable, built to last, from zero to sixty in 4.7 seconds, and sexy as fuck.

  “Daytona Beach has served as the international home of high-speed racing since 1902. A fast car is a right of passage in this city.”

  “It’s a rocket with wheels.”

  I shrug. “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 night. 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, I’m a baseball fan. I grew up tossing the ball in the historic Jackie Robinson Ballpark. Few people know that in 1946, the sports icon played in the first integrated spring training camp on Daytona Beach soil. And...I want to bury my bat in Fiona’s dugout all night long.

  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," she laughs.

  "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, Califor
nia is a long way to travel to get my knob wet.

  "Find her," a voice in my head says.

  I grin to myself, an idea taking shape. She's in my hometown for the next three days. Good head is worth a little online investigation to locate one Miss Fiona Cooper. With that, I pivot on my heel in search of my discarded jeans with the iPhone in the pocket.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I arrive at the Double Decker Cafe twenty-minutes late for my lunch date with my best friend, Amanda Murphy. I won't lie to myself. I'm still strung out over the expression on Griffin's face when I walked out of the hotel suite. He almost convinced me I had somehow disappointed him. Or am I a little disappointed in myself?

  No. I refuse to think this way. The last man who triggered these uncontrollable pussy pulsations ultimately called the cops on my ass.

  I am in Daytona for Truxton and Tynisha's wedding, and a little out-of-town dick down. Griffin was a means to a multi-orgasmic toe-curling end. That’s all. There are women in the world who would judge me—those bishes can kiss it. Maybe there’s a man out here for me, but he's probably blind, buried, or entered the priesthood at an early age. Either way, I'm not saving myself waiting for him to get his shit together. I refuse to settle, but I'm far from idling at home.

  That's where Griffin and the N2U Dating app enter the picture. Griffin Phillips is the best non-boyfriend, man friend I've ever had. Online, he's always ready for our private chat time. We laugh a lot, and I share more with him than any other man from my past.

  Griffin. Why are you so damn perfect? That's the reason why I bolted from the Mathias Hotel. My feelings were too real. Being with him crash-landed my tattered heart too close to hopeful. My heart, the part of me that wants the forever kind of love, has leapt up, only to be beaten down too many times. I won't do that for another man.

  I can't.

  Griffin should be ashamed of himself for trying to make me feel more than we have a right to. We met online, for goodness sake. He got what he wanted. I, for damn sure, got what I needed. I mean the sex was off the chain, off the top rope, off the damn wall. Just thinking about Griffin covering every inch of me makes my booty cheeks clap.