Lunchtime Chronicles: The Nooner

by Reana Malori

  Arriving at his office, she wiped her face to clear the wetness. Stepping across the threshold, she saw him standing next to his window, looking out over K Street. This man loved her. Not that fake ass love that people only expressed with words and no actions. Kane loved her from deep down in his fucking soul. And because of that, she was gonna give him some so good, his damn toes were gonna curl.

  Closing and locking his office door, she made her way across the room. “Kane?” she called out. When he turned to her, his face immediately reflected his worry.

  “Why are you crying? What happened? Who the fuck do I need to kill?” He stormed over in her direction and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body close to his. “Sweetheart? You okay?”

  Nodding, she lay her head against his chest. “I love you.”

  “I know.”

  Lifting her head, she laughed at the cocky ass look on his face. “And how do you know?”

  “Sweetheart, even though you hadn’t said the words before, I know you love me from the way you look at me. The way your body responds when we make love. The soft sigh you release each time I hold you in my arms. Plus, I’m kind of an asshole. You’d have to love me to put up with my bullshit.”

  “Yeah, well, your long-stroke can put a bitch in a coma. So, you have your uses.” Rubbing her hand down his flat stomach, she cupped his thickening bulge in her hand. “Mmmmm, it looks like someone is happy to see me.”

  Laughing, he thrust his hips forward. “He’s always happy to see you, but that’s not why you’re here. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Isn’t it time for lunch?”

  “No, which you already know. Although brunch is always an option,” Kane smiled wickedly. “Don’t avoid the question.”

  “I’m not avoiding anything. Actually, I have a question.” Joy stepped back so she couldn’t be distracted by his touch. “Are you leaving the firm?”

  His eyes went wide, and he rubbed a hand down his face. “Fuck!”

  “What’s going on? What happened?”

  Strolling over to her, he captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “This move has been in the works for a while, but being with you showed me it was time for a change. I’m not willing to let you go, and being open with our relationship won’t work here. Bobby and I will take our clients who aren’t covered by conflict or non-solicitation. Without even trying, we have a book of business in the multi-millions.”

  “How did you do this without me knowing?”

  “Oh, you knew, but you just weren’t pulled into the specifics. I wanted you to have plausible deniability if some shit came from this. The guys here aren’t too happy about Bobby and I leaving. And based on how you came into my office just now, I think Mercy opened her big mouth.”

  “She did better than I would have thought. That woman keeping secrets is like oil and water. They don’t work. Oh, and what did you promise her?”

  He smiled. “I have a friend with a cabin in the mountains where she wants to stay. I told her I’d get it for free if she helped Bobby and me with some initial financial analysis.”

  Considering Mercy was a financial controller at a small company in Fairfax, Virginia, that made sense. “Whose cabin are you promising, and has the person agreed?”

  “You’re going to get a kick out of this. It’s Bobby’s.” A huge smile covered his face.

  Oh, her man had jokes today. “What are you up to?”

  “Me?” He tried to look innocent and failed miserably. Holding up his hands in surrender, he shook his head. “Baby, I’m not up to anything. Bobby, on the other hand, has all types of shit up his sleeves.”

  “Don’t let your friend break her heart.”

  “Nope. I don’t get involved in his love life. They’re both grown and can make their own decisions. It’ll be fine. Let them decide how they want to handle this thing between them. Not our business. Plus, Bobby and I will be focused on getting our firm up and running. But for you, I’ll make sure to give him one final warning.” Leaning down, he kissed her softly. “I’m glad you know. It was killing me to keep you out of this. I don’t like keeping secrets from you.”

  “Isn’t that how we met?”

  “Babe, stop bringing up old shit,” he quipped before running his thumb over her bottom lip. “Damn, I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

  Reaching her hand up, she stroked his jaw. To think, she’d almost missed out on having him in her life. “I wouldn’t trade this for the world. I just don’t want our relationship to cause any trouble for you.”

  “It won’t.” His hands came up to her shirt and began undoing the buttons. “But I don’t want to talk about that anymore. I’ve missed our lunchtime meetings. Since I’m not going to be here much longer, I think I should cause a scandal on my way out.”

  Slapping his hands away, she moved just out of his reach. “No scandals. I still need to work here.”

  He shook his head. “No. You don’t.” Kane lifted his arm before pointing at her and using his finger to beckon her over to him. “Since I plan to make you my wife, you can either come work at your husband’s firm, handling all the business operations for us. Or, after I fuck a baby into you, you can stay at home, go back to school, or do whatever the hell you want. Now, get your fine ass over here. Daddy needs his fix.”

  “A baby? You want us to have a baby?” She smiled before reaching up to continue unbuttoning her shirt.

  “I sure do.” Kane undid his belt and slacks, pulling his juicy cock out of his pants. Joy licked her lips in anticipation. “Are you gonna give me a baby, Joy?”

  “When are you going to put a ring on it?”

  He released a bark of laughter. “I guess Mercy didn’t tell you everything. Come here.” When she got within reach of his grasp, he lifted her in his arms, cradling her ass in his hands. Walking them over to the couch, he laid her back against the soft cushions and hovered over her prone form. He pressed his cock against her slick passage, and her eyes slammed shut in pleasure.

  “Cancel your lease, Joy. I want you in our home full-time by the end of the weekend.” He breached her pussy, and she released a moan in response.

  “You’re so damn bossy,” she teased.

  “Maybe you need a little more convincing,” he hissed as he pressed deeper, fully seating himself.

  “You can give it the old college try. I only have an hour for lunch, so you’d better get moving.”

  Kane stroked deep, wringing moans and cries out of her. She knew if they were caught, they’d be the talk of the town. Gossip would run rampant, and everyone would know their business. Then again, she didn’t care what anyone had to say about them. They made their own rules and created something amazing out of an online hook-up. She moaned again as the mushroomed tip of his cock brushed against that sweet spot inside her. Oh damn, that felt amazing.

  Wrapping her arms around his strong back, she blocked out the world around them. Joy couldn’t help the thought running through her head, and a smile came over her face.

  Nooners were the best fucking thing ever!

  ~ FIN ~

  Thank You!

  THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING my writing. It truly means a lot to me. If you enjoyed The Nooner, Issue 4 of the Lunchtime Chronicles, please take a few moments to leave a review and recommend this book.

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  KEEP SWIPING TO READ an excerpt from the next release in The Lunchtime Chronicles. Whipped by Siera London!

  LUNCHTIME CHRONICLES: WHIPPED

  by

  Siera London

  WHIPPED

  Summary

  Truxton Jac
obs

  Even after being left at the altar, I still crave her. Some may call me whipped, but I don’t care. I want her back.

  Tynisha “Ty” Hain

  I don’t know how to hold onto the good in my life. My fear has cost me the only man I love. How do I convince him I won’t leave again? How do I convince myself?

  CHAPTER ONE

  TO AVOID MISSING THE rare sighting, Truxton Jacobs kept his eyes roving past the bikini-clad bodies parading the Daytona Beach boardwalk for his dose of Tynisha Hain.

  “Why in the fuck do you keep torturing yourself looking for her?”

  Because Truxton wanted her back. He ignored his best friend and business partner of five years, instead, listening to the break of ocean waves gently lapping at the shore. Griffin’s harassment was well-intentioned; but looking was a far cry from Truxton’s addiction to these bimonthly ride-bys from his ex-fiancée. Seeing Tynisha was more like an erotic infusion that stoked the memories of her long gone touches. Call him whipped, but it hurt like hell to be without her. To make matters worse, his cock has serious abandonment issues. So yeah, he was strung out on a woman who’d left his pining ass at the altar, horny as fuck and angry as shit.

  Did the rejection still burn an acidic whole in his gut?

  Yes, it did, but in reality, he welcomed the pain. It kept him from doing something stupid. Maybe, showing up at her apartment, throwing fucking rocks at her window, and screaming Marlon Brando’s Stella.

  The glimpse of what could have been served as a temporary balm, cauterizing all the broken pieces his fucking wounded heart. It was either camping out in front of the window or drowning in a bottle of distilled spirits until the ache in chest numbed. Only one woman had reached through all his layers. He’d held Tynisha in his heart, on every military deployment, every battlefield, and every lonely night apart. She held the key to his soul. It didn’t matter that she’d returned his gift unopened.

  “Strong language for ten in the morning.”

  With his eyes glaring at the high-traffic walkway visible through the window, Griffin shook his head. “What do you get out of seeing her with another man?”

  Men, Truxton thought. She never dated the same guy twice. Color him stupid, but his mind told him it was Ty’s way of letting him know there was still a chance for them. And damn it, he still wanted the wedding, the wife, and two point five kids—with her.

  Wispy cotton candy clouds scattered across a Caribbean blue sky, a familiar start to the morning. April rain showers in Florida did little to deter tourists flocking to the home of NASCAR racing and Florida’s hard-packed sand beaches. Beyond working the restaurant, he didn’t have shit else to hold his attention. On the outside, he looked unchanged, but some vital component of living a full life died at the altar where she’d abandoned him.

  “Do you ask her that?” Truxton snapped, trailing his blunt fingers through his straight locks. Gray strands mixed with golden brown at his temples, but the military had conditioned him to keep the sides as tight as his abs. Truxton wasn’t sure why anger overrode his common sense. Griffin’s interrogations, though misplaced, came from a place of concern. His friend worried that Truxton still pined, like a stray dog kicked but returning for more punishment, for the one woman he couldn’t claim as his own.

  After his fellow Army buddies had dragged Truxton, hissing and spitting mad, from that quicksand of an altar, retired First Sergeant Griffin Philips had saved his life with a pint of Jack, daily meals, and a business plan for the Double Decker Café. Six months later, when he emerged from his drunken stupor, he was part owner of a dilapidated beach shack.

  Truxton rubbed his calloused palms together. Physical labor served as an excellent distraction. Griffin had him tearing down walls, painting doors, and laying floors. With all the adult libations after hours, one hundred percent alcohol leeched from his pores, but it kept his mind off Ty... at least for twelve hours of the day.

  From his position at one of the many file cabinets lining the sidewall, Griffin chuckled. “As if Tynisha would let me question anything about her life. No time for gunshot wounds, I got a business to run.”

  This month marked the oceanside location’s fourth year in business. The gourmet sandwich shop situated on Florida’s A1A coastal highway between the Atlantic Ocean and the Halifax River, boasted three-hundred and sixty- degree views of prime waterfront real estate. A roof terrace with a mixture of U- and L-shaped patio furniture draped in various textiles with green succulents in lighted planters, created the ideal conversational and dining experience.

  Truxton shrugged. “True.”

  Even as a teenager, Ty hated to be questioned. Twenty years ago, he’d been the soldier next door, back home on leave. At eighteen she’d opened up to him, shared her insecurities at being the girl growing up in a home with two overachieving Marine brothers. Together they’d shared their dreams and aspirations. He’d been her first lover, and she, his first love.

  “Tell me this... is there a plan in this fucked up red sparrow spy game?” Griffin asked, crossing the ample floor space to his desk.

  “Hell if I know.” He never imagined she could walk away from them. From him.

  Love bears all things. He thought it did.

  “Honestly, I say ambush her in that alley between 5th and Ocean. Throw her ass over your shoulder, spank her apple bottom, and then y’all fuck till she faints or arrives at the right answer.”

  “Shut the up,” Truxton chuckled. “That won’t work with Ty. I can’t fuck her into wanting me.”

  Griffin raised a brow. “You know Cupid’s arrowhead is really a cock tip, right?”

  Truxton released a belly laugh. “You give shitty advice.”

  Since meeting some woman online, his partner and good friend was full of Men Health’s relationship tips. That garbage may have worked with Millennials still living with their parents after eight years of college. Ty would require more than Fortune-cookie strategy. She was a female Marine, deliberate, disciplined, and decisive.

  And she’d decided to leave his ass.

  Griffin shrugged. “Use your arsenal, man. Use it...”

  “Dude,” he swiveled in his chair, “wear a helmet when you drive that rocket camouflaged as a car. If that’s your strategy for hooking a woman, you’ve cracked your fucking skull.”

  Griffin shrugged his beefy shoulders. “What? Is your dick whipped too?”

  “Keep your mind off my junk.” It was moments like this he tried to avoid. Discussing what he could’ve done differently when they were together.

  “You ain’t living in your parents’ silver bullet. There’s more than one legal deed with your name on them. You’re a contender on the marriage market.”

  At forty-one, he owned his house, his business, and a small fishing boat that kept the boozing to a minimum on the weekends. For a skinny kid raised on cornbread, chicken, and cheap beer, though the Army had bulked up his 6’ 2” frame, he had a good life. By all accounts, he could claim American success. So why keep vigil for a woman who strolled by his establishment with one of her N2U fuck boys on the regular?

  Love.

  Shit, he hated being alone. He hated that she had that online dating app, a portal to a new man in her life. Every time he spied, yes-spied, Tynisha’s online profile he wanted to hack into that shit and stamp, MINE on every entry.

  She’d rip him a new chute if he tried to control her. His baby’s temper could create a twenty-mile blast zone if she felt threatened, physically or emotionally. Both of them, skilled in the art of war, had little experience with retreating. He told himself admiring from afar was safe. Never would he ask why she’d made the decision to leave him at the altar that cold December night.

  Griffin stroked his beard in contemplation. “I mean... think about this situation like a woman.”

  He closed his eyes, not wanting to confuse logic with any part of the conversation.

  “Let’s not,” he gave a furtive glance.

  “You need to
use brains, beauty, and your body to get your woman back.”

  Truxton growled. “Griffin...”

  His friend angled his head, a curious look on his youthful face. “Let me guess, rabies?”

  “Not funny. No more online bullshit taglines.”

  Griffin dropped into the seat at his own desk. “Forget Ty for a minute. How about I introduce you to a nice little Beyon-jay?”

  Truxton opened his mouth to object, “No, and you mean Beyoncé.”

  “Nah,” he said, a slight grin on his face. “She’s kind of got a Jay-Z face with Beyoncé hair.”

  Conversations like this one were the primary reason two grown ass men should avoid sharing one office. Plenty large, the setup facilitated the smooth flow in business ideas and kept the financials: Truxton’s territory, and the kitchen: Griffin's kingdom, in seamless alignment. But, the good vibrations stopped there.

  Truxton propped one elbow on his desk, crumpling the papers there. “Damn,” he said, with a lift to one brow. “Do I have to explain shut the fuck up?”

  Shit got messy when his best friend made stupid ass suggestions he could dismiss without Truxton’s input. But, Truxton and Griffin had been trained by Uncle Sam to strategize, map out a plan of attack, and then conquer, when unsolicited advice littered the air faster than a pack of stray dogs in a back-alley dumpster.

  Griffin gave a forced laugh. “Hell no, I don’t need you explaining shit,” his tone bordering on indignant. “I’m trying to unbreak your dumb ass heart.”

  The flame-broiled job done to his heart at the hand of the woman he loved had been vicious. Griffin wanted to help, but only Ty could salvage the wreckage. Her betrayal had twisted Truxton up inside, yet he recognized how much that one impulsive decision ripped them both to pieces.

  Truxton tightened his jaw. “My dumb ass...” face twisting in a rank expression. “You’re the one jones-ing over an Internet bimbo.” He pointed in the direction of the restaurant area. “Just go.”