Blue, Light and Dark (Chubby Chasers, Inc. Series Book 2)

by Brashears, Angie M.

  “Thanks, so do you. You ready?” He’s so close I smell the sandalwood and sin. I feel a fluttering in my lower belly as he moves my ponytail aside. “I like this.” He gives the ends of my hair a soft tug, pulling my head to the side and kissing a trail right down my neck to my collarbone, before whispering against my skin. “I am. If this is my one and only date with you, what would you say to skipping the movie and letting the man plan the date?”

  He rubs his beard against my neck, and my whole body flushes. It seems he has the same effect on Sam, who’s rubbing against his legs, purr set on high.

  Making myself step back so I don’t lean into him further, I agree to his proposal. “You win. I need some air. I feel like I can’t breathe in here.” I fan my flushed cheeks. “Is it hot in here?” Hot flash? Whew, I feel like the oven’s set on high and the door was left open! “It’s friggin’ broiling in here.”

  He looks down at me through hooded lashes. “I can get this place steaming, princess.” He smirks at my flushed cheeks, my winded breathing, the pulse pounding in my neck.

  I take another step back, crossing my arms, trying for a stern look in my heated state, which isn’t easy. “Are you gonna be good?”

  His wide grin causes my nipples to tighten. Oh, my. “And if I’m not?” One long stride eats up the space between us. He’s in my personal bubble, and before I start unlayering, I shake my head. “Let’s go.”

  A matte-black Harley sits at the curb. “It’s beautiful,” I say as he takes out a helmet from under the seat. He sits—precariously, I might add—on the seat, both long legs spread out in front of him.

  I hesitate and think, why not? And walk into the V of his legs. He makes safety look sexy as he stares into my eyes the whole time while he buckles and secures my helmet.

  “Are your eyes hazel?” I ask, trying to make polite conversation.

  “I don’t know. Come a little closer and see.” And because it’s gonna happen, I can do nothing to stop this tsunami, I do.

  His hands rest low on my hips, the tips of his fingers on my bottom, and pulls me into him. I feel every hard inch of him shoved up against my belly. The heat that radiates through his jeans distracts me long enough that he comes in for a kiss right through the helmet visor.

  His lips are supple, his beard and mustache rub my smooth skin, and it makes me think of that scratchy feeling on my other soft spots. I can’t stop the moan that slips from my mouth. His licks my lips, politely demanding entry. I open, and he plunges deep into my mouth, his lips covering mine. He swallows my breath; every part of my skin sizzles. He kisses me like he wants to own every inch of me. And I wanna give him the pink slip.

  His hands reach around to cup my ass, pulling me even closer as he deepens the kiss.

  But I don’t need his hands to show me. My hips already know this age-old dance. His throbbing erection is huge. My pussy thrusts forward to get a taste. I move my hips so every part of my nether regions touch his. My pulse races, and I feel overheated again. I might be coming down with something.

  “I think I have a fever.” I whisper.

  “Oh, you’re scorching, alright, but I can handle the heat.” I pull away, feeling the cold air hit my heated front as he releases me. My hands grip his muscular arms. I don’t know if my weak knees will support me. “Get on,” he says, all husky and commanding, making me want to jump on anything he wants. But I settle for the bike.

  He straddles the bike and stands while I use him for balance as I sit on the back of the bike. “Hold tight, Blue. I’m taking you for a ride, baby.”

  Shit. I think the last thing Javi should be worrying about right now is him feeding me. I might be feeding him something later, I think, as his Harley blares to life and we surge into the night.

  We ride into the sunset. The colors are glorious. Reds and oranges blaze across the foothills we ride through. Drivers stare, envy in their eyes, as we pass. We have no particular place to go and all the time in the world to get there. Relaxing with every turn of the wheels, I let my death grip loosen and lay my palms on his tight belly.

  The freeway driving scared my balls off, I have to admit, but this, driving in the foothills of Laguna, is heavenly. I hadn’t realized how stressed I’d been since the whole roofie thing. Not every suitor is going to feel the need to drug me, but still, I feel like it needs to be said. “Hey, Frankie?” I yell into his ear.

  “Yeah, Blue,” he yells over his shoulder.

  “I’m allergic to roofies.” He throws his head back and laughs, one hand on the handlebars, the other holding my hands firmly pressed to his chest.

  When we crest the next hill, I can see the white churning waves of the ocean and a huge Ferris wheel! “Is that where we’re going?” I point, excited, bouncing on the seat behind him.

  He nods, pressing my hands even tighter to his chest.

  I throw my head back, feeling the wind carry all my worries away. “Wheee!” I yell, giggling as the wind whips my voice away.

  “Thought you’d like some fun, baby girl,” he says as he parks. He cocks his head, assessing the huge smile plastered to my face. “I thought right. C’mon, let’s go waste money on rigged games, eat too much sugar, and take that ride I was bragging about.” He takes my hand in his own, kissing the back of it while looking into my eyes. He winks, and then it’s me who’s dragging him forward, brimming with excitement. The colored lights and hum of the crowd call to me. “Promises, promises,” I say, skipping down the thoroughfare.

  He’s a very good shooter.

  Eight huge stuffed animals sit on the ledge in front of us. They can’t possibly fit on the bike. I can just imagine trying to wrangle this menagerie of furry beasts while trying to hold on. I giggle at the thought. He winks and continues his one-man onslaught on the targets. Holding the rifle like an outlaw, he one-arm shoots the bull’s-eye, dead in the middle of the star. “We have a winner,” the carny says, with less enthusiasm than the last eight times.

  A crowd is gathered around watching Frankie. And he’s watching me. “Which one, beauty?” he asks, and I point to the yellow sponge. “Now, we’ve got one of each.” I grab his unoccupied arm. Looking around at all the kids, eyeing my cache, I get an idea. “Let’s give them all away.”

  He smiles indulgently. “Whatever makes you happy.” Laying the gun down, he nods to the gamekeeper, who nods back, a little relieved that Sharp Draw McGraw is heading off into the sunset.

  Our arms are full as we walk around, handing out giant stuffed animals to any kid who looks like they could use one. The giant sponge goes to a little boy with scabbed knees and what I think is a chocolate ice cream smear on the front of his Dodgers shirt. “Hey, thanks, mister!” he yells, running off to show his parents.

  Frankie’s features get soft, his eyes tender. “Blue, that was the best idea. Did you see all the kids’ faces when they took the stuffed animals? Man, that was priceless. That right there,” he points in the direction the little boy ran off in, “makes my night.”

  I squeeze the arm I’ve been holding tighter against me.

  “I’m having a great time, too.” He leans against a wall, wrapping his arm around me, pulling me close. He holds up his phone and whispers “Smile” into my ear. After snapping a hundred pics, I turn in his arms. “This is a great date, Frankie. Thank you.” I say against his neck.

  “Your welcome baby.” His hands find their way under my coat, stroking my back. I kiss the soft spot under his beard. He smells so good. I suck him into my mouth, loving the salty taste of him. He moves his head, giving me room to work while raising his arms to my shoulders, hiding me from view. His shirt rides up, revealing tanned abs and a furry happy trail. I take it as an invitation to explore. My hand slides under his shirt, stroking his lower abs slowly, first with the front of my hand, then with the back, all while softly suckling his neck.

  His voice is hoarse, but I catch the need in it. “Darling, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that, kitten.”

  I
release his skin, the faint pop making me wet.

  He groans into my ear. “I want more of that, but not here. Too many kids.” His lips whisper across my mouth before he rubs his nose against mine. I pull back, heeding his advice.

  But he pulls me back. “Wait, not so fast. Don’t move yet. I’m not decent.”

  I laugh, and with a devilish maneuver, squeeze both of his hips before moving up to his sides and tickling the hell out of him.

  “Ah-ah-ah, no fair. Tickling a man when he can’t fight back.”

  His arms grab me tightly, and he leans into me, curving me back slightly before smacking a kiss on my lips. “Let’s go get some cotton candy.” He wiggles his eyebrows seductively and leans in to blow a raspberry on my exposed neck. We pass by the Ferris wheel on the way to the row of food trucks. He looks up and then at me. “You up for a spin?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

  I shrug, wrinkling my face. “Meh”. He laughs, and pulls me into the line. “Well, since you’re so excited.” I shake my head at his antics, giving him a huge smile.

  The ride he’s been promising turns out to be better than expected. A kiss awaits me at the top, which puts all of his other kisses to shame. I feel breathless when we pull apart and instantly chilled. It’s really windy up here, so I move closer to him. He welcomes me back in. “Blue,” he says, and then owns me with his mouth. His tongue is teasing, a glimpse of what’s to come. He kisses me on the way up and on the way down. One hand on my thigh, rubbing seductively.

  He makes me happy, I think, not for the first time, as we swing our intertwined hands and get in line for some sugar. He stands behind me, arms around my waist, sheltering me from the sea of pushing people walking the main strip. We get our treats, two cones of cotton candy, one blue—of course—and one pink. A bucket of soda, and a deep-fried corn dog, which is the size of his…arm. After grabbing a paper cup of mustard and a handful of napkins, he nabs an empty, plastic, circular table with benches attached, where we sit and people-watch.

  “Javi, my—”

  He puts one finger up to my lips to stop me.

  “Blue, if we only have tonight, can it just be just about us?” I smile into his earnest eyes. This boy wears his heart on his sleeve. I nod. “I’m sorry.”

  “No need. Now give me some sugar.” He leans forward, eyes closed, and I can’t help myself. I plant a loud smacker right on his seeking lips. One eye opens, he smiles before closing it and opening his mouth. I pull a piece of the blue sticky confection from the cone, place it on his tongue, and he sucks it from my fingers. “More,” he says, and I end up feeding him my whole cone.

  A band is playing top forty hits. He sits facing me, one leg on the wraparound bench, and pulls my back to his front to lean on him. “Are you having fun, Blue?”

  I nod. “So much fun. Thank you, Frankie.”

  He nods once and smiles. “You make me happy, Blue.” And his declaration warms my heart as much as his arms warm my body. I settle in, leaning my head on his shoulder and feel content.

  As we eat and people-watch, with the band playing, we begin to find out things about each other during the natural course of conversation. Some of it is surprising. Like when he says, “I just moved back from Connecticut. I finished school, and now I’m just finishing my clinical hours. Another month of hours, and I’ll be legit.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  He nods. “Dr. Doolittle.”

  Animals! I squeal. “No wonder Sam wanted to rape you!”

  He laughs. “I have that effect on pussy.” I laugh with him, smacking his arm. “You are too much!”

  We snuggle on the benches, content to sit and listen to the music. His strong arms hold me, keeping me toasty. “You cold?” he keeps asking, but I just shake my head, swaying to the music.

  A slow song comes on, and he stands, breaking me out of my fog of bliss. I look up at him, wondering if we’re leaving, but he just holds out his hand. I take it, and he pulls me to my feet and into his embrace. “May I have this dance, Blue?”

  I look around. “But this isn’t—”

  He kisses my lips, swaying back and forth to the music. “It is whatever we make it, baby.” I rest my head on his shoulder, close my eyes, and let the music take me away. I don’t even realize the song has finished till he slows to a stop. I open my eyes and look up into his. There’s something there. I don’t know what it is, I’ve never seen it before, but I’m finding I’d like to investigate it further.

  The salty air whips my ponytail around my head. The temperature has plummeted during our slow dance. The breeze blowing off the ocean bites through my jacket. I shiver against him. He rubs my arms, generating heat. “We’re gonna stop at my house and get my Jeep to drive you back. It’s got heat, and you can meet my roommates.” He winks, cheeky boy, and we head out to the parking lot.

  What a great date, I think, as he secures my paraphernalia for the ride. I lean into his back, my body melds perfectly with his. The strains of the music follow us out.

  * * *

  “Why do you have so many?” I ask, looking around his living room. This man is so unexpected.

  “They’re rescues.” He shrugs, as if this explains the kennel he’s got going on in his beach house. “From the clinic where I’m doing my hours. Each one was brought in for the big sleep, and well, I just didn’t have the heart. I couldn’t do it, not once I looked into their beautifully sad eyes. So I adopted them, not all at once...” A sheepish grin and a head tilt makes me smile. “One after the other.”

  There’s so many. “Do they all have names?”

  He smirks. “Of course. What do you think I call them, One through Five?”

  I laugh. Something like that.

  He walks around petting each one as he introduces them. “This big one’s Jabba, then there’s Leia, Luke, Chewy, and the little one is Bert.”

  “Bert?” I giggle, “I don’t remember a Bert in Star Wars.”

  He smiles. “Nah, I call him that because he looks like the puppet from Sesame Street?”

  “I know the one.” I nod, smiling. “You’re just a big old teddy bear, ain’t cha?” I say to him, but my eyes are on Jabba, who walks right up and sits on my foot. I stroke the German shepherd, mindful of the healing sores on his back. The faded belt wounds make me sad. Who took a belt to this majestic animal? The animal sidles closer to my thigh, and I itch under his chin.

  Frankie watches me with an indiscernible look. “You figured me out. Maybe I am just a big, fluffy, motorcycle-riding teddy.” He puts his hands up and shrugs. “I can’t turn my back on any living thing that needs help. I just see someone who needs saving and use my super teddy powers to do what I can. Especially when I meet a damsel in distress.”

  He heads into the kitchen before I can respond, but comes right back in carrying an opened package of Farmer John hot dogs.

  It’s out before I can stop it. “I’m not hungry,” I say, shaking my head. Visions of my feeder couple flash through my brain. For some reason, I feel a little embarrassed even thinking about them, here, in this airy beach house surrounded by canines with this adorable, kind-hearted man.

  He’s puzzled by my comment but lets it go. Thank goodness. I don’t wanna have to explain that one.

  Without a word, he crinkles the package, and his little pack of five all sit at attention, surrounding him. There’s no fidgeting, no barking or snarling. Just total concentration on the hunk with the hot dogs. Even my eyes are glued to his stern face wondering what comes next. Without a word, he passes each a hot dog. Astonishingly, each dog from the big bad Shephard to the tiniest teacup Chihuahua waits their turn. “Nice.” It’s a command, the only word he’s spoken since he started feeding the dogs, and it makes my pelvis tighten. Ohhh, I like that forceful tone.

  When they’ve all had their treat, they disperse to lie on each of their pillows scattered about the place.

  He turns to me with a shy smile, wiping hot dog juice and dog slobber on his jeans. “Make yourself
at home. Do you want a water?”

  “Sure. I like your place.” This is a place I’d definitely love to snoop in, find out what he’s got hiding under his bed, but I start at the wall of CDs. “You’ve got an enormous collection,” I say loudly, so he can hear me in the kitchen, before reading the titles. His taste in artists is as eclectic and varied as his dogs. I expected Motörhead and instead got Morrissey. So much for stereotypes. Musically, he’s got everything from ACDC to The Smiths. “You’ve got so many of my favorites,” I say, turning to him as he walks back in carrying two big glasses of water.

  “Sorry, I’m out of bottles.”

  I shrug. “No biggie,” I say, reaching for the glass.

  An old gray poodle stands at the sound of his voice, effectively tripping him up. Somehow, just barely, he manages to stay on his feet without breaking his neck, but his circus high-wire act is impressive as he narrowly avoids squishing the dog. “Leia, are you all right?” He bends, setting the empty glasses down on the coffee table. “Oh, baby, did I hurt you?” His strong hands move capably over her bent little body with just the slightest pressure, checking carefully for injury. No yelps at his touch. Even I know that’s a good sign.

  He bends even further down so he can see into her cloudy eyes as he holds her gray muzzle. “I’m so sorry, Leia. Daddy’s got to be more careful with you. It’s not your fault you’re blind as a bat, but Daddy loves you. I’d never hurt you.” He’s stroking the old girl, and she lies back down on her pillow, leaning into his hands.

  Aww, I think as he stands, and my arms are drawn to his shirt. “You’re all wet. Where’s your bathroom? I’ll grab you a towel.” He looks down at himself, wet T-shirt clinging, ice cubes stuck in the waistband of his jeans, and shrugs. “No need,” he says, before pulling the wet shirt off one-handed and tossing it over a surfboard to dry out. He brushes ice cubes off the top of his pants, giving me a smirk as he jump-shots the biggest pieces of ice towards the sink in the kitchen. “Swoosh,” he whispers as each cube rims off the counter into the stainless steel sink.