Lunchtime Chronicles: Whipped

by London, S.

  LUNCHTIME CHRONICLES: WHIPPED

  by

  Siera London w/a

  S. London

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Lunchtime Chronicles: Whipped

  About The Book

  A note from Messy Mandy

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  Lady Guardians

  The Men of Endurance

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lunchtime Chronicles: Dine & Dash Chap.1

  Sign up for Siera London's Mailing List

  Further Reading: Convincing Lina

  Also By Siera London

  WHIPPED

  The Lunchtime Chronicles

  Copyright © 2019 K. PRINGLE

  http://www.sieralondonauthor.com

  Cover art by Darleen Dixon

  Edited by One More Look Editing & Proofreading

  Second 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.

  Velveeta©, Hungry Man™, Magnum PI™, Barbies™, A Good Cry©

  About The Book

  She ran out on him. He’s hurt. He’s horny. He’s hungry...for her.

  Truxton Jacobs

  Even after being left at the altar, he still craves her. Some call him whipped, but he doesn’t care. He still wants her.

  TYNISHA “TY” HAIN

  She ruined her life...and his. The ache to touch him burns deep. If she surrenders, how can she stop her body from giving up more than she has to offer?

  Whipped is the prequel to the Lunchtime Chronicles series, first released at IRAE2019. It’s longer, hotter, and sexier romance!

  FEATURING:

  SIERA LONDON

  OLIVIA GAINES

  REANA MALORI

  XYLA TURNER

  L. LOREN

  BROOKLYN KNIGHT

  A note from Messy Mandy

  Welcome to Messy Mandy Presents: The Lunchtime Chronicles, steamy, short erotic romance served piping hot.

  Remember that movie about how a girl lost her guy in ten days? Well, this ain’t that shit. This book is about a crazy bish, Tynisha, I went to Sinclair State University with who left her man, Truxton at the altar. Now, this bish (who I love ☺) is having regrets. The entire Lunchtime series launched with WHIPPED at the Interracial Author Expo in Daytona Beach 2019. Read it, leave a review, tell a friend, and then follow my Facebook page: the Lunchtime Dish with Messy Mandy.

  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?”

  Simple answer, 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 don’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.”<
br />
  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 you 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 an 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.”

  The chair groaned under Griffin's weight, old springs overdue for a chiropractic adjustment. Propping booted feet on his desk. Truxton remained silent while the wounded warrior positioned one powerful leg over the other.

  “I believe I’ll stay.” Of course, no one could make the war relic do a damn thing. Remembering the fallen men and women from his battalion, he smiled every time Griffin took a step. Not many men made a full recovery from the type of shrapnel injury his friend had suffered to his right leg. “And my girl, is brilliant enough to snag herself me, a thick cut lover.”

  Lover? He’d never met the woman. But, after the horror the soldier had survived, he’d earn the right to concoct any damn fantasy he wanted.

  Truxton had visited Griffin often at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland. As an Army medic he’d had a comfort level with wounds, changing bandages, staying calm when confronted with life, death, and all the stages in between. Griffin's rehabilitation had been a medical marvel. Maybe that’s what had bothered Ty. That her injury had not changed how he looked at her.

  “You know that woman could be crazy?”

  Settled comfortably, Griffin reared back in his chair, stroking his ginger beard. “Your point?”

  Santa had nothing on the forty-four year-old veteran. Secretly, his friend grew the beard to hide his youthful face. Once, they’d been in a hole-in-the wall Mai Tai Bar off the boardwalk, and a woman with supermodel looks had walked up to him and pinched his cheeks. At the end of the night, she’d gone home with a bruiser in biker shorts. Griffin stopped shaving the next day. Bye bye, baby cheeks.

  “I got me, okay.” He scrubbed at his face, wondering if Ty had to put up with this shit from her friends? Did anyone remind her that he was still here... waiting.

  “All I’m saying is make a move, Trux.”

  “Why?” He threw down the pen in his hand, the pretense of working abandoned. “So, she can make a U-turn? This—” he pointed out the window, “is all we have. She disappeared from all the beach hangouts, quit the softball league, changed her gym, and stopped visiting her parents.”

  That bothered the hell out of Truxton. He and Ty had practical grown up in a communal home. The two families were more than next-door neighbors. Their parents still traveled on vacation together. Which made Sunday dinner awkward as fuck when the girl next door dumped his ass with the church and half the state as witnesses.

  Tynisha was her own woman. She’d find a way to broach the topic with him when she was ready. He believed that much about her. Before she moved on, it was in her DNA to close the door, tie off the last threa
d of hope at reconciliation.

  “I think the both of you are stuck on stupid. It’s like you want to torture one another. She wants to be seen and...” he breathed, “you want to look.”

  “Why don’t you just talk to her and ask why the hell she left you down on bended knee?” he challenged, exasperated.

  Truxton shot to his feet. “Because I’m not ready to hear her answer,” he bellowed. “Drop it.”

  Ty had been a part of his life since childhood. Literally, it was like she’d been made to love him. Courageous, beautiful, and sexy with a strength few men appreciated in a female warrior. So, if a woman who’d wrote him love letters during his deployments, ran into his arms on the Tarmac, and cried on his shoulder when he’d taken a bullet could leave him standing alone on the most important day of his life—then yeah, he could wait to hear her explanation. Could wait for the final rejection, to hear the words that what they had shared was never love.

  Non-plussed by his outburst, Griffin interlaced his fingers and cupped the back of his head. “Who the fuck you yelling at?”

  Truxton threw up his hands. “Y...you, big, insistent fucker.”

  “Okay, just asking your emotional ass,” he chuckled, wiping at a make-believe tear. “It’s dropped and squashed.”

  With one foot, Truxton kicked the chair away from the desk, creating some space.

  “I need some fresh air.”

  Pivoting on his heel, he walked out of the office. The sweet tang of citrus and smoked meat greeted him in the cafe. Inhaling, he was just about to check in with the kitchen staff, when, from the corner of his left eye, a hot pink bike with whitewall tires cruised towards him. He cranked his neck left.

  That’s when he saw her. His heart rate spiked. Lust gripped his cock, engorging it in a painful chokehold.

  Dressed in a white sleeveless blouse and denim shorts, Ty looked radiant and fuckable. Bathed in warm sunlight, her terra cotta skin, too much of it on display for this asshole, appeared as a flawless dark velvet canvas. Springy medium-length curls bobbed with the late morning breeze. Sculpted brows framed her deep-set eyes, smoky brown and full of glowing embers. Her body was sculpted arms, tones legs, and a round ass suitable for cushy ride.