Thick Cut

by S London

  So, she bolts on me, and now she's talking trash? And, the last straw... she sucks her teeth.

  I need to remind her she's fucking with a soldier. As a man who proudly wore the uniform until I was wounded in Afghanistan, I live for the challenge.

  And just like that, I turn, drop my shoulder, and scoop her off her feet. “That’s what I have you for.”

  “Put me down,” her voice quivers.

  Her legs contract beneath my hand and I give her a reassuring squeeze. “I got you, Baby.”

  Fiona is curvy, but compared to me, she’s tiny.

  Touching her like this, feeling her soft curves relax against my hardness stokes my hunger. My body is primed. Her fruity scent tempts my senses with all kinds of nasty, recalling memories of our lunchtime activities. Just then the waitress crosses in front of me to a drink station. She refills two large pitchers, one with iced water the other with sweetened tea. I recognize the young woman and seize the opportunity to get Fiona where I want her—alone.

  "Shannon," I call.

  She’s a newer hire who’s eager to please both Truxton and I. Banging employees is not my cup of Joe. Since Fiona came in the picture, I consider myself off the market. Her eyes avoid the woman's ass hanging over my shoulder, choosing to settle on my crotch.

  "What can I do for you, Mr. Phillips?”

  Her voice is low and full of sexual innuendo. I hear Fiona suck in a breath before she starts to swivel.

  “Hey, water girl,” my woman calls. “Fix your eyes on them plates, not his package.”

  I almost forgive her for taking off on me. The knot in my gut about Fiona and I being on different menus unravels. She’s into me too.

  "She needs to eat. Plate up today's special for two and we'll take it on the terrace."

  Yeah, the Teddy is suddenly a grizzly and very turned on. From over my shoulder, Fiona's head pops up.

  "You work here?"

  "Something like that?" I grumble for her to hang on. We're headed someplace where we can talk about what happened back in that hotel. Not the walking out part. I get that. She's running scared. I'm fixed on the spark.

  "What does that mean?"

  "I own the place."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  GRIFFIN FOUND ME. AND I know I should be more concerned about how, but honestly, the only question rolling around in my head is why? Why did he come looking for me? He had his out. I gave it to him on a silver platter. So why would he choose to toy with me like this?

  “Look, Griffin,” I say to the man sitting across from me, his blue eyes blazing brighter than the sun. “I appreciate the whole Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler scene downstairs, but it’s totally not necessary.”

  He studies me, and I feel my heart start to pound. I know this sensation—it's hope. And I have to squash it. Because if I don’t, it'll squash me.

  “Fiona, what did you think would happen after you fucked with me?”

  This question catches me off guard. He’s not asking about the act, rather my intention.

  “I thought we would have a good time.” It’s the truth. But what we had was more than good. I swallow against the lump in my throat, because I know I won't say that. I won't admit to him that I felt something, because if I do, it makes me vulnerable. I tell myself it's only three days. Don't do this to yourself.

  "And afterwards?"

  I can see a rush of emotion cross his face. He wants to say more but I know he'll wait.

  "Nothing," I shrug. “I thought nothing would happen afterwards.” Because that’s what the men in my life have conditioned me to expect... less than nothing.

  He opens his mouth to speak as Shannon walks up balancing massive platters in both hands. She places a steaming hot plate in front of me, and my stomach growls again.

  "Eat," he orders.

  It's a pasta dish with a white sauce chocked full of mushrooms and fresh herbs.

  "Stop barking orders at me." I pick up my fork and my spoon. Not because he told me to. Before I can fork up the first mouthful, a piece of olive bread, loaded with butter appears in front of my face.

  "Take a bite."

  His voice is gruff, but his face is relaxed and I feel myself do the same. Cautiously I lean forward. I part my lips and he slides the warm buttery softness into my mouth. I sink my teeth down, pulling in one direction while he tugs in the other.

  I have no idea why, but this is the sexiest damn thing he's done today. He's feeding me from his own plate.

  "Wow," I moan aloud.

  He nods, seemingly pleased with my response. "Good?"

  "It tastes like heaven."

  "We bake the bread fresh. Here on the premises."

  "Oh my goodness, bread and pasta." My two weakness along with cakes, cookies, pies, and meat. "I may never leave." A stillness drops like a hot skillet, and I back away from the comment. “Ah, until this is all gone.”

  He digs into his plate, as Shannon brings another basket of bread because we've dusted off the first one.

  "Eat your fill. After this, we head to my place."

  He says it as if I had not refused just thirty minutes ago. The last time a man invited me to his place, I ended up homeless and jobless nine months later. All of a sudden I'm nervous and tense all over again. I'm swamped with the sense of dread that gripped me in the hotel.

  Scared of what I feel. Scared of what I may lose if this doesn't work out between us. I talk to this man every night online. Thoughts of him waiting for me makes the hours of resumé tweaking evaporate. What happens if he unfriends me? I don't say anything at first, but he senses the change in me.

  "Griffin, this won't work."

  "Fiona, if you say my name one more damn time while you're trying to walk away, we’re going to have a problem."

  "This..." I gesture around at the beautiful terrace with aged wood tables and verdant succulents, "us... we are incompatible."

  "You damn near bottomed out my blood pressure this morning. And I twisted your ass around my cock like a pretzel. We work."

  He mutters, “a failed argument”, under his breath. I hear something about “fucking woman running off” and I remember, he's not my keeper.

  Dropping my utensils, I meet his gaze. Mutual irritation flashes. "How did you find me?"

  "Instagram™. You posted a pic of you and Messy.

  "Mandy," I add.

  "I saw her column. She's more Messy than Mandy."

  "So, you stalking me on the ‘Gram?"

  His mouth twists in a sardonic grin. "I told you to take all that shit down."

  "Jealous?" The question is meant to irritate, but he answers.

  "Hell yeah."

  I gasp. He just admitted it, like it's nothing. Who does that? Griffin Phillips, the upfront guy.

  "Close your mouth, Fi. I like you. I like talking to you. I love fucking you.” He shakes his head, as if remembering. “I'm taking you home. Once I get you there, I'm going to bury my cock so deep in you it'll leave an imprint. When you wake up, then we'll talk."

  I cock my head to the side, a twisted grin on my face. "Did I really bottom out your blood pressure?"

  He chuckles. "That the only thing you heard?"

  "Other than you want to dick imprint me again? Yeah, that's the only thing I heard."

  "You stalling?"

  "No." I smirk. "I want to fuck you too." I dig into the remains of my lunch with gusto. Let the imprinting begin.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "This is my he shack."

  In Griffin’s jet on wheels, the drive is too short to rethink my decision. I should’ve beat Mandy’s ass and taken the room key. The click of the glass-inlayed door closing behind me has me jumping.

  "Why not a man cave?" I quiz, making conversation. There's no reason to be nervous, but I am. This is his house. His domain. And he's taken me into his lair. Uncertainty courses through me. I'm in a foreign land, literally. No man has ever demanded I come home with him.

  "I remember State Farm Insurance Sheryl’
s She Shed commercial was your favorite on the N2U questionnaire. Tells me you like a nice home and having a man around.” Shit. Maybe those stupid online questions do reveal my inner workings. “Except for the man recliner, make yourself comfortable."

  I ignore his insight into how Sheryl and her shed have dimed me out.

  "Your chair, huh?" I eye the plush grey microfiber man throne adjacent to a top of the line flat-screen television.

  "Don't test, Fi."

  Griffin's place is a fifteen-minute drive from the Double Decker. With its Cape Cod decor, original whitewashed fireplace, and ocean blue walls, the room wrapped around me like a cozy blanket. Bare hardwood floors drew my eyes to a galley kitchen with blue granite-topped white cabinets. A glass slider with a picture-framed view of the Atlantic Ocean punctuated the room. The word “like” is too mild to describe my reaction.

  "Okay," I whisper, running my fingers along the back of the fabric-covered chair. I envision a Sunday morning on the deck, a cup of coffee in hand while I pour over the previous night's edits. From our N2U conversations, I know Griffin enjoys a beach run at sunrise, so this could be my quiet time. He's behind me now. Does he want me again? I want him. In anticipation of his kiss, I glide my tongue over my lips, wetting them.

  “Your place is comfortable... homey.” A note of suspicion edges into my voice. Did a woman help him with the décor?

  “Yeah, it’s been in the family since the seventies. I purchased it from my aunt after I left the Army. Did the remodel myself.”

  “Good in bed and handy.”

  He chuckles. “The two are indistinguishable, Fiona.”

  There are folders stuffed with spreadsheets littering the table and I’m curious. I’ve been content to leave out a lot of real-life details in our private chats, but now I want to know everything about him. "What’s all that?"

  "Numbers,” he groans like a wounded animal, and I want to run to his rescue.

  I twist my head, regarding him. Yes, I’m currently between

  paychecks; but I’m damn good with equations and formulas.

  "Give me more details. I can help." He’s quiet and I wait.

  Have I overstepped the boundaries of... whatever this is?

  Finally, he speaks, and I take a breath. “My business

  partner and I are looking to expand to a second eatery. Our realtor has identified a possible location about eight miles on the other end of the boardwalk.”

  “Wow. That’s great.”

  If I hadn’t already been impressed with his military service and his entrepreneurship, this is the icing on the cake.

  “Yeah.” He smiles, and I do too. “He thinks we can have our second location up and running by next summer. And turn a profit the following February when all the Daytona 500 enthusiasts are in town.”

  “If it’s okay with you, I could take a look. Maybe make some recommendations. Or at least help you formulate a list of financial considerations to discuss with your partner and investors.”

  He lowers his head and places a kiss on my temple. It’s sweet and I melt.

  “You’d do that for me? That’s a huge headache off my plate for free.”

  “Well,” I give a saucy smile. “It’s going to cost you.”

  "There's a guest room and bath down the hallway on the left."

  My mouth goes dry. I steel my spine, shoring up my disappointment. So we're back in the friend zone.

  "Ah, thanks," I say hesitantly. When he basically told me I was coming home with him, I thought maybe I'd spend all my time in his bed.

  He steps in close to me. I feel the heat of muscular thighs on my ass, he broad chest against my back. It rattles my senses. A fresh release of dampness softens the cotton seat of my panties and I squirm a little.

  Warmth spreads across my cheek. His breath caresses my skin as he speaks.

  "Our bed is to your right."

  Our bed. I swallow back the burst of happiness exploding in my insides. Yeah, steel ain’t what it used to be, because every cell in my body is melting like Dollar Store™ candles. Yeah, I'm all messy with my emotions, but I keep that shit in check. He still wants me... with him. Good. Because I can't bear to think I'm tangled up in lust by myself.

  "Okay." I stop myself from asking the sappy female question. You know the one that goes something like-do you feel it too?

  I turn around intent on collecting my suitcase. Maybe, putting some distance between me and Griffin will help with putting my shields back in place. Not that I'm intimidated by the idea of falling for a guy. But, this guy... the one I met online, the one I fucked forty-two minutes after the Captain announced, “You may now depart this aircraft”?

  He's looking at me. His sapphire eyes a swirling kaleidoscope of possession, protection, and passion. Do my eyes reveal the same?

  "Hang your clothes in my closet."

  His voice is firm, unyielding as if he expects me to challenge him.

  A part of me stands up. The part that houses the good sense my grandmother gave me, wielding rebel flag in one hand. Rebuild the wall, she chants. Hold something back. Instead, I laugh.

  "You want my clothes shacking up with yours, too?"

  His captures my chin, and I feel a tug at my heart.

  "You won't need them, Fi."

  “Well damn.” My nipples pebble, and I know he can feel the taut buds through his t-shirt. He sucks in a breath, recognizing my body's need please him. I'm ready to drop my panties.

  "Griffin-"

  Before I can finish, his lips are pressed against mine. Thick fingers thread into my braids. Blunt nails scrape my scalp, before he pulls my head back. The kiss is scorching. I feel the sting of his teeth, then the soothing swipe of his tongue. He plunges into my mouth over and over again, a replay of our lovemaking. I moan.

  That's when I realize what he's done.

  His right hand, it's under my dress, tunneling between my legs. Moving my panties aside, probing.

  "Want your cream on my fingers," he rasps.

  A voice so unlike my own gives a soft moan of surrender. "Yes," I utter, and he chuckles. Griffin wants my surrender and I give it.

  "I fantasized about fucking you outside." His voice is gravelly and my stomach dips low with his tone. “The sun kissing these gorgeous tits.”

  I gasp when he breaches my entrance. Damn, it's like high noon and I'm a wide target. Griffin doesn’t hesitate to take aim and bring me down to my knees. Seconds later, I agree to be his genie in the bottle©. Did I mention, I’m screaming his name when my warm cum streams down my leg?

  CHAPTER SIX

  On the quick strides across the kitchen floor, out the glass door, and onto the patio, the brush of her firm tits against my chest distracts me. With intention, she opens my shirt and toys with my nipple. It stiffens and so does my cock.

  "Quit playing."

  "I never play when it involves good dick."

  I chuckle, grabbing a handful of her ass and giving it a squeeze. Voices, probably my elderly neighbors, carry across the fence separating the houses. It's only six feet, but it allows more privacy than most waterfront properties.

  Fiona tenses in my arms, but only for a moment. Hmm, she might have some exhibitionist tendencies. I tuck that away for later.

  "No one can really see us," I mutter in her ear.

  Outside, I settle Fiona on the patio table. “You comfortable?” I ask.

  "Yeah," she says as her tongue snakes out of her mouth and gives the nervous trail across her bottom lip.

  "Don't think." I can tell she's in her head, and I don't want a repeat of what happened back in the hotel. "You know me, Fiona. I’ll take care of you."

  The words seem to make her relax, and the tension I've been carrying since I found her at my restaurant eases a bit. I slip off her dress and unhook her bra. The “fuck-me-heels” and the lacy thong are the only articles that remain. Behind my jeans, my cock is rock hard. When Fiona grips me and closes her fingers around my erection, I groan.


  "I love how long and thick you are,” she whispers. “Your taste is amazing."

  Shit, she’s beautiful, and soft, and bold. My succulent pear. I couldn't have designed a better woman for me in the bedroom.

  "Lie back," I order.

  I use my girth to spread her legs further apart. Lifting, I toss her heels over my shoulder, push her panties aside, and dive in, tongue first.

  Her slit is a juicy slice of nirvana. I work her soft lips apart and plunge in deep until I hear her cry out. She's singing soprano, alto, and bass and I catch the first drop of her arousal.

  When I add one digit, followed by another, she threads her fingers through my hair. She's surging up to meet my tongue, and I draw her clit in between my teeth. I'm careful with the added pressure.

  "Yes," she groans. "Eat me out, Teddy."

  She rears up, both hands pulling at my thick mane. With her hips, she's riding my face. Fingernails rake through my scalp leaving a sizzling trail. The pain swirls into pleasure and I feel strands pull free. Fuck it. She can yank it all out. My Veterans Benefits cover hair plugs.

  "Aw yeah." I swirl my tongue around her hard nub, before plunging back into her pleasure center.

  Seconds later, the sweetest juice spills onto the tip of my tongue and slides down my throat. Her taste is exquisite and I know it's now my favorite berry.

  I don't wait for her to come down. I step out of my jeans and pull a condom from the pocket. Without a stitch on, my covered cock is like a broken compass happily bobbing in the direction of her opening. With an appreciative gaze, her eyes roam my body, coveting every hard plane. I slam into her until my balls slap against her pussy.

  This is what I love about fucking a plush woman. I don't have to take it easy, or measure my cadence. I can ride her ass with gusto and know she'll hold me, take my heavy weight pinning her in place. Fiona’s slick tunnel is hungry, tightening around my man meat until slurping sounds echo through the air. I abandon myself plummeting into her drenched heat over and over. I grab her calves, spreading her legs farther apart. I'm driving into her, forceful, deeper, shaking with the need to possess this woman until her back is sliding across the table. I don't stop. I angle my hips and it deepens the penetration as if I can almost touch her spine. She smiles at me.