Lunchtime Chronicles: Whipped Read online

  “Right,” he echoed. What the hell? So she was good with things proceeding as planned or was this some fucked up memory lane stroll that ended with them apart... again.

  “We had some good times after all the bumping and pumping,” she gave him a wry grin.

  “Great times in and out bed,” he agreed.

  A part of him wondered if once she left him, she’d forgotten about the late night swims, the early morning walks, the lunchtime blowjobs. His eyes momentarily focused on her face before making a b-line to her mouth. He stared at the plump flesh, the blood rushing to the bulbous head that couldn’t seem to forget how it felt to have her slick heat gripping his shaft. Momentarily blinded by the image of him thrusting between her spread thighs, Truxton loss the ability to form coherent sentences. Definitely whipped.

  Clasping both arms around his neck, she reared up. “They were for me, soldier.”

  With her mouth close to his ear, Truxton swallowed the rising need to take her. And it would be so easy to lower her plump ass onto his cock. He could fuck her, claim her, at least for the next hour—or two.

  “Trux, you okay?”

  Immediately he angled his head, turning in the direction of her voice. For the briefest of seconds, her lips brushed against his skin. And there it was, the hint of peppermint on her breath. The sweet hotness, so like the woman herself, fanned out on his cheek luring him back to a place he had no right to visit. How many times had that scent pushed him over the edge, driving him to crash his lips to hers? He wondered how she’d respond if he licked that little dip in her lower lip? The gentle slope had cradled his cock when he plowed into her mouth, ripping those delicious gasps from her throat.

  “I thought you’d forgotten everything.”

  “I can never forget you.”

  She raised her hand to touch him. Truxton wanted her hands on him, had dreamt about his cock surging into her tight wetness. In his fantasy, she dug her nails into his back, cried out his name as pleasure tore through her, and fell into an exhausted sleep in his arms. Reality was a bitch. No version of this urban fantasy would he fool himself into believing they would fuck, and then skipping hand-in-hand to the altar.

  “Look,” he said, his voice thick with lust and confusion, “I’ll clean up your leg. If nothing’s sprained, strained, or broken, you stay naked till I’m done with you.”

  “Interesting choice of words, Truxton.”

  Yeah, because she knew he would never be done with her.

  “Be quiet with all your psycho-analytical babble,” he countered. Truxton expected a scowl to appear. Instead mischief sparkled in her dark eyes.

  “Make me,” she said low and seductive.

  Damn, if she hadn’t sent an invitation to play.

  A game had started, and he didn’t even get a jersey. It hadn’t been enough for her to leave him, now she had to toy with him? Her bail out had ripped a hole in his soul so deep, not even he knew if a bottom existed.

  “Seriously, you want to challenge me right now? Because I’ll be all up in your ass before you can scream ouch.”

  She grinned. “I like the way you make me scream.”

  “You’re flirting.” Fucking was easy. Flirting, now that’s evoked emotion in the flirter and the flirtee. Could she really be ready for forever this time? “Did you fall on your head and I missed it? You know when I take you inside, your ass has basically entered the Twilight Zone. I’m not going to let you just walk again, Ty?”

  At least she met his eyes. She managed to mask her pain behind a tight smile, but he knew her too well. Uncertainty, embarrassment, and self-loathing simmered under the surface.

  “Since when does flirting mean I have a head injury?”

  Maybe he wanted her to hurt, feel the stab of humiliation that had sliced through him for every minute he stood at the altar.

  “With me... you’re flirting with forever, remember?” he said, the words clipped, “Left my ass at the altar in that damn rented maître’s suit. I swear, my sisters still have a two liter of whip ass with your name on it.”

  “I deserve it,” she murmured, voice steady. “And don’t be ridiculous, I’ve always wanted you, but—,”

  “But what?” Now she wanted to clam up. He could see the confusion in her mind playing across her features. But then, she exhaled, as if a barrier had collapsed.

  “You can do better than a broken Marine with a bum leg and nightmares that seem so damn real,” she rasped, anguish in every word, “that you woke up to my gun pointed at your head.”

  Damn. Truxton fell silent at the memory. They had agreed not to talk about that night. Maybe they should have.

  “I would never have left you... love bears all things, Ty.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  Hurt flashed in her eyes, and his gut twisted.

  “I’m better now... in case you’re wondering. I... I’ve,” she repeated, “been in therapy. It helps.”

  In that moment, he felt her pain, shared in the torment her decision had wrought on both of them.

  He could tell she struggled to rein in her emotions. But he didn’t need her to save him. He needed her to love him. Dropping his head, he placed a kiss on her forehead. Nothing seductive, more a gesture of acceptance, forgiveness even.

  “You ready to come inside?”

  Swallowing, she said, “Yeah. I am.”

  Shifting her weight, he opened the door to Double Decker’s. It was time to bring his woman home.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Truxton carried Ty through the dining area, ignoring Griffin when he looked up from the pass-through counter and shook his head. The booths along the walls were packed, as well as the four-seater tables scattered in the center. Bells dinged, and wait staff eager for tips buzzed around him to keep the customers happy. Oddly enough, his mind stayed on the woman in his arms, not the bottom line.

  “Hi, Ty,” Griffin called from the kitchen. “Stopped by to snatch off my best friend’s chest hairs?”

  Truxton stiffened. If Ty started sparring with Griffin it could last for hours. Both possessed a quick wit and lightning tongue.

  Ty laughed. “You still dating sewer rat Barbies?”

  Peals of laughter echoed around the room. A wealth of pride swelled his chest. Years had passed, but his Ty inserted herself back into his circle like the separation was a distant past.

  Not to be outdone by a fellow veteran, Griffin shot back, “If I can coax them away from your boyfriend with a couple pieces of Velveeta, sure.”

  Would she be upset to learn he’d been on a few N2U dates back in the beginning? He’d been horrible company—completely lost in his own head.

  A poke to the chest from Ty got his attention. “Trying to make me jealous, Griff, is such a waste of time. I could’ve taken down any of the women that came close to landing, Truxton.”

  For a moment, he and Ty just stared at each other in compounded silence. The implications of her statement had his chest heaving in satisfaction. Ty had done more than the ride-bys. She’d actually kept tabs on him.

  “We’ve been using your fucking Marine Corps training to track me,” he growled.

  She held his glare, not backing down. “Maybe.”

  No more avoidance, no escapes, no excuses, they had a chance at forever. He could see the truth in her eyes. “We need to talk.”

  “Agreed.” She grinned.

  She actually thought this shit was funny.

  With a terse nod he signaled to his partner. “We’ll be in the office. Don’t knock. If fact,” he announced in a loud voice, “everybody stay out of the back hallway.”

  Griffin looked between the both of them, first at Ty and then him. “Didn’t realize whipped turkey cream puff was on the menu.”

  Without breaking stride, Truxton said, “Mop-the-floor-with-your-sorry-ass is today’s special. You want a serving?”

  Griffin extended the middle fingers on both hands, his elaborate right foreman tattoo visible.

  “Tough t
alk now that your woman is back,” he muttered, plating up the grilled sweet corn on the cob, summer coleslaw with mandarin oranges, and smoked short rib sandwich.

  The restaurant forgotten, Truxton carried Ty through a short hallway with hung shelves holding paper cups, food containers, and bulk dry goods. The lighting was subdued here, similar to the tension between the two.

  Once in the office, he lowered himself to one knee and deposited her on the couch. Tempted to rip open her shirt and suck one of the visible pebbled nipples in his mouth, he rested on his haunches. Were they moving too fast? She closed the distance between them, placing a hand on his cheek. He stilled.

  “Don’t think,” she whispered, eyeing him.

  They both shuddered. Lust raced through him. Was she remembering how talented his fingers were, especially when buried in her tight snatch? He pulled back, his hands clenched. Inhaling a deep breath, he savored the heat from each of her fingers where the pads rested against his skin. So soft. It was one of the many things that he loved about her, that hard persona with the soft exterior. Maybe, he should leave the door open until he could clean the grime from her leg.

  “One of us should,” he returned, his voice thick with conflicting emotion.

  Loving her fucked with his brain, to the point where thinking clearly proved near impossible. And that was the crux of it. Even now, with the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears, he’d convinced himself she was back in his life-forever this time. Lingering doubt toyed with his conviction. He’d been wrong before. The Army had been his life. Even when he joined, he knew his career would be over by the time he found the right woman. And whether by fate or faith, Tynisha had come along and he’d forgotten about being an aging soldier, about all the aches and pains, about the two bullets he’d taken into his gut.

  All that mattered was her. And then she left, and it was as if nothing had ever mattered. Not his twenty years of service. Not the two bullets that scrambled his insides like eggs in a skillet.

  “Truxton.”

  There was a question in that one word. Need laced her voice, and his body responded in kind, his cock pulsed. Most women in Ty’s situation would play coy. However, painting an innocent image was so not her style. Whatever happened next between them was solely on Truxton. Could he survive if she wanted to leave?

  A loud thud sounded on the outer door. She jumped. Shit, he should’ve posted a CLOSED sign on the restaurant. They needed uninterrupted time together. A group of college-aged kids stumbled by, using the storefronts as a crutch. The sexual heat between him and Ty dropped to a simmer. It was probably a good thing, but he’d never say the words aloud.

  Truxton came to his feet. “I’ll gather the stuff to clean up your leg.”

  In the adjoining bathroom, he fumbled under the sink for the First Aid kit. Silently, he worked to clean and bandage Ty’s knee, tracing his fingers over the well-healed scars as he went. Even the dark, jagged wounds, so different from the smooth toffee skin surrounding them, were soft. Back when they lived together, he watched her sit on the edge of tub, pull out her body butter and caress it into every inch of her skin. He remembered admiring how well she took care of herself, how well she had taken care of him. What had he done to ruin it? It was the question that replayed in his nightmares.

  “I’m all better. The limp is gone.”

  He lowered his hands. “Glad to hear it.”

  Anger colored his words. Was she trying to tell him, he wasn’t needed? She’d recovered better without him in the picture.

  Damn it, he needed to pack up the salt her being better rubbed in his private wounds. But why did his lungs seize at the knowledge that Ty’s recovery included cutting him out of her life? Plain and simple, she’d robbed him of his right as her partner, to be a support, a sounding board, hell—a punching bag.

  Truxton turned, gathering the supplies around his feet. Then he rose to his full height cross the room and deposited the trash in the receptacle. When he faced her again, Ty was upright, her spine ridged.

  “I’m sorry, Truxton.”

  His steps faltered and his mouth gaped. The mask slipped, and vulnerability tugged at the corners of her eyes, the tremulous movement of her bottom lip. Delivered without pretense, but very real and sorrowful emotion. The words surprised him. What didn’t? She didn’t offer more or ask for anything in return. He admired that about Ty. She never asked for forgiveness. Maybe she thought he wouldn’t give it.

  "Save it. No woman should have to marry a man she doesn’t love.” What had he been thinking? He expected Ty to behave like every other woman, wane poetically about missing him, wanting to get married, bear his children.

  She reached out one hand to him. “I... I love you, Truxton. Never doubt that you were loved.”

  Truxton stalked forward. The sure hold he kept on his feelings broke. “Not enough for forever.”

  Hurt blanketed her face, and she dropped her hand. Not looking at him she said, “You want everything to be so simple between us. It’s not.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Ty. You either love me or you don’t,” he bellowed, exasperated. “And there are a lot of damn places you can ride that bike instead of in front of my business, torturing me with your rejection,” he hissed.

  “Torture?,” she lurched for him, grabbing his arm. “I don’t want to hurt you, Truxton. The rides by Double D’s are to make sure that you’re okay. Eating well, exercising, working hard, and enjoying life.”

  “I think you did bump your head. How the hell could I ever be okay when the woman I love left me for no damn reason? At first, I thought it was someone else.” He let all the pain of her betrayal flow, unbridled. “I waited a couple months, expecting to see you wearing another man’s ring. Nope, you just left my sorry ass at the altar for shits and a fuck ton of giggles.”

  “Hardly,” she muttered. “I was messed up in my head. I could have killed you, Truxton.” She slammed her fist into the couch. “Don’t you get that?”

  Pacing the length of the couch, he struggled to understand her logic. He and Ty had seen things that he wouldn’t wish on another living soul. He understood the battle going on in her head. Recognized the horror in her brown eyes at her actions. That’s why he’d remained silent when she’d voluntarily increased her therapy sessions. And later, joined a PTSD support group.

  “What the hell could I have possibly done for you to take my damn ring, but leave me behind?”

  Her face crumpled and she sank back into the couch. “You forgave me,” she said softly, “I... I wasn’t ready to forgive myself.”

  “Let me get this straight,” he said stopping in front of her. “You dumped me because I didn’t lose my shit over the gun?”

  “No,” she screamed. “I left because you acted as if it never happened. You kept covering for my fuck ups. I couldn’t do that to you. I had to make it right. You needed to be my hero, but you couldn’t save me.”

  “So, everything you did—the altar, the ring, the N2U fuck boys—are my fault?” He shook his head. “No wonder Griffin thinks I’m whipped.”

  Ty shot to her feet so fast, her injured leg buckled. Quickly, Truxton snagged her around the waist, pinning her to him.

  Steam pouring out of her ears, she jabbed him in the chest.

  He recoiled. “Ouch.”

  “You’re not whipped. We were in love,” she pushed at his chest. “People who love each other do stupid shit to each other,” she gasped, trying to take in a breath. “I was trying to pro... protect you, I didn’t know you wanted my ring back.” Tynisha tore at her shirt, pulling at the neckline.

  He rubbed at his chest, glancing for blood splatter. “What are you doing?”

  “Here.” She pulled a silver chain from beneath her shirt, thrusting something forward. The ring dangled in the center. “Take your damn ring.”

  He stared at the platinum band with a single cut solitaire sparkling in the sunlight.

  “Why do you have that?” he swallowed. “Why d
o you have my ring around your neck?”

  She swallowed and looked away. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “No, you don’t get to run this time.”

  “I don’t run.”

  If she tried, would he let her? She belonged with him.

  “Hell no, Sergeant Hain never runs,” he rasped. “You just don’t show up. Now why do you have the ring that I gave you six years ago around your neck?”

  A single tear slid down her cheek. “Because it’s the only thing of yours that I have left.”

  With a swift movement she wiped it away, scrubbing at her eyes with a viciousness that communicated how much she despised any show of vulnerability.

  “Tynisha,” he whispered.

  “Don’t,” she snapped. “Just let me get the hell out of here.”

  Oh, there was no getting away from her confession or his ring around her neck.

  He leaned forward. “Sweetness, I promise as long as you’re wearing my ring you’ll stay where I put you. On my cock.”

  Her expression turned serious. Truxton didn’t hesitate. He pressed his lips to hers. Her mouth moved on his like a whirlwind tasting and sucking as if she’d been ravenous for him. Wanting to savor the moment he clasped her head between his big hands, guiding their pace. “Damn woman, slow down. I’m here.”

  “This may be all I get,” she breathed, and then pushed back into his mouth.

  Like her, Truxton planned to enjoy the journey, but by no means was he done. Ty matched his pace stroke for stroke, her tongue dueling with his to dominate.

  “Not by a long shot.” The hunger of eager lips, the sweet warmth of one breath shared between lovers drove his craving to be inside her. Just then she slid one arm around his neck, melting in to his embrace. Taking the lead, Truxton tore at the buttons of her blouse, not stopping when the thread popped, and a soft ping sounded from the thing hitting the floor.

  Abruptly she pulled back. “Wait,” she panted, chest heaving, “You’re going to let me keep the ring?”

  He nodded in agreement. A slow smile spreading across her lips and he did the same in kind. Oh, she was so his.