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Mandy
O-M-G, Diesel has amnesia. He thinks he’s my cowboy. It’s kind of cute, but no. Even though he has me nestled up against his hard chest, cradling his erection between my ass cheeks, it would be wrong to sleep with him under false pretense.
But, he sure does look sexy, even with the head injury. Which brings me back to reality. Since I’m the one who knocked his brains out, I should be the bigger person and apologize.
“If you’re playing cute and stupid because I made us fall, you can stop.”
I give him a moment, hoping beyond hope that he’ll snap out of... whatever it is. I should’ve spent the holidays at home, dealing cards for another hand of Spades with Big Mama and Uncle Earl. This is my punishment for wanting a special Christmas.
“How long have we known each other?”
Thinking back to when Maxi first introduced us, I’d give or take. “About a year.”
A low grunt is his response.
“In twelve months, how many times have I played,” he pauses, “with you?”
Not enough, considering his lengthening erection has me dreaming about red velvet walls and black cards. His boxers are stretched tight across that bulging muscle. The feel of him is so intimate, it’s distracting. My kitty cat starts to whine, why we got to be the one to bypass what has to be an impressive dick.
No, this between-the-legs heifer ain’t rolling her eyes at me. I spent forty-nine dollars on a Groupon for a wax and trim. She better calm down before I let these coochie hairs run wild.
“Diesel.” I look up at him. “I’m not your woman. You know that, right?”
With his left hand, the one on my lower back, he pops my G-string.
“I don’t know that, Amanda.”
“You gonna get a spanking,” I scold.
“Keep your hands off my ass. Now, does Keanu or Du-Haul ring any bells for you?”
“Nope, just you. My Amanda.”
My Amanda?
Diesel grins down at me, with that bandage I helped to apply to his head. Girl, his eyes are all dreamy-looking and full of admiration. And maybe, determination.
I feel downright therapeutic. Especially since he’s stroking his large palm up and down my back. Slowly, he moves his hand lower again, the sheer expanse of heat infusing my skin is sublime. I’m practically cooing.
“Doesn’t something about this,” I see-saw a digit between us, “feel weird to you?”
His hand pauses on my back. Instantly, I miss the special attention. I tell myself it’s for the best. Being single after forty means I’ve had my share of men misleading me. I can’t do that to Grinchy.
Diesel leans in close. His scent and warmth so intoxicating, I bite my lip to keep my tongue behind my teeth.
“Yeah.” He nods.
“Alright, now we’re getting somewhere.” Inhaling a breath, I straighten my spine, steeling myself against the cascade of mixed emotions. I want him, but I shouldn’t—especially now. I shift on Diesel’s lap, and his cock pulses underneath.
“Huh, okay. I’m going to get up and—"
He clamps one meaty forearm over my bare thighs, pinning me in place.
“You’re going nowhere, sweetness.”
I give him the side eye. “Boy, stop playing. We both agree, we ain’t a couple.”
“Nah, that isn’t what I said. I’ll tell you what’s weird. Me sporting wood and you not parting those thick thighs so I can hammer that sweet-smelling cunt.”
The man has the audacity to pinch my ample thigh, on the fleshy inside.
“Ouch,” I yelp. Right before I pivot, giving him better access. Hey, I might as well get some foreplay out of the deal. “I know your forgetful ass ain’t sniffing up my skirt?”
“It’s my shirt,” he growls, soothing the spot he just abused with a gentle stroke. “Now, open up. Daddy’s hungry.”
WTF? Daddy’s hungry.
I hurry up and scramble off the bed before I have those full lips drinking from my fountain of youth. A taste of my juices has been said to heal the lame.
“Bring your little ass back here.”
I put more distance between us. “Look, white boy. Your stomach’s probably empty. I’ll cook you something.” He moves to swing his legs out of the bed.
“Stay there,” I warn.
“Why?” he grunts.
‘Cause you left your memory and good sense under the wood pile. Of course, I don’t say that. I offer comfort instead.
“Bed good for Hulk. Me, Mandy make food.” I mimic finger feeding myself to the Neanderthal.
Planting both hands on thighs the size of my torso, he glares. “I don’t remember you cooking.”
I mirror him, placing one hand on my cocked hip. Returning his steely gaze, I say, “You can’t remember shit. Now lay your big ass down and let me be nice to you.”
He collapses back on the mattress. “Be quick.”
Thirty minutes later, I enter the double doors of the master suite, a wooden tray balanced in my hands and a game plan in my head. It’s now or never to clean up this mess I’d made. It’s my fault Diesel is confused.
He’s adjusted his head onto two pillows, his long body dwarfing the king-size bed. Those arresting eyes find me and lock. So do my knees.
“Smells good,” he says, licking his lips. “Bring it here.”
Sitting up, he pats his thighs. I lick my lips too, probably because I’m drooling. His shirt, it’s gone. A brick wall of tanned muscles awaits me. My eyes are hitting so many ripples; I feel as if I’m about to wipe out. Lawd, he’s trying to make me fall and bump my head. There’s two angry red welts across his upper chest, reminders that he needs my care... not my moist creamy center.
“It’s tomato soup and grilled cheese,” I stammer. “And something for the pain. You gonna eat?”
“Eventually,” he says, watching me.
The room has a homey, yet masculine efficiency design. A small square table with two-wooden chairs is arranged in front of twin doors leading to a patio. “Put your shirt on,” I blurt. “You should eat at the table.”
“Nope. Bring it to bed.”
“Hell to the n-o. After what happened before, I’m not coming near that bed.”
“By before, you mean my hand on your ass? Or you sandwiching my cock? Or our kiss?”
With every recount of our entanglements, my scowl deepens. “That was you kissing me.”
“Same results.” He shrugs. “My tongue down your throat.”
Steam radiates off the bowl, and the cheese is still shiny and soft from an old-fashion cast iron grill. “Look, food’s getting cold. You want to eat or not?”
“Eventually,” he repeats in a low voice that tickles my insides. My stomach dips as the heat spreads through my limbs. “Come here, Amanda.”
“Diesel... I’m gonna tell you the same thing Big Mama used to tell me and my twin sister when we were younger and acting out.”
“What’s that?” he muses.
“If you’re not going to eat, lay your ass down and go to sleep.”
He chuckles. “My only choices are to eat or sleep?”
I lift the tray away from my body, presenting it. “You once said to me, choose. Now it’s’ your turn. You wanna eat or sleep?”
“I’ll eat,” he concedes.
Good. I pad over on bare feet, the fireplace casting a shadow twice my size. Our clothes were soaked and caked with gray sludge, but Cristene promised they’d be clean and dry by morning.
“I want to eat your pussy,” he rasps matter-of-factly.
I stop abruptly, far enough that he can’t launch for me.
“What’s fuck, Diesel? Here’s a public service announcement... you done fell and bumped your head, literally. Stop being difficult before I get a two by four and do a Misery on your damn ankles. Now—eat and get better—so we can drive up out of this, How the Grinch Stole Mandy’s Christmas horror movie.”
He crooks his finger, beckoning me forward.
“You want a good patient, Amanda.”
I shake my silky bob ‘cause a sister has good hair. “Yes, that would be nice.”
“Then be a good nurse. F-e-e-d m-e,” he echoes each syllable like I’m the one with a reindeer antler growing out of my forehead.
This man got me twisted.
Feed him?
No. Mandy don’t do that. “I’ll just leave it—"
He moves faster than I can retreat. “You climb in this bed and put that sandwich in my mouth or—”
“Or what?” I blurt.
He takes a step in my direction. He sways, and I jump, but he doesn’t go down.
“I’ll toss your little ass over my shoulder and carry you to bed, Amanda.”
Dammit. He’s going to hurt himself, and then I’ll feel even worse.
“Go lay down before you fall, you big grinchy baby.”
He does as he’s told, but his eyes follow my every move. I can tell he’s ready to leap if I sprint in the opposite direction. Scowling, I approach. Sitting the tray safely on the night table, I lift his feet, tucking them under the quilt. He cuts those bright eyes in my direction, smirking in satisfaction.
“You know you’re taking advantage of my kindness?”
Folding his arms behind his head, he relaxes that arrogant noggin in the cradle of his hands.
“You’re welcome to take advantage of me. Dip the sandwich in the soup.”
I treat him to a major eye roll while lowering one triangle tip of the toasted bread and cheese into the spicy soup. When I lift it, he shakes his head.
“Not yet, sweetness. I like it really moist, keep swirling it.”
The sensual innuendo is off the scales and so is the scent of arousal. I look up at him. One dark lock has fallen over his bruised right eye. I wrestle with the urge to trace my fingers over his skin. He doesn’t look away when I touch his mouth with the sandwich. Slowly, he opens, makes a seal with his lips, and then bites. Diesel groans, and my crazy ass does, too.
I think I just orgasmed.
The way he licks his lips after each swallow is pure food porn.
“More?” I croak, dripping the warm liquid onto my finger by accident. Gently, he takes my hand, raising it to his mouth.
“I like to lick,” he says, before that big tongue snakes around my digit and my finger disappears into his mouth.
Oh shit, does this man know how to lickety split. And I imagine him licking my slit.
The second the bowl is empty, and the hot tea is gone, he shoves it aside, pulling me atop him.
“Whatever I did to make you skittish, I’ll fix it,” he breathes, eyes focused on my lips.
I know what’s going to happen before he moves. When his lips touch mine, I open automatically giving his admittance. Of course, his big paw makes a trek to my ass, kneading the globes.
“Diesel—”
“Just tell me, woman. I’ll do right.”
His eyes are so earnest, he’s got me half believing we’re here to remedy what went wrong in our fake relationship. I swear, if he keeps kissing me like this, I’m going to make some shit up just to keep his hand on my ass.