The Curvy Sister (A BBW Erotic Romance) (3 page)

“I don’t think I’ve been in
your grandma’s house since I was like, eight. Your birthday party, I think.”

He shoved the white box and
peanuts down the island carelessly like they weren’t dangerous to touch and set
his stack of towels down beside them. I watched as he shook out the top towel
and casually wrapped it around my shoulders. I stared up at him as he rubbed
the water away from my arms. I didn’t stop him though his actions confused me.
Was he trying to be nice? Did he think I was an invalid who couldn’t even dry
herself off? He seemed preoccupied with his work so I didn’t answer him.

“How long?” he asked quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“Since your grandma passed
away.”

I scowled. Like salt in open
wounds, this one. I shoved his hands away and took the towel into my hands to
wipe my face and press ineffectually at my sopping hair that hung in dirty
blonde cords down my back.

“Three years. She died three
years ago in January.”

While I dried off, Jason slid
the stools out from the island and positioned them one in front of the other. I
watched, dully curious. Outside a flash of lightning preceded a crack of
thunder that shook the glasses in my cupboards.

“Sit,” he instructed, a
demand but delivered gently. I slid onto the stool and he sat in the one
directly in front of me, our knees touching awkwardly. He unfolded the first
aid kit he’d stolen from beneath my bathroom sink. When he tried to take my
injured arm, I jerked away from him so hard I almost slid off my stool.

“I’m not a child,” I
repeated. “You need to go home, Jason.”

“Stop being obstinate. You
can’t bandage it with one hand.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.
“Although it might be amusing to see you try.”

I scowled and unfolded my arm
towards him so he could get a good look at the wound. It was positioned right
along the back of my forearm where I would have had a devil of a time trying to
see, let alone bandage, accurately. Conceding hurt.

“You don’t seem to like me
much.” He wet a cotton ball with an antiseptic cleaner and began methodically
cleaning around the wound, making his way carefully towards the cut itself. I
tried not to look, each tender touch causing me to wince in pain.

“I don’t even know you. Even
when you were here, you were never
from
here.”

“What does that even mean?”
His blue eyes raised briefly to meet mine, his easy mirth almost as infuriating
as his help.

I motioned with my free hand
towards the front door. “I know your reputation, Jason King. You were never a
small town boy.”

In a flash of bright blue
light his mirth evaporated. His full mouth pulled into a frown, but I couldn’t
see his eyes.

“I thought you said you
didn’t know me.”

“I guess I know enough.” He
didn’t answer me and I wasn’t sure if that meant I was right or I was wrong.

With the site cleaned, he
carefully applied ointment to a gauze pad, then taped it down like he’d done
this before and knew his way around a wound dressing. More evidence of a
careless, country youth. In the deep heat of summer, we all learned there was
nothing a good rinse with the garden hose couldn’t fix. Unless you were dead
and dying in a ditch, you’d live to fight another day. Only grandmas made sure
we did up the bandage right and that was only if she caught us in time. 

“Jonathan was wrong,” Jason
said quietly after a long, stretched silence. “What he did to you. It wasn’t
right. I don’t doubt what he and Bailey have is love, but he should have been
straight with you. I told him that as soon as I heard what happened.”

Jason’s voice, so sorry, so
full of pity, stabbed me right up under the rib cage. He pressed the bandage
tape in place and I flinched, harder than was necessary, and looked away to
hide the tears that pricked the corners of my eyes.

“You have no right feeling
sorry for me,” I murmured into my shoulder. I didn’t want to watch him be nice
to me. “Not like you’re such a role model towards women.”

He didn’t meet my eyes. “I’ve
made my mistakes, but I’ve never cheated on anyone before. There’s no excuse.”

I squeezed my eyes shut real
tight and when I opened them again, all I saw was the Tiffany blue box on the
counter top, its puffy satin pillow peeking out. I could see the linen
invitation balanced out the edge of the box, taunting me.

He set my arm down into my
lap and maybe it was my imagination that his fingers lingered against my cold,
damp skin. He felt unbelievably hot, like a furnace kept on too long and too
high in the dead of winter. He evaporated the cold right off me.

A rumble of thunder, a flash
of light, and rain enough to beat back the devil. It was his voice that drowned
out the rush of blood in my ears and the near constant screaming I’d heard
somewhere at the back of my mind since the day I discovered their ugly secret.

What I didn’t want to hear
was his sincerity or his encouragement. I didn’t want his pity or his comfort.
I didn’t want to be the girl who needed that from anyone. It made me feel too
much like a victim.

“He deserved it, Cass. Tell
you the truth, you were - ”

I made him stop talking by
kissing him.

I snaked my wounded arm
across the nape of his neck and kissed him like some kind of crazy person who
goes around doing crazy things like kissing strange men. I drunkenly pressed my
mouth to match his, and for a whole lifetime he didn’t react. He sat stock
frozen still, unresponsive to the urgent crush of my smaller lips against his.

And then all at once his
spine softened and his mouth accepted mine, turned a half degree to capture it
more fully. His hands found my thighs and stroked them up and back down to my
knees. He leaned into me, action not reaction.

The screaming in my thoughts
cut off under the flooding sensations of mouth and hands and heat. All at once,
like a light switch, and Jonathan and Bailey and that day in the barn vanished
with the noise and all I could feel was Jason’s burning, wet body and the sound
our mouths made when they pressed and came away to breathe.

4

____________

His fingers dug roughly into
my sides and mine into his hair, his shoulders. I clawed at him to move closer
and he answered by scooping his hands down my sides to my hips and lifting me
across our knees into his lap. I resisted but he was stronger and somehow I
balanced in his lap, my toes hooked on the bottom rungs of his stool, our
bodies pressed impossibly into the space of one. His arms were so strong, one
wrapped across my lower back, the other over my shoulders and buried in my
hair. For a moment, just one moment, I worried about my weight balanced
precariously on his legs, but he squeezed me tight against him as if he could
read my thoughts and they vanished with the next kiss.

Jason tasted like rain. I
licked his lips, his tongue, his teeth, until he growled softly and tightened
his hand in my hair and held me still so he could plunder my mouth with his
tongue. He kissed me hard and for a long, long time and I was powerless to stop
him and too delirious to mind. Everything left me in that kiss, the anger, the
fierce sense of betrayal, the humiliation and defeat. In the hollow space where
my heart had once been I felt the stir of hunger, a growling, animal thing
ravenous from famine. I sank my fingers into his shoulders until he moaned
against my mouth, a sound of pain or pleasure I couldn’t tell and didn’t stop
to ask.

He broke the kiss first,
jerked my head back with my hair and layered his delicious kisses up my throat.
I moaned, purred where he kissed. His teeth raked my skin where he sucked and
licked and kissed at me. His hands sank and squeezed, pulled me in inches
closer until we fit together like paper dolls. I wrapped my legs and arms
around him and we couldn’t have been closer. Not without stripping off our
clothes.

My thoughts dismantled when I
tried for language, something to anchor me from losing control, but then his
tongue stroked the soft curve of my throat and I couldn’t remember my own name.

I could feel the size of his
erection trapped between us, impressively squeezed by his zipper and my jeans.
I lost my head a little and rolled my hips intentionally into his and it was so
lecherous and immodest. He stiffened in my arms and released a soft hiss
against my collarbone and I felt such pleasure at catching him off guard. Like
there was any chance I might stop touching him like this, he tightened his
embrace, and bore me back down into his lap. There was hardly enough clothing
between his straining erection and the dampening space between my legs and we
both knew it.

My crazy head had no plans or
forethought but to kiss Jason King everywhere, to taste him, to stretch the
silence in my head as long as possible. As long as he’d let me.

So I squeezed my thighs
around the outside of his and rode him slowly, until I’d driven him raving mad,
until he was pulling at my wet clothes, until he stroked his hands down my
buttocks, over both wide cheeks and back up, caught the edge of my shirt, and
pulled it from my skin with a wet, sucking
pop
.

We broke our kisses so he
could strip me of my shirt and suddenly I was so cold gooseflesh broke across
my arms and shoulders. He responded to my sudden vulnerability by holding me,
by stroking his hot hands across my shivering body, over the swell of my heavy
breasts through my bra, down my back and hips. His fingertips scraped across my
jeans noisily like he wanted to rip them off as he had my shirt.

I made the mistake of opening
my eyes to see him gazing down at me, our foreheads touching. We shared
breaths, panting, and wild-eyed. I could feel his heart hammering against mine

“Cassidy…” he panted and his
voice, his beautiful voice so full of need and want and
guilt
. In his
voice I heard a question:
should we do this? Is this the worst idea ever?
It woke me up and I didn’t want to see those cosmic blue eyes staring at me
like that in the dark any more.

“No. No talking.” I breathed
heavily and rose up again to kiss him, to crush his mouth with mine, to drag at
his shirt, to get his goddamn buttons undone before I lost my mind. “Don’t say
anything,” I murmured against his mouth.

He didn’t argue. He grabbed
me against his body as if I wasn’t as big as I was and lifted me in his arms
off the stool. Somehow he lowered me to the kitchen floor and somehow I gave up
on the buttons of his nice shirt to tear it over his head and toss it into the
shadows behind me, broken buttons tinkling across the hardwood floor like
coins.

We tangled like teenagers to
get our clothes off. The rain made my jeans mercilessly difficult. He swore,
but between us we got them off, the delay only making us crazier.

Jason caught a nipple between
his teeth, tugged until I gasped. He suppressed my surprise by covering it with
his whole mouth and lathing it with the flat of his tongue. He sucked and
kissed and touched me into oblivion. I squeezed my eyes and let go, let him
have me without pretense and promise. I wanted to feel him fully and wouldn’t
be sated until he was inside me.

Somehow in the frenzy we
freed his erection, only just, and he managed to get a condom from his wallet
and put it on even as I clawed at his shoulders, sat up to kiss him while he
rolled it on, afraid of what would happen if I stopped touching him even for a
moment. Jason was obliging and seemed as needy as I felt, though even in my
lust-drugged mind I didn’t know why he could possibly need me when surely I
wasn’t the only girl who’d torn his clothes off in her kitchen since he’d been
back. Certainly I wasn’t the first salacious girl to come on to him like her
life depended on his kiss.

As soon as the condom was in
place Jason climbed on top of me and there was nothing slow or romantic about
the way he pushed my thighs open and guided his member between my legs. I
wished I could see it, how big he was, selfishly how big I’d made him, but when
the fat head came in contact with my slick sex, coherent thoughts vanished. I
threw my shoulders back, gripped his arms, and tensed.

Once the soft flesh began to
spread open for him, he planted his palms on either side of my shoulders, gazed
down into my eyes with those big baby blues and drove himself to the hilt
inside of me in one rough thrust.

I bucked and struggled
beneath his body, simultaneously pushing him away and pulling him deeper. There
was no time to get used to his considerable size or my lack of experience. He
took over, worked me hard and slow, then quick and shallow, alternating between
controlling my hips and propping himself over me. There was something about him
above me, caging me in between his arms, something possessive in the way he
watched my face while he took me.

And I loved the look on his
face, the hard, manly want. I loved the way he fisted my soft, plump hip with
one hand so he could drive in deeper. Every touch, tug, pull, and caress
screamed
more.
Screamed
now
.

It was too much, all of it
too much, and I was shaking, squeezing my eyes, clawing at him desperately for
something
without knowing what that something even was. He released a long, low groan and
lowered himself against me, wrapped his arms around me.