Craving For Curves #1 (BBW Erotic Romance) (2 page)

“Yes,” I said, trying not to hyperventilate from the bliss. “Oh yes
Yeeessss! I will come for you baby.” I was screaming to the heavens by then. His tongue was circling my clitoris with a passionate pace. I grabbed my mountainous breasts and pinched my nipples. Braxton was slurping my wet, hot pussy so fiercely; it felt like he was
pulling
the orgasm out of me. He wanted it. And I wanted to give it to him.

A hot, flood of pleasure p
oured all over my body like a treacherous volcano.

“
Oooooooh my fucking God,” I yelled waking up from my daydream, pumping my dildo in and out of me in rapid succession. My meaty thighs were earthquaking from the immense pleasure. I looked down and my pussy had nearly swallowed my dildo it was so deep inside me. I lie there on my bed – spent, soaked, but unsatisfied. I wanted the
real
thing. I wanted Braxton. I
ached
for him.

I woke up the next morning
unhappy. Another morning waking up alone. Last week was the last New Year’s Eve I'll ever spend sitting alone on my couch, stuffing my face with pizza rolls, watching Ryan Seacrest prance around like an ice princess. I thought my life couldn't get any lonelier than it already was. I thought waking up alone in a frigid king size bed on Christmas morning would be the final straw on the preverbal camel's back, but last night was
it
. The lowest of the low. No one to share a glass of champagne with. No one to lock lips with at the strike of New Year’s with. No one to hold my hair back while I pray to the porcelain gods all afternoon from downing that extra champagne I knew I shouldn’t have drank.

I’ve
decided this year will be the year that I find him. I don’t know, but I won’t know unless I take a chance. Why did I leave the bar like that last night? So much for New Year’s resolutions. Take a leap of faith. That was the title to one of those self help books that I never read. I didn't need to read it to find truth in it. What's the worst thing that could happen? I meet a guy and the date ends up taking a nose dive and I'm back on the couch - single - with my face in a tub of coconut ice cream. I’m just sick of being single. This year's going to different.  No more waiting for him to arrive at my door on horseback or flaming chariot, ready to whisk me away into the night. This time I’m going to be proactive about my love life. I haven't had a date in for months. Well, I missed my chance with Mr. Caramel. So much for that.

But
I couldn’t stop thinking about him last night. I just couldn’t muster up the gall to ask for his number. It wouldn’t have worked out anyways. Most musicians are players. I didn’t need the hassle.

After washing up and eating breakfast, I decided to do what I always do when I’m feeling a bit gloomy –
clean my apartment. I turned on the radio to the local jazz station and I liked what I heard. I started the vacuum.

My phone rang
and snapped me back from out of my mission of cleanliness. I didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Hi-hi. Cassie?"

Oh.
Shit. It was Mr. Caramel! Oh my god. Jumping Jehoshaphats. Is my hair okay? Wait. He can’t see me. Girl, put some clothes on for God's sakes. Damn it, he can’t see you. Wait a second. How did he get this number? My heart was racing like an Olympic track meet. Where are my panties?

"Yes, this is Cassie. Who is this?" A girl has to play coy
from time to time. He sounded nervous.

"This is Braxton. I met you at Nipsey's last night." His voice was velvety and inviting, even for an afternoon.

"Uh, oh hi..."

"I know
you’re wondering how I got your number. I asked Patty...well...I begged Patty for it. She got it out of the fishbowl you put your card in for that raffle. I'm sorry. Is that creepy?"

It was. That is of
course you’re repulsive, have bad breath and a stalker. But bulging biceps, an irresistible smile, striking eyes, charming personality takes the creepiness down one hundred notches.

"Uh well..." I just
couldn’t bear to answer it.

"
I’m sorry. I had to. You just rushed out of there. I couldn’t bear to miss the opportunity to see you again. Desperate times call for desperate measures." Thank God he interrupted me.

"
It's okay. I guess I won't call the police." His laugh was hearty.

"Funny and sexy."

"You're bold, you know that?"

"And persistent."

"How do you know I don’t have a boyfriend?"

"You told me you didn’t remember?
But even if you did, his days would be numbered."

"Oh is that right?"

"Indeed. I mean if you
did
, you would've hung up on me already, right?"

I paused.

"You're something else." Bold, arrogant, cheeky and brash. Who did he think he was? Why did he want little old me? I mean big old me. "Whatever happened to Facebooking someone?"

"I needed to hear your voice again. It enchanting." I melted. Okay.  Was he reading from some cutting
room floor rom-com script? Why was I falling for it though? It was like he kept feeding me candy, knowing it's going to rot my teeth out and add to my waist line, but I couldn’t resist the enjoyment the sugary goodness gives me. I followed his lead.

"Enchanting?
Don’t they say that in the fairytales?"

"Maybe they do, but it's fitting. I
couldn’t get you out of my head. You're absolutely breathtaking. I'm sorry if I'm too forward." Oh you're not forward at all Caramel. In fact, keeping going. "I just..." he paused to make sure he says the right words. “...when I meet a beautiful woman, something takes over me. It's visceral. I-uh. Listen, if you're not doing anything tonight...I know it's Saturday night and you probably already have plans..."

"I'm not doing anything..." I said cutting
him off. Wow did that sound blatantly lame. "I mean...I have a few things up on the air..." Way to clean that one up, Cassie. I wonder if he bought it.

"Well, I have a studio session tonight, you should join me. I know
you’re not much of a jazz fan; it'll be my pleasure to introduce you to the music. Bird's eye view."

A s
trange, handsome musician inviting me to a smoky recording session - I could already see what was about to happen. Count me in!!!

"Sure, that sounds interesting
.”

"Great. It'll be fun. Meet me at nine. I'll text you the address, cutie."

"Sounds good. I'll see you then." I hung up the phone and immediately broke out into a cold sweat. What was I going to wear? Slacks or jeans? I could wear my 'fuck me' jeans, but my ass looks so sloppy in them now. I haven’t worn them since my last date. Which was an utter train wreck. After that I vowed to not date again until I worked on myself. Yeah, how's that personal development working out for you Cassie? How about you blow the dust off all those self help books wasted money on? That's another conversation for another day. The matter at hand is finding out what the hell I'm going to wear and Google
How not to hyperventilate before a first date
.

***

I arrived at Fall Of Rome Studios a tad before nine. The
How not to hyperventilate before a first date
guide I read before I left my place seems to not be working because my breaths were becoming shorter and shorter. Be brave, Cassie. New Year’s resolution remember?

I walked up to the front door of the studio. It was a two story building. It looked plain and non-descript; nothing like I imagined a recording studio would look like. My guess is that this was an old shoemaking factory. Where was all the extravagance that comes with being an international musician? Where were the Ferraris and Lamborghinis, I wondered? I pushed the button to be buzzed in. I walked up the stairs, knocked on the door and was greeted by Mr. Caramel himself and that inviting smile of his.

“Cassie!” he said
, almost unable to contain his excitement. His smile was akin to a child eating ice cream for the first time. And I was two scoops. Why was he this excited, it’s
just
me.

He looked even hotter than Friday night. He looked relaxed and settled in his environment.
He had a
cool
to him. Like much didn’t faze him. This was his element. He wore a form-fitting gray Henley which revealed his muscular torso. His skin tone had a natural glow to it. His personality had a glow to it also. He was the type of person who was reserved and a bit shy, yet you would have no apprehension about walking up to him and striking up a conversation. He was just that magnetic.

Maybe it was his face. He had a classic 1930’s black and white movie star face: Strong jaw line,
razor-sharp smile and a smoldering pair of brown eyes that could set a city ablaze. The stubble around his mouth and jaws seemed too perfect to be just a five-o’clock shadow. He had a name made for bright lights on a marquee: Braxton Carter. Is it bad that I envisioned sharing his last name? Cassie Carter. That has a nice ring to it. I know I had only met him once, but I always did that when I first meet a guy. Maybe I’m just getting ahead of myself, like I always do. I was so excited to see him that I was in my apartment going stir crazy from the anticipation. Jesus Christ, Cassie get a hold of yourself. Sexy, world renowned musicians always pursue me. Who was I kidding? I’m usually the one who makes the advances on the guy. Not the other way around. This man was pursuing
me
? A rock star! How about that for a curvy girl!

“Hey you,” I said. He put h
is arms around me, gave me the softest hug ever and then planted a moist kiss on my cheek. This wasn’t a kiss that a son would give his mother on her birthday. This was a kiss that loudly said
this is just a sample of what’s to come, if you’re lucky
. My knees almost buckled from the thought.

“You made it.” Strange. His look of excitem
ent transformed to amazement, then one of bewilderment.

“Made it? You didn’t think I was coming?”

“Can I be honest?”

“Please do, Mr. Cara- I mean Braxton.”
Damn, sometimes I just can’t help myself. I think in a past life I had tourette’s.

“I thought you’d blow me off. People, especially women, have…there’s a stigma that musicians have. I’m sure you’ve heard about it.”

“I sure have.”

“Right. The drug
s. The women. The wild parties…”

“You know you’re right. I was wondering why there wasn’t a Rolls Royce Phantom parked outside.”

“Oh, no. Not by a long shot,” he said laughing.

“No scantily clad women dancing i
n a champagne fountain? Nobody’s throwing a half a million dollars in ones in the air? What’s going on here? Am I in the right place?” I said looking around the room with a sarcastic smile.

“
Ha, you’re a smartass, aren’t you?! But, no I’m not flashy at all. Most artists aren’t like that. Even the rappers and rock and rollers; believe it or not, a lot of them are humble guys, homebodies to a point. It’s all image. I’m actually shy and keep to myself a lot. I’m the total opposite of all the myths and stereotypes.”

“He’s actually telling the truth,” the gentleman in the
midnight blue, pin-striped suit turned to me and said. I didn’t even see him sitting in the corner. My attention was focused on Braxton. The man was very handsome; well tailored, yet masculine. “The managers and label CEO’s are the flashy ones.”

“I’m sorry. Let me introduce you to Chad Wise. He’s the owner of the record label I’m on,” Braxton said. “Chad, this is Cassie. Cassie this is Chad.

“Pleasure to meet you, Cassie,” Chad said. I extended my hand to shake his was shocked when he lightly clutched mine to kiss it. Quite the chivalrous man. Braxton rolled his eyes.

“
Same here,” I said.

“Now, if you two will excuse me, business calls. Braxton, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Braxton said with an unsettled look on his face. Chad opened the door and took one long intense look at me and then dashed down the stairs.

“Here, let me take your coat.” He placed his gigantic hands on my shoulder blades and eased my trench coat off. “Let’
s have a seat here,” he said pointing to the black chairs in front of the mixing board.

The room looked
very warm and relaxing, but also intimidating. The microphones, the recording booth, the huge instruments; it was all kind of overwhelming. The mixing board looked like something from Star Trek.

“Are you sure I’m not
intruding?” I asked reluctantly.

“Not at all. Most of the dirty work has been done. My
band mates laid their parts down earlier today. Now I’m just mixing the record.”

“Mixing it?” I had no clue at all what lingo he was using.

“It’s like making sure the sounds are balanced. The levels are okay. The takes are precise. Fine tuning and putting the finishing touches on things. I guess in woman’s terms the sexy black dress is the music, the mixing is like putting on makeup.”