Curve Effect (A BBW Box Set of Contemporary, Science Fiction and Paranormal Romances) (16 page)

"Yeah?" She chuckled, a gentle wave of relief washing over her. Loren had definitely looked at more than her medals when he rummaged through her dresser.

"Yes, please."

She laughed again as he moved the injectors onto the nightstand then rolled her onto her back, his hard cock wedging itself between her swollen labia.

In the morning, they would pack a small bag, the kind any couple might take on a day trip. Only it would be full of cash and guns, a few toiletries and first aid items, and one sea-green negligee. They would leave Lawton Hills together, she with the same dark auburn hair she had entered the house with, his shorter and lighter. Her features would be the same as those he kissed and caressed; his would be temporarily altered -- the nose and lips thicker, the jaw less defined, his cheeks and brow more pronounced.

It would hurt like hell as the injectors remolded his face. He would bear it in white-knuckled silence. And, once they were finally out of range of the cameras and high-powered microphones, there would be rest and conversation. A spilling of secrets and stories to strengthen the bond that had already built up around them.

But at that moment, as they moved tenderly against one another and waited for dawn to break, there was no talk or sleep to be had.

Curve Beast

Scrabbling naked over rooftops and darting between shadows as he tracked the drift of clouds across the moon’s full face, Cruz Medina came at last to a stop. Across from him was a rundown building, its brick façade chipped and crumbling. Steel framed cathedral windows ran across the third floor, all but one shut. Through the open window, he heard a sultry torch song playing in the background.

Moving the few inches right to see inside her apartment would expose him. He dropped flat against the corrugated metal roof and waited for another thick cloud to cover the moon. He ached to see her, had gone all day waiting for the chance. She would likely be in her chair, naked -- the day's camouflage of baggy jeans and sweaters thrown off and every sweet curve and roll of her lush flesh visible to him.

The music all but guaranteed the vision dancing through his head. The low throb of a cello joined a woman’s voice. Every note was music to fuck by--exactly the kind of music Tamsyn listened to when she was alone, touching herself and thinking of him. Feeling his own low throb, he inched closer to the roof's edge, stirring up the odor of rust and sweat from his climb. He lifted his head, searching for the first faint stirring of her scent as a cool breeze played over his bare flesh.

Cruz jerked back, eyes narrowing as he emitted a low warning growl. He could sense Tamsyn, but only barely. Something else covered her gingery sweetness--something masculine and drenched in the stench of meth. He inched to his left, leaving the safety of the shadows to see through her open window.

Tamsyn sat in an overstuffed chair that faced the window at an angle. She was every bit as naked as Cruz. Dark brown hair fell in loose waves against her shoulders. Her hands covered her full, heavy breasts, the fingers tense as she worked the achingly thick nipples.

The sight of her broad hips, soft plump thighs, and that sweet, sweet rounded ass as she toyed with herself would have fueled a month’s worth of wet dreams--if she’d been alone. Instead, a dark shadow was prone on the ottoman, its head bobbing between Tamsyn’s legs.

Bracing himself, Cruz drew another deep breath, reading the scent signature of her lover.

Lonnie Woodrow.

Between Tamsyn’s soft thighs.

Lonnie’s tongue--

The sound of metal groaning as he bent the edge of the roof checked the impulses warring inside Cruz. He quashed the urge to leap from the roof, scale the building up to the open window and rip Lonnie’s throat out.

Tamsyn was her own woman. She certainly did not belong to Cruz Medina. He had gone out of his way to make sure of that, pushing her away every time they ran into one another. He pretended every day he wasn’t crazy in love with her or couldn’t smell the subtle changes in her body each time she realized he was near. Every meeting between them was an exercise of his shitting on a friendship that stretched back to high school.

Worse yet, she thought it was her size that kept him away, that all those womanly curves made his stomach roll instead of his cock hard and his fingers stiff with the need to grip her malleable flesh. So she covered up that gorgeous body ignored him with the same feigned indifference he directed at her -- even if she came alone in her bedroom and calling his name.

The music stopped. Cruz lifted his head, ears pricking forward. Tamsyn had her foot against Lonnie’s shoulder and resolutely pushed the little fucker away.

"C’mon, baby," Lonnie whined. "You said three songs. That was only two."

"It could be two CDs, you still couldn’t make me come." Dropping her foot to the ottoman, she gave a hard shove.

Cruz heard the sound of the spindly furniture legs scraping against century-old floorboards. He watched as Tamsyn stood, her full breasts swinging forward as she bent to retrieve Lonnie’s jacket and threw it at the tweaker.

"Baby--"

Tamsyn pointed a finger at him. "Never call me baby."

"Then let me be your baby." Lonnie reached for the nearest breast, the nipple softened now that she no longer teased it.

Tamsyn brought her fist down on his wrist.

Lonnie jerked his hand back, holding it against his chest as he rubbed at the sore flesh. "You said three songs. If I could make you come in three songs you'd fuck me."

Tamsyn pointed at her apartment door. "You want to walk down those stairs or get thrown down them?"

She watched, stony-eyed, as Lonnie left. Then she bolted the door and returned to the chair. She pulled her legs to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and rested her chin on her knees. Her lips moved in a whisper Cruz strained to hear.

*****

Damn you, Cruz Medina.

Tamsyn’s curse followed him down from the roof and into the alley. Cruz hit the ground on all fours, double-layered fur hiding his skin. The stealth of his padded paws as he stalked toward the building’s exit was ruined by the clicking of razor sharp nails against the asphalt and the steady growl in his throat. Hearing footsteps from the building’s stairway, he slid alongside a dumpster and waited.

Lonnie slammed through the door a few seconds later, the words "Fat frigid bitch" bursting from his throat. Stopping beneath the door’s exterior light, he patted his jacket before he reached into a pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Cigarette lit, Lonnie stepped into the alley.

Cruz let the man clear three of the old brick buildings before he started the hunt in earnest. He was within a few feet before Lonnie passed the fifth building. Cruz caught his attention with a raspy snarl that jiggered up Lonnie’s spine and sent him pinwheeling in Cruz’s direction.

"N-n-nice doggie."

Crouched in the shadows, Cruz dipped his head far enough forward that light reflected off his golden eyes and white fangs. Lonnie stood, his hand out as he made direct eye contact. It would have been a stupid enough move if he had been facing down a stray dog. But a twenty-three-year old, hundred-eighty pound wolf shifter? Still snarling, Cruz took a step forward, and then another, more of his shifter form becoming visible.

Lonnie shot down the alley in a straight line, legs pumping wildly as he ignored the side alleys and cross streets. Cruz would give him a little slack, wait until Lonnie peered back at the blur of fangs and fur and then lunge forward, doubling his speed until he was within snapping distance of Lonnie’s Nike-clad feet. Cruz chased him like that for seven or eight blocks until Lonnie stumbled, cutting his hand on a piece of glass.

The blood in the air overtook the lingering scent of Tamsyn on Lonnie’s clothes. Lonnie’s steps became more erratic, Cruz’s more purposeful. Coming up on the next intersection between alleys, Cruz leapt, jaws open.

A cannonball of black fur and gleaming white teeth body-checked Cruz, sent him flying eight feet to slam against the wall of the nearest building. He twisted, offering a warning snap as words filtered into his head.

Haven’t I warned you? Look before you leap, little brother.

Still snarling, Cruz regained his footing. Lowering his snout, he pushed his brother Dominic’s furry shoulder with the flat of his head. The gesture earned him a snap and a bloody ear.

More gently, when Cruz refused to yield any ground, Dominic asked,
would you destroy her world--her life?

Always it came back to that with his big brother--the warning that no one had been there to give Dominic when he had fallen in love with a human female.

An image of Lonnie between Tamsyn’s legs flashed through Cruz’s mind. The sight was pushed out by his brother's vision of a charred building and the trail of long black hair from a covered coroner’s gurney.

Lyrra, Dominic’s woman.

Let Tamsyn live her life and make her own mistakes. Don’t be one of them.

Dropping his head, Cruz took his first step towards home--the small, two-bedroom apartment above the garage Dominic owned and they both worked at. Back in his bedroom, door shut and locked, Cruz reached beneath his bed and pulled out his pencils and drawing pad. Tamsyn’s shape quickly took form on the paper. Only this time, the head dipping down to lovingly savor her taste was his.

*****

Tamsyn was speed eating a plate of scrambled eggs between customers and taking notes for her anatomy class when Ed nodded over her shoulder at the diner’s front door. Grabbing her order sheet and pen, she turned just in time to see Cruz sliding into the booth closest to the door. His hair was short at the back, but a forward fall of black bangs blocked her view of his silver gray eyes. She saw instead the slash of a strong nose and full lips. A sleeveless shirt showed off his muscular shoulders and sculpted arms. She recognized the green tee, one he had screen printed on his own with a werewolf reaching for a moon shaped like a biohazard sign.

Seeing the image, she sighed. He only wore the shirt to piss off his brother. Dom didn’t seem to like Cruz’s artwork any better than Dom liked Tamsyn.

"He better--"

She shot her boss a hard look and picked up the coffee pot. "He won’t."

At the table, she turned Cruz’s cup over and filled it. "You should eat someplace else. The food’s shit."

Looking down at the cup, he smiled. "So’s the service."

He took a sip of the steaming hot coffee before glancing up at her. "But the coffee’s the best on the entire block."

"Ed doesn’t think it’s the coffee you’re after." She stopped herself before an embarrassed moan escaped her. Ed thought Cruz liked her but her boss was dead wrong. Maybe once upon a time he'd looked at her that way, back at the end of high school when she was still on the small side. Not anymore.

Holding pen to paper, she waited for Cruz to order. She could feel Ed’s eyes boring into the spot between her shoulder blades as he likely remembered the last time Cruz had been in the diner. A customer -- some jerk catching a ball game with his buddies -- had gotten all grab ass with her, saying he'd always wanted to ride a fat chick. Cruz had tossed the man like a rag doll through the diner’s plate glass window. Dismissing the memory, she tapped her pen against the order pad. "Look, you want today’s omelet special? Ham’s fresh."

He shrugged. "What’s Lonnie think?"

Her pen froze mid-air. "About the ham?"

"About me coming round here." Opening the menu, he pointed to the Eggs Benedict. "Way he’s talking, he fucked you last night. That true?"

Tamsyn colored, felt the warm flare of embarrassment against her cheeks and throat, but stared him in the eyes. "No."

"But you let him go down on you." This time there was no question in his tone.

She blinked and her gaze dropped to the tip of his nose. "No."

"So he’s lying when he says you let him eat you out, that you told him if he could make you come--"

"Fuck you, Cruz. Like you give a shit." She crumpled the order sheet up and shoved it in her apron pocket before taking his coffee cup away. "And stay out of the diner. You’re going to get me fired."

Heart slamming in her chest, she walked away from Cruz, her mind flinching with each swaying step of her too wide hips. Eyes blurring, she sat down at the counter and tried to study for her evening exam. Words swam as she picked up a highlighter and ran it across the text.

Maternal peripheral testosterone levels during the first half of pregnancy…

"He’s gone." Ed’s voice cut through the tears, his tone softened now that Cruz had left without breaking the diner in half. "Looks like he left a tip."

Cruz always left too much, like it was some kind of apology for being an ass, for running hot and cold while he made sure no man got within twenty feet of her. She shrugged. She didn’t want it, didn’t want anything he had to offer. "Mim can bus the table."

Her thoughts turned to that rat bastard Lonnie. He would be bleeding before she was finished with him. Swearing under her breath, she highlighted more text about peak levels at nine to eleven weeks and then the door to the diner opened again, followed by the high-pitched sound of wired kids and the exhausted bleating of their parents.