Curve Effect (A BBW Box Set of Contemporary, Science Fiction and Paranormal Romances) (28 page)

"Sleep’s not on the agenda," he whispered in her ear. He pushed a second finger in, stroked the inside of her with slow, "come here" gestures. A quiver ran across her belly. His thumb brushed her clit and she moaned.

"You like that, baby?"

He knew she did. She answered with a whimper as he left a trail of kisses down her stomach. His tongue replaced his thumb. He added a third finger inside her tight pussy. Tamsyn clenched a handful of his thick black hair as his finger strokes built in speed and depth.

He licked the spine of her clit up and then back down, drawing the tip into his mouth and suckling at it. Tamsyn widened the spread of her legs, her bottom moving with little rhythmic pumps against his mouth.

Fuck. She knew she needed this. Hadn’t realized just how much.

"So wet, baby."

Yes.

"For me?"

Damn tease!
She held his head down, her ass grinding in circles now.

Still, he took it slow, licking her at his leisure. Stopping to firmly lip the plump folds of her labia or run a slick finger across the tight star of her ass. He slicked his thumb with her cream, both hands working her as his fingers explored her cunt and his thumb penetrated her ass.

His tongue, noisy on her pussy as he sucked and slurped, drove her right up to the edge of her climax. He worked her hard, every bit of her clit, her pussy, her ass. She brought her legs up, criss-crossing them along his back. She grabbed her breasts, squeezing them hard, knowing that he watched her do it. She pinched her nipples, tugged at them.

Her ass was off the bed, pussy pumping his mouth as she rode his fingers and thumb until, at last, she froze. Cruz pulled out of her, let her drop to the mattress as he pushed her thighs farther apart and thrust into her with his hard cock. Inside, he started to instantly swell bigger.

She was still climaxing from his tongue and hands as he started to thrust.

"Medina...Cruz..."

"I’m right here, baby."

The center swell of his cock was like a ball that had been put inside her big, but still normal in its size, and then inflated, binding them tightly together. She locked her legs behind his ass. The pressure was intense, spreading beyond her cunt to her ass and clit. Each stroke inside her felt like three. She clamped down tighter, fighting the urge to claw at his back.

The bed creaked, the headboard slammed against the wall with each thrust Cruz took. He kissed her neck, sucked the sensitive flesh until she knew she would be bruised, if only for a few minutes before her body’s extraordinary new healing abilities took over.

He licked her neck, her ear. Lifting her, he reared back until he was sitting on his calves. Her weight rested on his lap, letting her sink fully onto his shaft. She trembled, moaning his name. Her knees touched the mattress and she shifted forward, in control now as she began to rock on the pivot of his cock, leaving him to moan her name.

Like this?
She squeezed. He answered with a strangled, "yes" and the dig of his fingertips into her butt cheeks. They wrestled for control, her rocking, his pulling her down hard.

She was secreting again and she ran her fingers between them, brought the liquid up near his lips. Their tongues darted out, licking and tasting together until it was gone and they were kissing instead.

Tamsyn slowed, lifted herself almost all the way off his erection and then slammed back down. Again. This time she cried out at the pure intensity of the pleasure from his cock ramming through her hard and fast. Back up at the tip, she hesitated, made little dipping motions and then pushed quickly back down.

She moaned in his ear, "So thick, baby."

Cruz squeezed her tight to him, controlling her motion except for the desperate grind of her pussy at the base of his cock. He was breathless, biting his bottom lip to keep control. Her cunt fluttered around him, squeezing with its own will as her second climax rolled through her.

He came then, holding her tight, his face buried against her throat. She felt the moisture of tears on her neck and hugged him back. They both knew -- a few rooms over, Dominic was staring at a computer screen. He didn’t have this, hadn’t in a long time. It was fragile, this thing between them. Fragile but strong as steel. Somewhere out in the desert, people still plotted to rip it from them, as they had with Dominic and Lyrra.

"I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you," he whispered against her lips.

She kissed him, her tears mixing with his.

Don’t worry,
she answered back, the tears and kisses sealing her promise.
You never will.

Curve Muse  

The knock on Bryce Schoene’s front door sounded tentative, as if the visitor questioned whether it was the right apartment. Bryce’s gaze dropped to the bottom right corner of her computer screen where the time showed a few minutes before five o’clock.

She ignored the knocking. Ninety to one odds, it was a stranger confused by the lack of apartment numbers. Squaring her shoulders, she focused on the blank Word file in front of her. It was Friday and—graduate degree hanging in the balance—she had a paper due Monday.

She sorted through the jumble of ideas she had brainstormed on the bus ride home from campus, their previous brilliance extinguished by more careful thought. The knock came again, more assured this time, and Bryce chewed at her bottom lip. She considered starting the story with a knock on the door. But who would be on the other side, and why?

The visitor spoke on the third round of knocking, both the words and raps coming sharp and fast. “I can hear you thinking in there. Open up!”

The odd choice of words broke her concentration.

Hear me thinking?

Bryce swiveled the office chair until she faced the door. Despite the heavy muffle of oak, she could tell the visitor was a woman, the voice feminine and totally unfamiliar.

“Yes, I said ‘thinking’. Open the door, Bryce,” the woman called again. “I certainly don’t have all weekend to stand around.”

She knows my name?
The chair groaned in protest as Bryce rose, and she winced. She walked quietly to the door, hoping the visitor was only bluffing and hadn’t heard the chair’s squeak.

“Come on, doll baby, this won’t take long.”

Despite the endearment, the woman didn’t sound anything other than persistent—and likely to draw a crowd from among the many nosy neighbors whose apartments ringed the building’s courtyard. Just imagining a week or more worth of curious looks from her neighbors made Bryce’s skin crawl.

Approaching the door from the side, she reached up and slid the chain lock into place. Then she undid the top two deadbolts and slowly turned the doorknob. Nervous energy ran through her hand and arm, and it took her a few seconds to realize she had opened the door as wide as the chain allowed.

The two inch slice of open door revealed a petite blonde, with powder blue eyes and a slash of killer red lipstick slickening her wide mouth. Except for the peek of black boots from beneath her pants, red leather hugged her slim frame. The material’s shade, slightly darker than the lipstick, dipped toward a dried crimson.

She looked, Bryce thought, like she’d just finished a shift on the corner of
Hooker and Vine.

“‘Hooker and Vine?’ Is this how you start all job interviews?” the woman asked.

Bryce jerked back from the door, and her brows knitted together over whether she’d actually voiced the insult. The question was abruptly pushed out of her mind as the woman’s second question sank in.

“Job interview?” It sounded like a sales pitch. Dressed like she was, the woman definitely had
something
to sell. Bryce put her palm flat on the door and started to push it shut, but the blonde wedged her black-booted foot between the door and its frame.

Oh, hell, no. She just didn’t. Did she?

Bryce cocked an eyebrow at the woman and slowly raised her bare foot, threatening to place it against the blonde’s twig of a leg. The woman sighed at the threat, the air leaving her in a long curling manner like spirals of smoke from a half-chewed cigar.

Like spirals of smoke…what the fuck?

“You’ll get used to it,” the blonde smiled. “And if you don’t, it’s just for the weekend.”

“Lady…” Bryce began and looked around for something else to force the woman’s foot back through the door, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’ve got the wrong Bryce. Okay?”

“No, doll baby.” Her smile pulled the already wide mouth into a broad, thin line of determination. “Bryce Schoene, right? Bryce the Beautiful.”

Bryce the Beautiful.
Well, that proved it—no one had ever called her beautiful.

“Lady, you’ve definitely got the wrong Bryce.”

Red-tipped fingers reached through the door and wrapped around the safety chain. The air surrounding the woman’s fist vibrated like a hummingbird’s wings and then the chain snapped. She swept past Bryce and into the room’s center.

She glanced at her watch. “It’s almost eight-fifteen in New York, doll baby,” She gave a casual flick of her wrist and the watch slid beneath the sleeve of her red leather jacket just as the apartment door slammed shut. “So here’s the quick and dirty version, alrighty?”

Bryce put her hand up, hoping the “stop” motion seemed both calm and in command. “Why don’t we discuss this out in the courtyard, La…Miss?”

The woman held one slim hand in front of her mouth, just far enough away to avoid smudging her lipstick. A giggle erupted from her and she dropped the hand to clutch at her stomach, the laugh growing in volume. “First, I’m in your head, so don’t waste time trying to trick me into the courtyard or anywhere else. Second, you can call me Percy for now.”

“Percy…well, that’s a start, I guess—”

“A damn slow one,” Percy interrupted. “Now where’s the uniform? You have to wear it, you know, for this to work.”

Bryce stared at her for a moment. A joke. It had to be a joke, even if she couldn’t think of anyone who would bother to play one on her. Or maybe it was some new television show? Had the L.A. producers actually stooped so low they were invading people’s homes now?

While Bryce’s mind raced through the possibilities, Percy’s hand looped circles in the air, her whole body conveying the need to speed things up. “Right, okay. A TV show. That sounds good.” The words came out rapid fire as Percy scanned the room. “But shows need costumes, right? I know I sent it ahead—so where did you put it?”

Had Bryce just mentioned the possibility of a show out loud? “Put wh—”

“A-ha! Gotcha!” Percy headed in a straight line for the computer chair where a tall package waited wrapped in cream-colored tissue paper and tied off with a crimson ribbon.

The paper rustled when Percy lifted it from the chair. Spinning on the heels of her shiny black boots, she presented it to Bryce with a curtsy. “If you’d be so kind as to strip and put this on?”

She waited while Bryce stared open-mouthed. With an exaggerated sigh, she offered the package a second time.

“I…w-was just…sit-sitting…there.” The protest left her in a slow and broken string of words. A trickle of dread dripped down her spine. She’d come straight home from school and plopped down in front of her laptop.

She had only briefly stepped out onto the patio after the first hour to water her plants. She looked to the glass window that led on to the patio. It was shut. There was no way in hell someone had come through it while she was at the front door. But that left the bedroom and bathroom; she hadn’t visited either yet. Could someone have been hiding, waiting for Percy to show up?

Percy held the package forward, the paper making a whispered crackle as she did so. “Are you going to put it on, or do I have to do that, too?”

Percy plucked the ribbon’s knot loose and let it fall to the floor along with the tissue paper. In her hand remained a charm bracelet and a dazzling white bundle of linen.

“It’s an amulet chain,” Percy sighed out and held it up. “Not a ‘charm bracelet’.” She plucked through the small figures. “Silver and gold laced together for the chain. Pegasus in ivory, a skull in, well, bone, of course.” Fingering past more figures, she held up an ass carved in brown agate and a gryphon in topaz. “My favorites, but you don’t need to worry about what’s on it. So long as it’s on you—and you’re wearing the sheet.”

“Look, I don’t care what show you’re working for or who put you up to this.” Bryce backed toward the door, one hand searching for the doorknob, the other ready to swipe at Percy if she decided to charge.
Man, does L.A. have its whack jobs.
“It isn’t at all amusing.”

“But it is a-
musing
,” Percy answered.

A glow that Bryce would have readily characterized as insane lit the woman’s gaze, and the smile she wore stretched her mouth to a point that convinced Bryce this nutcase meant to swallow her whole.

“In fact,” Percy continued pressing. “A-
musing
we will go…well, just you, actually. Me, I haven’t had a vacation since Chaucer died. And you’re helping me get one this weekend, whether you want to or not, doll baby.”