The Curvy Sister (A BBW Erotic Romance)

Her
Secret Pleasure (Secrets #1)

The
Billionaire’s Son: Distracting Jonah Silver

Taming
London: The Erotic Submission of London Mackenzie

Billionaire
Bait: Breakfast with Mia
, Ménage for Dessert

The
Submissive Behind the Mask #1: Bondage & Curiosity

Coming Soon:
The Submissive Behind
the Mask #2: Bondage & Discipline

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

About the Author

Excerpt from The Submissive Behind
the Mask #1: Bondage & Curiosity

1

____________

The bomb was delivered to my house in a Tiffany blue
cashmere box, crossed twice by a satin ribbon in cobalt, padded inside by
matching satin pillows. The cashmere box had been packed in a plain, innocent
white postal package filled with mint green packing peanuts. That’s how it got
inside, by looking so damn unassuming. It came in with the mail and the cat
before dinner.

While Mystic cried at my feet because her bowl was empty, I
dropped the bills in one pile, the junk mail in the trash, and the white box
addressed to Cassidy Blue, but no return name, on the kitchen island. I scooped
her kibble into her dish while she chattered on about her cat day, a coat full
of dirt and hay from the barn and a new notch on her right ear from her
ceaseless war with the resident raccoon family. They hated her and she hated
them and I spent the summer learning a great deal about at home cat triage.

Dinner waited in the fridge to be reheated, nothing fancy
for a girl living alone on the outskirts of town, but still I needed to turn
the oven on. Maybe start a tea kettle. A thunderstorm inked the horizon with an
early sunset. There were preparations I needed to make before it started to
rain.

But for some reason I did none of those things. I stood in
front of the kitchen island, the darkening sky casting a dim grey across the
room. I needed to turn lights on, refill Mystic’s water bowl, turn on the oven,
start the tea kettle, batten down the hatches, grab hold of something and hang
on for dear life. Instead I slid my pocket knife from my back pocket and ran
its edge along the center tape.

Peanuts scattered. Mystic abandoned her food bowl to throw
herself on top of one before I could take it from her.

I brushed peanuts aside until I found the Tiffany blue box.
It was about the size of a paperback book. Big enough for a stick of dynamite.

The ribbon gave with a hush, but the box stuck a little when
I tried to pull the lid off. Mystic crashed into my foot in a valiant effort to
tame the rogue peanut that then catapulted across the slick wood floor. She
gave wild chase, her back claws scratching for traction as she threw herself
belly first on top of her villain and finally I freed the lid.

And then my world exploded.

2

____________

All along the flat Nebraska
skyline, lightless navy blue stretched until it had swallowed the last of the
summer sun. Above my Victorian farmhouse the sky rumbled grey and edgeless, but
it wouldn’t be long before the storm front eclipsed the town of Castle Creek
and drowned us all. Not that I would have minded. It would be a blessing if
Castle could be washed right into the river, never to be heard from again.

I pressed my fingertips and
nose to the screen overlooking my front porch and across the alfalfa fields to
the west. That was King land. Almost everything I could see from any room of my
house belonged to one of the Kings. My house and the barn and a garage were all
that the Kings didn’t yet own on this side of town, but thanks to the bomb in
the Tiffany blue box, even that wouldn’t last much longer. Two months and my
sister would marry a King and inherit everything, including my home.

Don’t think I didn’t consider
burning it to the ground first. Setting the tea kettle boiling, scooping Mystic
into the back seat of my car, going to the garage for the gasoline. Jonathan
King would sell the old Queen Ann farmhouse anyway, or bulldoze it, but at
least my ex-fiancé and traitorous sister wouldn’t be allowed the satisfaction
of sleeping a single night in my bed.

The first rain drop struck
the porch. I dug my fingertips into the brittle, rusted screen and wondered if
I’d go to jail for burning down my own house. I wondered if the sheriff could
look me in the eye and think I didn’t deserve the satisfaction.

Something strange happened to
the world during a real Nebraska thunderstorm. Light changed, caused colors to
wash out in places and become Technicolor in others. Everything goes blue-grey
like a dream and any good Nebraskan knows there’s not much time to get everyone
to safety when things go dream colored.

Maybe that’s why I did what I
did next, because none of this could be really happening. The world didn’t work
this way. It had to have been a dream.

I shoved the screen door open
and shot down the steps into the backyard. The screen door banged as I stalked
headlong into the white sheets snapping and breaking in the wind. My boots hit
the soft earth of the King’s farmland and kept going.

The King’s Victorian loomed
on the darkening horizon. The wind picked up, blew cold currents down over warm
earth and I could smell ozone and the low atmospheric pressure of a really good
storm. Like tasting clean air and the wrong end of a battery. I could feel the
distant thunder in my bones.

Honestly I didn’t even
recognize the heft of the bat clutched in my right hand until I was deep in
alfalfa and even then it didn’t occur to me what I planned to do with it. There
was no planning. There were only words.

Mr. and Mrs. George Blue
request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their daughter Bailey
Anne to Jonathan David King on October First.

My parents.

My sister.

My ex-fiancé.

My wedding date.

And why not? The hall was
already rented, the church secured. They didn’t even try to hide what they’d
done and apparently even my parents were willing to pretend it never happened.

That I never happened.

Well. Someone would just have
to remind them.

The drops started at the half
mile mark. Big fat ones. The kind that explode on impact. In minutes they’d
soaked my clothes, my hair, my skin. They clung to my eyelashes and made it
impossible to see more than a few feet. 

And even then it never
occurred to me to turn back.

The King farmhouse rose up
like a castle, the classic three story Victorian. Half the windows were stained
glass. Of course they were. The richest family in the county could have
whatever they wanted. And did. A King was a mayor
because
. The Kings held
court at town hall meetings
because
. I’d thought Jonathan was different.
He didn’t run off to New York like his father and older brother to make
millions managing agriculture investments rather than actually growing
anything. He wanted to take over his grandfather’s farm and make the King name
part of the community again. I believed in that ideal.

Lying, two-faced bastard.

I hefted the bat in both
fists and took a swing at Jonathan’s new cherry red truck. The impact rattled
my bones, made my teeth hurt, and it felt so damn
satisfying
. I swung
again, shattered a headlight and dented the hood, fender, passenger side door.

That did it. Over the thunder
I heard shouts and the front door slamming open. The Kings piled out onto the
front porch and gaped as I hacked off the passenger side mirror.

“Jesus, my truck. Cassidy
what the hell is wrong with you!” Jonathan screamed but was smart enough not to
leave the safety of the porch. My little sister Bailey threw herself into his
arms. She looked so small and fragile against him, all bird bones and a tiny
mouth.

Anger and hurt dumped into my
veins, flashes of finding them naked in the barn seared into my brain just
before striking the match that would consume the last of my heart. The looks on
their faces. Ecstasy. Happiness,

“Lying, cheating, traitorous,
backstabbing
bitch
!” I screamed and hauled the bat up over my head and
brought it down with a solid
crack
across the windshield. Glass
splintered at the impact point, caved in, spiderwebbed out with the most chilling
sound in the world. Like ice cracking over a pond when you know beyond a shadow
of a doubt there’s no way to make it back to land before it gives way.

The sound of impending self
destruction.

It didn’t shatter. One of the
King clan came barreling off the porch like a steam engine, not Jonathan but
unrecognizable in the rain. Someone yelled for someone else to call the
sheriff. 

I hefted the bat over my head
to finish it off when the steam engine grabbed me around the waist and lifted
me forcefully off my feet. We spun away from the truck and I fought like a
demon against my attacker, but he was bigger and stronger and taller and not
soaked through and muddy and tired. He pried the bat out of my hands easily,
tossed it to the ground, and manhandled me like I wasn’t the plus-sized sister.

“Stop! Cassidy Blue, stop
now. I don’t want to hurt you. It’s over, sweetheart, let it go.”

The sound of blood rushing in
my ears drowned out the voice. The words made no sense to me. I wanted to break
something. I wanted to tear Bailey’s hair out and claw out her eyes. Those big
blue eyes, too big for her petite face, had systematically taken everything
away from me and no one bothered to call her on her abhorrent behavior. No one
said, “
Apologize to your sister, Bailey
.” No one said, “
What you did
was wrong
.”

I planted my boot deep into
the mud pit forming beneath us and shoved my shoulders back into his chest. The
force threw him, but he didn’t let go and we both tumbled in a riot of arms and
legs smack into the mud.

A very wet, dirty, pissed off
Jason King, Jonathan’s older brother, stared up at me. I must have looked wild
to him. Even splayed in the mud, he tried to hang on even as I fought and
screamed against him.

I managed to get onto my
knees, awkwardly stretched across his chest. He tried to hang on, but we were
too slippery. Bright white light flashed across the sky and whatever he yelled
at me was lost in a collision of thunder that followed.