Curvy for Him 1

by Winters, Annabelle

  Armand slams his fist against a heavy punching bag as I debate myself. He’s shouting something, like he’s angry at himself, angry with the world. Soon he’s punching that bag with all his strength, every muscle in his massive body flexing as he pounds it like he wants to destroy it, destroy everything, perhaps destroy himself. I can tell he’s hurting. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But I know what I feel.

  “Give me a sign,” I mutter as I feel my heart reach out to him, to this monster of a man who’s fighting invisible demons right in front of me. I don’t know who I’m talking to, but I say it again, that yearning to reach out to him building to breaking point. “Give me a sign.”

  And then, as if he hears me, Armand stops and stares through the big glass window. I freeze, wondering if he’s seen me. Does he see me? Is that a sign? Am I crazy if I cross the street and walk through that door?

  “Go,” comes a voice from behind me, and I almost faint on my feet. Great. Now I’m hearing voices. At least this way I know for sure I’m going insane. Maybe it’s my pussy talking to me.

  I turn, immediately breathing a sigh of relief when I see a woman in a motorized wheelchair staring up at me with an annoyed expression.

  “Go!” she says again, pointing at the flashing “Walk” sign. “Go, or step aside! You’re in my way!”

  I frown and look down, realizing that I’m standing on the sidewalk ramp leading to the crosswalk, blocking it with my big ass. Slowly my frown fades, and suddenly I’m smiling. I asked for a sign, didn’t I? Well, here’s my sign. Bright and clear. Flashing in red before my eyes.

  But again my common sense pokes its nose in and whispers that I’m imagining things that aren’t real, like when some nutcase swears they see a miracle just when they’re looking for a miracle. It’s called “Confirmation Bias” in psychology, where you see what you want to see. It’s your own mind playing tricks on you. Don’t do it, Astrid! Walk away!

  The woman in the wheelchair yells at me again, and now the sign is flashing faster, the robotic voice calling out “Cross now! Cross now! Cross now!” with an urgency that makes me want to scream! It feels like time is running out, like I need to make my choice right here, right now! A choice that will decide my future!

  “To hell with it,” I whisper to myself, stepping into the street as the woman in the wheelchair curses at me. And then I’m halfway across, my head buzzing with excitement, my body tingling with a sense of anticipation, like I’ve really made a choice that will change everything. For both of us.

  Then I’m at the door, and with a trembling hand I pull it open and step inside.

  4

  ARMAND

  I blink in disbelief as she steps inside, past the threshold, back into my life. Then I rub my eyes, convinced that I’m hallucinating. But no, she’s still here. Standing inside the doorway, feet together, lips trembling like she’s nervous, like it took an immense amount of courage to come back here, to come back to me.

  “Astrid,” I say, the word coming out slowly. “Astrid.”

  “You remember my name,” she says, blinking again and flashing a smile that almost breaks me. I feel vulnerable in a way I’ve never felt, not even when I was tied to a chair with a gun to my head. It’s scary as hell. Goddamn terrifying.

  “I’ll never forget it,” I growl, looking her up and down, taking in her strong hourglass shape that can’t be hidden by the bulky sweatpants and t-shirt she’s wearing. “What are you doing back here?”

  “I’m asking myself the same question,” she says with a forced chuckle. I can tell she’s petrified, and so am I. We both know why she walked back in here. And we both know it means something. Means something in a way that defies logic and common sense.

  We look into each other’s eyes for what seems like forever. We don’t know each other from Adam, but I know she’s mine. I just know it. She’s mine, and I don’t give a fuck if it makes sense or not.

  “Clearly you’ve answered the question,” I say, a strange relief passing through me as I let that thought sink in: She’s mine. That’s all there is to it.

  “I guess I have,” she says softly. Then she clears her throat, breaking eye contact with me as if she’s second-guessing herself, allowing some doubt to creep into her head. “Or maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should—”

  She stops mid-sentence, blinking and shaking her head as if she’s losing her nerve. She’s staring down at the floor, and I can see that she’s a smart, practical woman who’s seriously doubting why the hell she walked back in here. Her brain is butting onto the scene, whispering that she’s a fool for willingly stepping back into my lair, that I’m bad news, a pervert at best, a psycho-killer at worst. And the truth is I’m both! Hah!

  I feel my cock stir beneath my towel, like it’s reminding me that I don’t have that problem of my brain overruling my balls. I’m all instinct! That’s what’s kept me alive all these years. That sixth sense that I can’t name. That sense of knowing what’s around the corner, behind that locked door, hiding in the shadows. That feeling of knowing what’s waiting for me, knowing what’s in store for me, knowing what’s mine.

  Knowing what’s mine.

  “What am I doing?” she gasps, her voice coming out in an urgent whisper as she takes a step back away from me. She’s panicking, I can tell. She’s never been this bold with a man before, and it’s freaking her out.

  I feel two paths opening up before me, like my future is going to be decided by my next move. I can let her turn around and walk away. That’s the smart thing to do. She seems like a nice girl, and there’s no way in hell she’s gonna be able to deal with the kind of man I am, the baggage I carry, the kind of life I’m born to lead. Again I feel that strange yearning, that need from somewhere deep inside me, the instinct of an animal to take its mate, to fill her with my seed, to see her carry my children—our children! This is more than just lust. It’s more than the need to get my rocks off. It’s something deeper than I’ve ever felt, something I didn’t think I was capable of feeling, something I didn’t believe I deserved to feel!

  But still I stand silent, my head swirling as if I’m being pulled in a million directions at once. Astrid turns from me, hesitantly looking toward the door. I can feel the moment about to pass, like my chance for salvation is about to walk out that door, my chance for the future I want is about to leave.

  “Astrid,” I say, feeling like an idiot. That’s all I’ve said to this woman so far! Her name repeated three times like a magic spell! I’ve never felt flustered around a woman before, never been tongue-tied like this!

  “What?” she says, stopping and turning halfway, her face flush, her breathing heavy. She’s flustered too, I can tell. She’s freaked out by this tension that’s so heavy words can’t possibly cut through it.

  No, I realize as I feel my confidence return in a flash of manic heat, filling my cock and my heart at the same time, unifying my body and soul in a way that feel spiritual, magical, goddamn cosmic. Words aren’t gonna cut it here. What am I gonna say to her? “What do you do for a living? Do you have siblings? What’s your favorite color? Do you like sushi?” Fuck that. I don’t know shit about her, but it already feels like we’re past this getting-to-know-you bullshit. Way past it.

  “Stay,” I say, my voice coming out in a low growl, the word coming out as a command, powered by every ounce of the man in me, the man who sees his woman. “Stay,” I say again, seeing how my voice sends a shiver through her.

  She turns to me, slowly, delicately, her lips trembling as if she’s shocked by what she’s feeling, what she’s doing, what happening. She parts those luscious red lips to say something, but then she clamps them shut again and closes her eyes like she’s about to faint. I almost come again in my towel as I gaze upon her pretty round face, take in the sight of her filled-out body, breathe in the scent of her feminine musk that’s like a siren calling to me in the night. It to
ok real courage for her to walk back in here, but she’s too much of a lady to just give in to what her body wants. I’m gonna need to take her there. I’m gonna need to take her.

  And so I grunt away the last shreds of doubt and make my choice. Make the choice for both of us.

  I kiss her.

  I step forward, grab her by the arms, pull her into me, and kiss her. I kiss her hard on the lips, with everything I have. I kiss her.

  By God, I kiss her.

  5

  ASTRID

  The kiss almost breaks me, and I buckle at the knees as I feel Armand’s hard body slam into mine, his strong hands close around my arms like clamps, imprisoning me and setting me free at the same time. I can’t see, I can’t breathe, and I sure as hell can’t stop.

  “Stay,” he’d told me in that voice that sounded like it came from the essence of the man in him. “Astrid, stay.”

  That’s all he’s said to me, I realize as I feel his tongue push its way past my trembling lips, driving deep into my mouth like he wants to taste every inch of me, possess every inch of me, claim every inch of me. He tastes clean and warm, and I breathe deep and let his masculine aroma enter my lungs, enter my being, taking root in me like invisible claws.

  Slowly I allow myself to kiss him back, and then I’m lost in him, kissing him with a hunger that brings forth my wetness in the most beautifully filthy way. I can feel my panties getting soaked through and through, and the moment Armand drops his hand down along the curve of my back and squeezes my ass, I seize up, tilt my head back, and moan out loud.

  Armand grabs my ass with both hands, pulling my buttocks apart as he grinds his massive cock against my mound. He’s kissing my face, my neck, my ears, marking me with his saliva like we’re animals. A moment later he backs away, grabs the collar of my oversized T-shirt, and just rips it down the middle, yanking it off me so fast I scream in surprise.

  I want to cover my boobs, but he’s got me by the wrists and he pushes me against the padded walls of the gym, holding my arms above my head as he stares down along my cleavage. I have a thick black sports-bra on, but I can feel my nipples pushing against the cloth in a way that can’t be hidden.

  “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he groans, his mouth opening wide as he looks down at my boobs and then back into my eyes.

  “Language,” I mutter, giggling in embarrassment as I see the need in his eyes, hear the arousal in his voice, feel his hardness push against my slit like it wants to force its way in through my sweats and panties!

  “What’re you gonna do, wash my mouth out?” he says with a grin, placing his big hands squarely on my breasts and squeezing so hard I scream. Then my bra is off, and Armand’s face is between my boobs, his stubble rubbing against my soft skin and making me squirm as he licks the valley between my rises.

  I gasp and look down as he takes my left nipple in his mouth, expertly licking my pert nub and then biting down just enough to make me howl without hurting me. I’m shuddering and moaning as Armand sucks my breasts until they’re both glistening in the overhead lights of the gym. My fingers are clawing at his short, thick hair, my back arching as I shove my boobs into his face like I want him to take all of me into his warm mouth.

  Suddenly Armand drops to his knees, grabbing the waistband of my sweats and pulling them smoothly down past my wide hips. I gasp in shock as I look down along my wet boobs, my shining belly, down at Armand’s face lined up with my soaked panties. I can smell my own scent, but I’m too turned on to give a damn. I can see the dark wet patch all along the front of my panties, but I’m too wet to care.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper, shuddering with arousal as Armand firmly grasps my sides and pushes me against the padded wall. He brings his face up to my crotch, pressing his nose and mouth against the front of my panties, breathing in deep in a way that almost makes me come in his face. “Oh, shit, Armand! That feels . . . it feels . . . oh, God!”

  And then I come, my pussy spurting even as I snort like an animal in heat. The feeling of his face against my stiff clit is too much, and my wetness is pouring out the sides of my panties and down my goddamn thighs! Armand is rubbing his face into my crotch, his hands grabbing my ass from behind as I grind into him like a wanton woman of the night.

  A moment later my panties are gone, ripped along the seams by Armand’s brutish hands and tossed halfway across the room. He jams his face back between my thighs, parting my bare bottom with his fingers as he parts my throbbing slit with his tongue. Then he’s fucking me with his tongue, curling it up against the front wall of my vagina, its tip tapping against my fibrous g-spot and making me come all over his face in a flood of wetness.

  I scream as Armand drinks from me like I’m a fountain, his upper lip flicking my clit while his stiff tongue darts in and out of my cunt with a fury that almost destroys me. The orgasm is so intense that I’m gasping and choking as I hold on to his head and clench my pussy, clench my ass, clench every muscle in me. I can feel Armand’s fingers digging into my rear crack from behind, parting my ass as I spread my thighs and come again, my climaxes rolling in like thunder, my body convulsing like I’m being struck by lightning.

  Finally I collapse against the wall, the last wave of my climax hitting so hard I almost pass out. Armand lowers me to the firm floormats of the gym, and I feel secure in his strong arms, secure in a way I’ve never felt with anyone. He pulls me into him, kissing my forehead, stroking my hair, pressing his hips against my thighs as I finally relax and lay flat on the floormats, Armand covering me like a security blanket, his hard cock pressing against my mound like we were designed to fit with each other.

  “What . . . was that?” I whisper, blinking probably a million times as the room slowly comes back into focus. Armand is on top of me, still stroking my hair, his eyes riveted on me like I’m some creature he’s never seen before. “And why are you looking at me like that? Stop it! It’s making me blush!”

  Armand licks his lips and flashes a devilish grin. I can see my wetness glistening on his stubble and lips like the morning dew, and I close my eyes and blush harder when I think of what just happened!

  “Well, you did threaten to wash my mouth out,” he says, smacking his lips. “Hmmm. Tangy sweetness. Here. Have a taste.”

  “Ewww, no!” I shriek, laughing and turning my head away as Armand lowers his face to mine. But he grabs me by the hair and holds my head in face, pressing his lips against mine until I open my mouth and taste myself.

  It does taste tangy and sweet, and I feel a fresh wave of arousal flow through me as I realize how filthy this is, how absolutely dirty! But it feels lighthearted and playful, and my eyes tear up when Armand props himself up on his massive arms so he can look into my eyes again. That same look. That look like . . . like I’m his.

  I’m his.

  The realization flashes through me like electricity, and I gasp and just nod back at him. This makes no sense, but I know I’m his. That’s all there is to it. I’m his. All his. So what if we’ve said like three words to one another! There’s no denying the depth of what just happened.

  I can’t speak, which is unusual for me, considering I have a career built on speaking in front of a classroom. But the words won’t come. They just won’t. I want to know Armand. I want to know about his life. I want to ask questions and listen to the answers. But in a way I feel like we’ve already answered so many questions. It’s like we’ve skipped the getting-to-know-you nonsense of the first few dates—of the first few months perhaps!

  “I know,” he says like he can read my mind. “I feel it too. You’re mine, Astrid. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But I know it. You’re mine, you hear?”

  I just blink up at him, nodding slightly as I wonder whether this is real, whether it can be real. I spend my life telling little girls not to believe in that Disney fairy-tale of their prince showing up out of the blue, and here I am fallin
g hook, line, and sinker for the dream!

  Do I dare dream it, I wonder as I feel Armand lower his head and slowly begin to kiss my neck. His warm lips send shivers through my body, and my eyes roll up in my head as I realize that I’m still wildly aroused even though I just came all over this man’s face!

  I reach up and touch his arms. They are thick like pillars, hard as stone, his muscles so defined that it feels like I’m touching a sculpture, a work of art. Is he really mine, I wonder as I look down past his angular face, those high cheekbones, strong jawline, thick neck. His chest is broad and magnificent, chiseled to masculine perfection, rippling with muscles that must have taken years to build up. This man isn’t just strong—he’s dedicated. Capable of single-minded focus. Unrelenting. Unremitting. Unstoppable.

  And mine.

  I frown as Armand lowers his head and begins to kiss my breasts again. Although his arms and chest are smooth and clean, I can see tattoos on his upper back. Insignias, symbols, words in some European language. Italian? I caress his arms again as he sucks my nipples, his long cock dragging past my mound and pressing against my legs, throbbing in anticipation. He wants to be inside me, I know. I want him inside me.

  “What’s this?” I mutter absentmindedly as I feel a rough patch on his smooth upper arm. At first I think it’s a birthmark, but it feels too precise and symmetrical. Suddenly I realize it’s a brand! A mark burned into Armand’s flesh!

  My eyes flick open as I suddenly remember those thuggish men leaving Armand’s gym, remember seeing Armand pacing alone, muttering to himself, punching and hitting things as if he was a man trapped by his past, fighting for his freedom, yearning to break free. Break free from what?! Is he . . . is he a . . . a criminal?!

  Fear whips through me even as my arousal climbs, and then suddenly Armand is back on top of me, his cock pressing against the mouth of my slit, his eyes looking deep into mine like he’s asking a silent question: