Curvy Conquest

by Scarlett Avery

  Enjoying the scenery hanging from Max’s arm and reveling in multiple mind-blowing orgasms night after night was only half the fun. Work was equally entertaining, since I had a blast at Rio Moda. Although not as illustrious as Rio Fashion Week, this dazzling event is still the second most important fashion event in South America’s largest country. I was shocked to witness how curvy Brazilian women flaunt their assets without any shame and these Latin beauties don’t hesitate when it comes to draping their delicious bodies with very revealing couture. Everywhere I turned, there was a constant reminder that being a big beautiful woman was something to celebrate. All in all, my work vacation in Rio has been dreamy, and I would have been fully satisfied had it stopped right there. I was floating on air relishing every blissful moment thinking nothing could surpass the last week when a last-minute goal from a rookie player changed everything a few hours ago. Nothing could have prepared me for the last few days in this vibrant South American city—not even a psychic.

  When the news broke at one-sixteen this afternoon that the Brazilian team has qualified for the Copa América, the entire country went bonkers at another chance to claim the coveted South American Football Championship. The fervor of the Brazilian people was fueled by the fact their team came this close to not making it. Young goalie Fernando Hernanes put the winning goal in their long-time adversaries’ net with five seconds left before the whistle, ending a long battle between Brazil and Argentina for the last spot in the championship. The twenty-year-old has now officially been crowned a national hero for his strategic kick.

  It’s such a big deal even the president, Marcela Luisa Lucas, went on television to declare today a day of unbridled celebration. Offices, shops and restaurants closed immediately after the announcement was made and all of Rio is now having the party to end all parties.

  Since I was a bit taken aback by this madness, Max had to enlighten me by explaining why the country was so overjoyed—for Brazilians this victory is like the Super Bowl final times three hundred. By four o’clock, Max decides to throw all caution to the wind and join the festivities.

  We’re making our way through the city along with the rest of the inhabitants by foot. Even cab drivers are far too busy enjoying the moment to attend to customers. I’m sure my beaming face must reveal my excitement because Max jumps at the opportunity to tease me.

  “Have you ever been to a Brazilian party, love?”

  “I don’t think I ever have,” I tease back.

  “You know the American expression, ‘what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas?’”

  “Of course, who doesn’t?”

  “I’m warning you right now, a Brazilian party makes festivities in Vegas look as tame as a choir practice. You’ve not walked on the wild side until you’ve partied here.”

  His words detonate inside me and a million feelings rush through my body as he holds my gaze. Am I ready to walk on the wild side?

  After what seems like an eternity, we finally arrive at the heart of it all. When I look around me, I’m dumbfounded. How the heck could they make this happen so fast? I haven’t got a clue how the Brazilians managed to pull off a major concert within such a short window, but here we are crammed into a sea of tens of thousands of exuberant fans inside the Maracanã Stadium—home to some of the most historic games in history.

  Since I know little to nothing about football, or soccer as we call it, Max gives me a crash course as we push our way through the partygoers. When we arrive inside, I’m amazed at how many jubilant people surround me, but at the same time, I’m delirious at the idea of experiencing this moment with the man of my dreams.

  As a stroke of genius, Enrique Iglesias happened to be in Brazil when the news broke and he agreed to feature in this star-studded concert. When the MC steps on stage to announce the first act, the crowd goes mad and so do I. Since Lexi has single-handedly been responsible for my Latin music education, I immediately start swaying my hips following the cue of the sexy bodies encircling me when the guitarist plays the first few chords and I nearly lose my head when Alexander Delgado, lead singer to the Cuban reggaeton group Gente D’ Zona, calls out for the drop-dead gorgeous Spaniard singer to step on stage to perform their monster hit Bailando. To honor the hosting country, Enrique invites local sensation Luan Santana to perform the Portuguese version of the song. I didn’t think anything could top this week, but this takes the cake for sure. I’m completely in my zone with both eyes closed in some sort of a musical trance when Max whispers in my ear.

  “I didn’t know you could dance.”

  I slowly open my eyes before turning around, still inebriated by the spicy rhythm. I look up at him and I can’t help but smile flirtatiously. “I don’t know if I’ll ever win a dance competition any time soon, but I can hold my own.”

  “Clearly you can.”

  I turn to face the stage again and I step back just enough to brush my ass against Max. I’m greeted by his growing desire and my body shivers.

  “Hmmm, I like your ass against me,” he murmurs, low and warm into my ear.

  I daringly reach behind me, slide my hand between us, and palm him right there in the middle of the stadium. He exhales a warm puff against my neck, whispering, “Foda-se, sim, baby.”

  “What did you just say?” I can’t understand a word of Portuguese, but whatever Max uttered in my ear sounded dirty as hell.

  “Fuck, yes, baby.”

  “You like?” I respond, turning my head to the side.

  “From the rolling of your hips and the boldness of your actions, I bet there’s a vamp inside you dying to come out and play.”

  “You know me too well by now.”

  The music fades to a mere note and the change on stage causes us to unlock our gaze. The MC runs back to let the audience know Enrique and his band need to take a quick break to adjust a few instruments and to keep the saucy groove going strong they’re going to play one of the most popular Salsa songs of all time—Valio La Pena by Marc Anthony.

  The minute the Latin singer’s voice blares through the speakers, the crowd’s passion intensifies and couples lose themselves in some of the most outrageous and vertiginous dance moves I’ve ever seen. Women are undulating their hips and flipping their hair while their partners are grinding provocatively against their thighs. Glistening skin is exposed as the tempo increases and women lift their skirts up indecently to bring more attention to their tempting curves. The couple to our right is so wrapped up in each other they’re nearly fucking in plain view, but everyone around them is as bewitched by the moment as they are and no one seems to notice but me. Maybe sex in public in Brazil isn’t as taboo as it is back home. When the chorus hits again, men spin their partners at such a velocity it’s nearly dizzying. The air is filled with an indescribable energy that flames up my clit like a fireball.

  I want him inside me now. I turn around and look up at him with eyes half closed. “We can stick around or you can help me unleash my wild side.”

  The heat emanating from Max’s stare could burn straight to my soul. I catch my breath when he grabs my waist and slams my body against his. Jesus, his desire is palpable. Despite the bright sun peering through the roofless stadium, his hazel eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them. “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You gave me a challenge and I’m willing to take you up on it. I’ve been in this stadium hundreds of times since I was a kid visiting my family and I still catch a game whenever I’m in town. I know where we can go so you can make good on your dare. I hope you’re ready to walk your talk, Ms. Temptress.”

  Without waiting for my answer, Max drags me by the hand past the dancers and lovers through the entrance before taking the first left and whizzing down a deserted hallway all the way to a door. I climb the stairs behind Max without saying a word until we finally reach the top. I’m breathless from the unexpected exercise and from all the electric energy surrounding us. We walk a few steps until Max swings open another doo
r leading to a luxurious hallway. What a contrast from the lower levels. A tall, slender ebony-skinned man with greying hair immediately rises to his feet when he sees us approaching.

  “Pare, por favor.” The man in front of us lifts his left hand like a police officer and stops us in our tracks. I would freak out were it not for the words guarda de segurança engraved in white on his navy blue shirt and hat. He must be a security guard.

  Max and the man—whose nametag is embroidered with the name Jorge Tavares—exchange a few words in a foreign language and before I know it, the two are laughing it up like old friends. When the tall Afro-Brazilian flashes his perfect white teeth and shakes Max’s hand, I know we’re in the clear to continue on our journey.

  “What was that all about?”

  “I hold VIP season passes and given the festivities, the management has decided to block off this entire area. Our friend Jorge was doing his job by making sure partygoers stayed away from these luxury suites. When I showed him my VIP card and explained how shameful it would be for my lovely American companion to travel all the way to Rio without seeing the stadium from atop, he agreed to slightly bend the rules… Oh, the crisp one-hundred-dollar bill I slipped in his palm might have also helped.” Max grins. “Follow me.”

  Max pulls me by the hand while waving and bidding Mr. Tavares goodbye. As we walk past a few closed doors, I can’t help but notice the upscale and modern décor of this entire floor, but in good Brazilian fashion, there’s an unexpected pop of color—the bright yellow marries nicely with the dark grey. Max finally stops in front of a room and pulls out his electronic key and slides it in to open the door. He pushes the door open and drags me behind him until we reach the tall glass windows overlooking the crowd crammed inside the stadium.

  “This room is insane.” I take in what resembles an uptown condo—streamlined Italian black and white leather seating, sleek furniture, museum-like art on the walls and contrasting vintage-looking chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

  Max responds with a half smile and in one fluid motion, he pins me against the coolness of the windows with his body and crushes my lips. For the next few minutes we’re all tongues as his hands explore every inch of me. He pulls away just long enough to give me a lustful glare. “I want the dirty girl in you to come out and play with me.” His handsome face is only a couple of inches from mine, his breath coming out in sharp bursts against my cheek. “Candy, what happens in Rio, stays in Rio.” He exhales, bending into my neck. “I want to do raunchy things to you you’ll never have the guts to tell your best friend.”

  I pull back as much as I can. “I promise you I can take dirty.” The sound of the stadium all around us fills the VIP lounge as we continue to stare at each other. Max caresses the side of my face with the back of his fingers. The ache from his contact against my skin begins to build up, first in my navel and spreading lower, between my legs and all the way to my throbbing nub.

  “Are you sure?” Max bends forward, licking my jaw before covering my lips with his, and an involuntary groan rumbles in my throat as his hardened cock presses against my stomach. My body begins acting on instinct and my leg wraps around his as I press myself closer against his arousal.

  “Fuck, yeah,” I let out so softly I can barely hear the words escape my mouth. My hands find their way to his wavy brown hair and I pull back just long enough for his fingers to flick at the bejeweled clasp at my waist. My hot pink wrap dress drifts apart in front of him, exposing the matching lingerie panties and bras embroidered with bright orange lace. God, I’ve come a long way. I don’t even turn away nor do I attempt to shield my body. Instead, I stand like a provocateur siren.

  Max devours me from head to toe. “You know I adore every part of your decadent lusciousness—your curves, your huge full breasts, your big round hips, your full thighs, your soft stomach and your plump ass,” he says, trailing his long fingers down the side of my body. “You’re not as shy as you once were. I love your fearlessness. It suits you, love,” he whispers. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he looks into my eyes and slides the fabric to the floor.

  Goosebumps spread along my skin as he takes my hands and invites me to step out of my fuchsia dress pooled at my feet. He brushes my lips softly before turning me around. I yank myself up on my toes with my fingers slightly touching the window to admire the partygoers below me and when I look to the side, he wraps his hands around mine, forcing me to press my palms against the glass surface. Reaching up, Max removes my vintage tortoiseshell comb from my mane, letting my hair fall down on my naked shoulders. “This is pretty.”

  “Thank you. It belonged to my grandmother,” I respond in a breathy voice.

  “In that case, I’ll make sure to keep it safely inside the pocket of my jacket.” Taking my hair in his hands, he roughly pulls my head to the side, giving him free access to my neck. Max drops hot, wet kisses down my spine and across my shoulders. His touch ignites a flurry of electric sparks over every inch of skin he touches.

  “Sweet Mother of God,” I moan when he slides his body down against mine. On his knees behind me, he grabs my ass with both hands and presses his teeth into the flesh, eliciting a sharp gasp from me before he stands back up. He grabs on to the back of my bra and he slowly undoes each hook one by one before removing it from my body. I look up at him, tempted to cover my bare breasts from the glances of the crowd dancing in the stadium, but his disapproving gaze quickly changes my mind. With a calculated grin on his face, he twirls my lingerie in sensual circles around the index finger of his right hand before letting it fall to the floor, turning the moment into a lingering foreplay. Holy hell, how does he know how to make me lose it without even touching me?

  “I don’t remember seeing this two-toned little combo in our collection. It looks positively scrumptious on you. Is it one of mine?”

  “Of course,” I exhale. When I think I’m about to combust, Max fists the fabric of my panties and leans closer.

  “Good. It’s a shame you won’t be wearing it for much longer.”

  “Ah!” I let out when he rips my panties right off of me, leaving me gasping for air.

  I’m not only naked for his eyes, but my body is exposed for anyone down below us to see. For the first time in my life, I don’t give a damn if strangers lay eyes on my nude body.

  “It’s almost as if I can’t help myself. I’m in too much of a rush to get to your delicious pussy and the underwear was in the way.” His fingers press and pull at my breasts. “Do you like being bitten on the ass while Rio is at your feet?”

  “Yes,” I answer coyly.

  “You come off all innocent, Candy, but in reality, you’re such a filthy girl.”

  I yelp, surprised, when his hand smacks hard where his teeth have just been. My only response is a moan of pleasure while I press my face against the cool window for salvation. The pressure from his touch causes me to arch my back, my fingers sliding down the glass, leaving me deprived. Jesus.

  Moving lower, he stops right at my entrance. “You’re so wet. What do you want me to do to you, baby?”

  “I… Well… Oh…” I gasp as his finger pushes inside my pussy, urging me back into him.

  “You might want to try that again.” Although he’s standing behind me, I can hear the mockery in his voice. “Tell me and I’ll give you everything your kinky heart desires.” A second finger joins the first, and the sensation causes me to cry out. He’s killing me here. I shake my head, unable to let the words out, but my body betrays me because it knows exactly what it needs from Max.

  He’s asking me a question, but he’s the one running the show. He’s humoring me by allowing me to believe I’m in control so I can pretend I don’t know he’s been in charge of my orgasms since we snuck up on the forty-first floor of the Bymark hotel.

  I close my eyes, trying to clear my thoughts, but everything is just too intense. The feel of his clothed body against my naked skin, the sound of his rough voice, and the feeling of his long fingers plung
ing in and out of me have me teetering on the edge of reason. His other hand reaches up, pinching my nipple, and I moan loudly. Damn him. He owns every part of me.

  “Say it,” he grunts into my ear as his thumb rolls over my clit.

  I give in finally, whispering like a desperate soul, “I don’t care how you take me as long as you fuck me until I come screaming out your name.”

  He lets out a low, strangled moan and his forehead rests on my shoulder as he begins moving faster, teasing, feathering and circling. His hips grind against my ass, his massive erection rubbing against me.

  “Fucking Lord,” I moan, the coil tightening deep inside, my every thought focused on the pleasure taking over.

  “I want to take you with Rio at our feet, love. I want to fuck you in front of this large window overlooking the stadium. I want you to climax knowing someone could look up and see you come undone.”

  A small gasp escapes me.

  “Did any of your past boyfriends take you like a raging animal in front of a crowd of people?”

  “No,” I answer, looking at him from the side.

  “I didn’t think so.” He gives me a smile that makes me fear for a second that I’ve handed my soul to the devil.

  Max’s hands run up along my body, over my hips, across my stomach, up to where he cups my hanging breasts.

  “Fuck, you’re so soft, sweetness.” One of his hands glides down my side and between my legs until he reaches my wetness. Max moves his hands away, clearing my head for only a beat. Behind me his belt clicks as he unlatches it, followed by his pants running down his legs.

  “You’re really going to do this?” I barely process the words, listening to him behind me.