Dancing in the Dark (Curves for the Rock Star 4 - A BBW Rockstar Erotic Romance)

by Clare Cole

  "Damn, Amy," Rick panted. "You feel absolutely amazing."

  "I know," I smiled. Was this really me? The girl who not so long ago had such a bad body image? The girl who at times hated to look at herself in the mirror, not because she wasn't proud of who she was but because of what the rest of society – and the media, in particular – had suggested she should be?

  Maybe Rick wasn't the only one who was changing more each day.

  I rose and fell on his hardness slowly and deliberately, each movement causing tiny ripples of pleasure through my tight inner walls. Rick reached round and cupped my breasts, my bra now removed, gently squeezing them and pinching at my erect nipples. His penetration was unbelievably deep, as if we were one. He slipped a hand down to my pussy and began to massage my unbearably sensitive clit. My moans were becoming increasingly loud, filling the room and turning me on even more. They say that most women find it hard to orgasm from penetration alone. If that's the case, at least the penetration was utter ecstasy. Rick knew exactly how to push my button, so to speak, and made damn sure I would drench him in my juices with his fingers, if not just his cock.

  Surprise, surprise. I didn't have to wait long before my first orgasm came crashing down. I screwed my eyes shut, every part of my body tightening up like a clenched fist. For a moment, I felt nothing except pure ecstasy. Then, all strength in my legs was lost and I collapsed back onto Rick's muscular body. He held me tightly and gently raised me up, lifting me completely in his arms and carrying me to the bedroom like a firefighter would carry an unconscious woman from a burning building. Trickles of juice continued to run down my inner thighs as I let my exhausted body go limp in his strong arms. He placed me gently down on the bed and then, like a hunter claiming his prey, climbed onto me and slipped inside with merciless lust.

  I gasped out, unprepared for his divine penetration. I think we've pretty much already established that Rick is well endowed, but nothing can prepare a woman for a rock-hard cock of that magnitude parting her inner walls and slipping deep inside her while she is still recovering from an orgasm. Rather than slowly and sensually making love to me, he scooped his arms under my back and squeezed me to his chest. His thrusts were forceful, primal; I found myself, eyes closed and head tilted back, uttering the same words over and over again. "That feels so good…fuck me hard, fuck me deep…"

  This was how it felt to be claimed by an alpha mate. It's in those moments, when your boyfriend or your lover or your husband simply takes you and delivers thrust after rock-hard thrust of unbelievable satisfaction, that you realise what kind of a man he is. Can he be loving and caring when required? Can he wipe your tears away and make you smile when you need him to? And can he, when the need arises, simply fuck a woman properly? Can he fuck you like a real man?

  I had the answer to all of those questions with Rick. Check, check and check. As I submitted my body to him, as beads of sweat glistened on his rippling muscles with each drive of his steel-like cock inside me, I reminded myself – if only for a brief moment – that this is how it felt to be taken by a real man. Screw equality and all of that politically correct bullshit. Right here, right now he was my man and I was his woman. Could I be my own person? Could I be strong and smart and independent? Of course I could. Rick wouldn't want anything less. But he was fucking me like he owned me, and for all of the negative connotations that might bring, I was loving every second.

  "Touch yourself," he growled. "When we come, I want us to come together."

  I did as he asked and moved my hand down to my aching clit. My fingertips touched his shaft as it moved in and out of me, causing me to almost squeal with delight. I placed my index finger against my most sensitive area, almost enough to make me orgasm immediately. "Slide another inside," he ordered. "Touch your g-spot."

  I would have done whatever he commanded at that point. I stroked at the sensitive, rough patch of skin within me with the finger that was now adorned with a beautiful diamond engagement ring. Penetrated twice, by him and myself, I began to orgasm. I grabbed the back of his hair, holding on for dear life, as my body exploded from within. He began to twitch and pulsate and, within seconds, his thick, warm cream was flowing inside me. It was deep, as deep as any man could ever possibly hope to be within a woman's body, depositing his seed far within my most fertile areas. I was no longer on birth control. It added to the danger and the excitement, but it was also what we had decided we both wanted.

  "I love you, Amy," he sighed as the last of his orgasm trickled inside me. "I love you so much."

  "And I love you," I smiled, kissing his beautiful, warm lips. "More than life itself."

  Epilogue

  THREE YEARS LATER

  "Ladies and gentlemen, it seems almost inconceivable that we are giving a Lifetime Achievement Award to somebody so young. And yet, Rick Borrell's achievements span a musical career over just two decades that put many of his peers and contemporaries to shame. After an enviable run with Beautiful Losers, Rick's achievements as a solo artist are no less impressive. Now, that's even more so, with a new album, ‘One Last Shot’, that nobody saw coming. Considered by many to be in semi-retirement, if not having hung up his microphone for good, Rick stunned us all eight months ago with an album of such maturity and inescapably essential songs that the world fell in love with him all over again. It was an album doubtless created out of his new found maturity as a husband, a father and an older, wiser musician. Rick may well be one of the last remaining truly great rock stars, an artist so capable of turning his musical style into genre-defining work that he is a rarity in a world of manufactured artists and processed singers from talent shows. His near-refusal to promote his work or tour, choosing instead to spend as much time as possible with his wife, Amy, and family, is what adds to his mystery. Now, Rick releases music when he wants to, on his own terms, and we are truly blessed to be present in the same time as him to hear it. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the youngest ever recipient of a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award, and a thoroughly deserved one at that. Put your hands together for Mr Rick Borrell!"

  Rick bounded up onto the stage to a standing ovation, looking unbearably hot in a sleek, dark grey Italian suit. That trademark tousled hair, that slight hint of stubble made every woman in the audience swoon over him and every guy long to be him. My hands were clapping like a toy monkey clashing a cymbal. I was beaming from ear to ear, tears welling up in my eyes. I had never been so proud of the man I loved.

  "Thank you, thank you," Rick said, beckoning with the audience to take their seats. "You know, I'm seen so rarely in public these days that even the photographers outside didn't bother taking any shots." The laughter erupting from the crowd would be the first of many shows of adulation during his speech. "I'll keep this reasonably brief. First and foremost, I want to simply say what an honour it is to be receiving a Lifetime Achievement Award. It puts me into an exclusive club inhabited by some of my all-time heroes – David Bowie, Leonard Cohen, The Temptations, Gil Scott Heron, The Beach Boys, Johnny Cash – the list goes on and on, simply too many greats to mention. And Dolly Parton, of course, although I'm a fan of hers for two very important reasons other than her music. Just kidding!"

  I rolled my eyes, laughing quietly to myself. My occasional nickname around the house had become "Dolly" due to Rick's unhealthy but nevertheless tolerable obsession with my impressive mammaries.

  "Anyway, when I was told I was receiving this award I thought – damn, I'm going to have to attend. I mean, it's very rare that I leave the house these days. Some people call me reclusive. I prefer grown-up. You see, the reason my last album was so well received was because of who inspired it. She knows exactly who she is. She's the one thing I got right, the one thing I didn't screw up. Because of her I'm a much better man, a far better father, and an infinitely better musician. I'll be grateful to my wonderful wife, Amy, for the rest of my life and, when she's bumped me off in order to claim the insurance, I'll make sure she's well compensated. One thing I do want
to say, in all seriousness, is that I never got into music to win awards. Don't get me wrong, they're very nice and I'm certainly not going to refuse them. After all, the hotel we got to stay in just because of this must have cost a small fortune and I'm not in the business of turning down a free weekend break. But I became a musician for one simple reason – because I love music. I've had the good fortune to play in an incredible band with some wonderful people who are sadly, no longer with us. I've got to tour the world, see places I never thought a fool like me would ever get to see. I've met some amazing people, from the millions of fans who attend my shows and write to me by email to the individuals who have touched my life personally in so many different ways. This is a gift, this life. Music is an amazing art form both for those who practice it and those who listen to it. I'll be grateful for everything it's brought me, both good and bad, for the rest of my days."

  I took a deep breath and smiled as he came to the end of his speech.

  "Oh, and one more thing. This isn't the end of me as a musician. I think lifetime achievements are given out sometimes when people aren't expecting anything new from that artist ever again. Let's just say this marks my achievements of a lifetime I've already had. The rest is just beginning. Thank you for this honour and enjoy the rest of the show."

  "Wow, you knocked it out of the park." I kissed Rick on the cheek as we finished watching his performance on the television in our hotel room. Once again, we were shut away from the world. "You looked pretty hot, too."

  "Not so bad yourself, Dolly."

  "Mommy… Is that you and daddy on the TV?"

  We turned to see our beautiful little boy, Evan, enter the room, rubbing his eyes. "Yes it was, little man," I smiled, beckoning him over. He jumped onto the sofa and sat between us, worn out from the flight in the day before. "Daddy was getting a very special award."

  "What for?"

  "Well, because lots and lots of people like his music and wanted to say ‘thank you’ to him."

  "Oh," he continued in his squeaky little toddler voice. "Wow."

  Now, it would be nice to say that Evan had been conceived on our wedding night. It was a magical day, in a beautiful castle in the Italian hills. Hardly anybody knew except close friends and family and the media never got a single photograph of us. Why should they? It was our day, just for us. It would mark the beginning of how Rick and I would live the rest of our lives – in peace, doing work we loved but without all the craziness and nonsense that went with being a rock star. In fact, Rick no longer needed to be a rock star. Now, he was just someone who lived his life in relative anonymity but happened to do something he loved – being a musician.

  No, the fairytale ideal wasn't quite going to play out. That fateful day when I had made love to Rick in my bridal lingerie was when Evan was conceived, it seems. The timeline certainly fitted. As a result, we went from having no firm date for our wedding to organise and one within two months of finding out I was pregnant. Luckily, when you're an international megastar it's easy to get a wedding organised at the drop of a hat. People tend to pull strings that they wouldn't for mere mortals.

  "We'll have to think about what we're going to eat for dinner soon," I said. "Rick?"

  I turned to see the two wonderful boys in my life snoring away next to me. Well, maybe one boy. I think it was fair to say that Rick had finally grown up. I could no longer call him my manchild, my adult teenager. Now, he was just an adult. He deserved that at the very least.

  I closed my eyes for a moment and thought back to when it all began, that fateful day I photographed Rick Borrell, the lead singer of Beautiful Losers. Now, he was my husband and we had a gorgeous son together. We also had Luke, his big brother and very much a part of our lives, who we visited every few weeks and whenever else we could. And, just to top it all off, I ran a hand over my rapidly expanding belly. The bump inside would provide the next stage in our story. Would it be a boy? Maybe a girl this time? One of each – that would be nice. But it didn't matter. We had chosen not to know, to have a wonderful surprise just like Evan had been. In a few more months, we would find out what our latest little miracle was.

  They say a leopard can't change its spots, that a zebra can't change its stripes. Maybe a rock star can change, though. He'll never stop being who he is, a naturally gifted semi-bad boy. It's in his DNA, after all. Plus, it was always Rick's choice to change. I never would have made him. I would have loved him either way.

  But sometimes change is good. Change can bring stability and peace and a brighter future. Isn't that what we all want? Nevertheless, it was always nice to keep having those little surprises too. It sounds so corny, but dreams do come true. That's not to say there aren't bumps and obstacles along the way. But I had learned that when you find "the one", when you fall in love so hard and so deep with someone who is worth overcoming any obstacle and fighting for, the hardships aren't so bad. They're just little potholes on the road of life. Ride over them, jack the car up, change the wheel. Move on.

  I kissed Rick and Evan on their foreheads and glanced back at them snuggled up on the hotel sofa. I switched off the TV and turned the radio on quietly. There was an artist on called Ellie Goulding, singing a song that couldn't have been more apt - "Anything Can Happen".

  Damn right it can. And, boy, am I glad it did.

  THE END

  Afterword

  Thank you for buying this ebook!

  If you would like to be informed of new releases, or want to tell me what you thought of this story and these characters, please email me:

  clare@clarecole.com

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