“Yep.”
“Good girl.”
I loved saying those words to her. I’d love it even more when she was coming on my dick.
“Dirty, naughty, good girl.”
“That I am.”
It was fully time for her to embrace it. I would grit my teeth and bear it, but she had some rebounding to do.
“What’s next, Angel?”
She slid back into the comfort of the seat and grinned at the world, at Marc, at me. “Take me home. But tonight, we’re going out again.”
I chuckled. “Oh, fuck. I’ve created a monster in you, haven’t I? A succubus, or Aphrodite, I’m not sure which.”
“And Gray?”
I glanced at her in the rearview mirror and she looked like I was about to pounce on me. As fun as that might have been, not yet.
“I want you to take me to The Asylum.”
Aw, shit. I shook my head, the smile fading. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do. I’ve been a goody-goody doing what daddy said until the past two days, and really it was no life at all. I’m done with that.”
Only the good die young, and she wanted to live.
I wanted to let her. Even if it killed me.
She glanced at me and I couldn’t quite interpret what this look meant.
All I knew now was that this gorgeous curvy woman had changed my life, taken it from dark desperation.
I was thoroughly taken with her. Entirely seduced.
THE END
* * *
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Untitled
Did you enjoy Gray and Angelina?
You can read their entire saga starting with
Curvy Seduction: Rebound.
Available on all the major booksellers online stores.
Check out the whole series on my website
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About the Author
Aidy Award is a curvy girl who kind of has a thing for stormtroopers. She’s also the author of the popular Curvy Love series and the hot new Dragons Love Curves series.
She writes curvy girl erotic romance, about real love, and dirty fun, with happy ever afters because every woman deserves great sex and even better romance, no matter her size, shape, or what the scale says.
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When It Happens
Laurie Treacy
About the Story
Devlin Fitzgerald and Catalina Garcia fell in love in high school. When Devlin breaks her heart just before graduation and disappears, Catalina is forced to gives up on him. Three years later, Devlin returns, hoping to make things right with the woman he loves. Can the two young lovers repair their relationship or will their attempt at a second chance fail?
This story features an adorable guy, a beautiful Latina with plenty of curves, a New Year’s Eve wedding and romance.
For my mom, mi familia, and the city where I grew up, the Bronx.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank Nicole Morgan for organizing this box set and for everything she does for us authors. I’m so glad the curvy girls get to tell their stories.
Thanks also to the other authors in this set. It is an honor to be included with you ladies.
I would especially like to thank my writing group ‘sisters,’ Andrea and Lisa, for always being there and eager to help.
1
Devlin
Even when I try to do the right thing, something gets messed up. I left work precisely at four o’clock with a smile on my face knowing I was about to do a favor for my best friend Sal. The bus trip on the Bx3 usually took twenty minutes so I figured I would arrive at my destination as expected. Being on time is essential. It’s part of me trying to show people that I’m back and I've changed.
So much for relying on public transportation.
Due to a traffic accident on the Grand Concourse, I walk into the Sedgwick Arms Community Center fifteen minutes late. The lobby is empty and in complete silence. What kind of afterschool program do they run here now? These kids must be very chill.
When I came here, it was busy, tons of classes, and lots of noise. I haven’t been back since that day. A chill goes through me and it’s not from the December temperatures. Shaking off the ghosts of my past, I continue walking. I can do this.
Sal's message on my cell phone said to pick up his ten-year-old cousin Rafe at 4:30. I’m not that late. The kid must be waiting for me somewhere. Not that I know anything about having children. I’m twenty-one, an auto mechanic, and currently single. Plus, I’ve only been back home in the Bronx for three months.
A huge bulletin board across from the entrance lists the classes and their locations. Rafe's supposed to be in "Drawing Manga," which is inside room 212. That room is on the north side. I slip my cell phone into my jean pocket and head towards the stairwell to the right. This is one place I’ll never forget. It’s been ingrained in my mind ever since that night three years ago. The front door loudly bangs open. From the force used, I stop and turn to check that the glass is intact. Someone enters. As soon as recognition sets in, my stomach sours.
“Hey, hey, Jincho Papujo.” The tone is playful with a biting undercurrent. Ricky. An old school acquaintance I hate more than rats and water bugs.
Giving me the once-over as he approaches with hands in pockets and head held high, his lips curl as he nods in my direction. “Heard you was back.”
"Hey." Every nerve in my body is on edge.
He hasn’t changed. Same old features dripping with attitude, while his dark hooded eyes sweep over everything. All his clothes seem brand new, from the name brand high-tops to the trendy sheepskin bomber jacket, and even the design shaved into his scalp. What he paid for those threads could easily cover a car payment for at least a month if I had wheels.
“How’s your Pops?” he asks, already knowing the answer since his father and mine are serving the same amount of time inside Rikers. Whatever they did, they wouldn’t snitch and paid the ultimate price for their loyalty.
How I’d like to laugh but my old man’s situation isn’t funny. “The same.”
Ricky smirk-smiles. “Heard your Mom’s back inside too. Must suck.”
He’s right. “It does.”
“You take care now.” With a nod, he moves on down the hall doing that stroll-bounce walk he does that’s supposed to appear cool but strikes me as ridiculous. With the way his jeans hang low on his hips, I’d be afraid of having them fall off.
Just before he gets too far away, he says, “Don’t get in any trouble now,” and laughs.
Bastard. After what he did to me, I shouldn’t even acknowledge him.
It would’ve been easier to stay away. Gran is the reason I came back.
But the crap I buried somewhere deep inside me, floats right back up again. Just from seeing him, the memories resurface, sticking my black Converse to the floor.
I grew up with Ricky, his crew, and others like them. I never felt like I fitted in. I have my Puerto Rican mom’s deep brown hair and eyes. That’s not enough to stop the neighborhood guys from calling me “white boy,” because I have my Irish dad’s pale skin and build. During my public elementary and middle school years, their favorite moniker for me was “Flaco.”
Instead, they relegated me to an ‘outsider’ status—comparable to the fat kid
who sits on the bench during gym class and only gets assigned to a team to keep an even number of players.
The summer after graduating middle school, I “officially” moved in with my Gran and she became my legal guardian. Even though I saw Ricky’s crew around, I now lived on the outskirts of the old neighborhood. There were new kids.
I also stopped being ‘skinny.’ Time spent as a stock boy (“off the books”) in Manny's Bodega helped bulk up my shoulders and forearms. Due to an anonymous benefactor, I attended a parochial high school, Saint Stephens. That’s how I met Sal and discovered a new bunch of kids who became my real friends.
My phone pings with a message from Aunt Annie. A reminder to visit Gran.
I don’t need her prodding, and yet, the mention of my grandmother is enough to get me moving. Remembering Gram’s advice, I picture water flowing under a bridge and calm down.
Besides, Ricky might be king today, but with his line of work, he could be behind bars or dead at any time. At least I work for an honest wage.
Why is Ricky heading towards the gym? He has no siblings.
Shit, I hope he’s not going after kids now.
As I approach the stairs, I shake my head. Two of his “guards” jog by. I recognize them. I have names for them: Cling 1 and Cling 2. Seems appropriate since their boss can't fart without them knowing how loud and how long. Cling 1's jacket shifts open as he passes. I spot the telltale bulge.
Great. They're packing in a building that's supposed to provide a haven for kids whose parents don't want them hanging out on the corners or in the parks after school.
I take the steps two at a time. The place is so quiet, it's unnerving. Kids mean noise. I stop at the top and notice the sign indicating the room numbers in arrows pointing in their directions. I hook a right and the room I want is down the hall. Most of the places are dark and empty.
At 212 I stop in the doorway. The light is on, but there’s no one inside. The circle of desks is bare. Maybe Sal gave me the wrong date?
Then I spot a handbag sitting on top of a big desk by the window, a coat folded over the chair beside it. I walk up to it and see a stack of holiday cards. Someone's still here. Maybe they know where Rafe is.
Something squeaks and water runs. I twist around and spot the door halfway open in back. A restroom or utility closet. A woman washes a platter. Moving closer, I lean against a desk and wait, watching the form inside.
At first, I figure she’s older from the style of her clothing. Who wears long plaid skirts down to their calves? She shifts halfway around after turning off the water and grabs a towel off a rod. A bright red cardigan sweater accentuates a voluptuous body. Classy. As she dries the platter, the movement stirs her top. I love a curvaceous woman. Something to hold, to kiss, and to get lost in. I shift and stand, reining in my thoughts. The last thing I need is to embarrass myself in front of a babe.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date. Not since…
She leans upwards to put the plate on a shelf. That’s when I notice the hair. Loads of dark curls cascade down her back like a waterfall. The Santa hat’s a cute touch. Not old at all. When she turns to hit the switch off, she sees me and stiffens.
“Can I help you?” She steps out of the smaller space and fully into the light.
Time freezes. My heart slams down into my gut while my mouth dries up.
Catalina Garcia.
Her red-painted lips drop open a fraction before twisting into a sneer. "Devlin Fitzgerald?" That tone could freeze water.
Damn. Once my name used to sound hot when she said it, but not like that. I guess I deserve it.
She closes the door. When she regards me again, my shoulders are straight like the nuns taught me. “Hi, Kitty.” It’s what I called her when we dated senior year.
Knowing gray eyes flash turbulent. “You don’t get to call me that. It’s Catalina.” She still hasn’t forgiven me. Even after my letter…. Nah, what I did was wrong. I don’t deserve her.
I find some saliva to swallow the memories down. "Sorry, I forgot."
Kitty has grown up. She’s gorgeous. Apparently no longer surviving on the crazy yo-yo dieting she used to do, now she’s the picture of natural beauty. Not too much make-up and a coat of her favorite gloss on those kissable lips. I remember how she used to taste.
How she used to feel.
Walking past me, she scoops the papers from the desk into a tote. “Why are you here?”
I face her. “I came to get Rafe. Sal messaged me.”
Zipping her handbag, she grabs her coat. “Oh. My cousin’s not thinking straight with his mom ill. Rafe’s dad picked him up from school. He got sick after lunch.”
“Huh. Okay." I slip my hands into my jean pockets to kill the urge to reach out and touch some part of her. Reconnect somehow.
With her stuff, she goes to the door and puts her hand on the light switch. “Merry Christmas,” she finally looks me in the face and scowls. I hurry to the entrance.
No "happy holidays" out of her mouth. My gaze drops to those lips. I remember what she did with them. Not now. Instead, I swallow again and stare into her eyes, trying to gauge her true mood. Should I tell her leaving was the worst mistake I ever made? That I think about her every day? Ask her why she never responded to my letter. Knowing her, Kitty wouldn't answer. I lost any chance with her by messing up. "Merry Christmas."
I step out into the hall before she does. That’s when the popping sounds begin.
One, two, three.
“¡Hijo de puta! Buscalo!”
“Ahí!”
Shouting. Curse words. A location given. Screams. All downstairs.
Kitty freezes, halfway in, halfway out of the room.
I scan the hall. Empty.
“¿Dónde está él?” The same male voices communicate with one other.
“¿En el piso de arriba?”
“íCompruebalo!”
That's Ricky, directing his guys to find someone—to check upstairs.
“W-what’s going on?” Kitty stammers, eyes teary.
Oh, shit… Guys like Ricky don’t care about innocent bystanders. All they know is what they want.
Footsteps pound up the stairs.
Two more shots fired. Someone shrieks.
Instinct kicks in. I pull my ex back into the room, smack off the lights, and close the door. Fast and silent. All she does is stand there. "I'm here, Kitty, trust me." Grabbing her arm, I race us over to the closet. The windows are the old, rectangular ones that pop out. They’re useless for climbing out.
I push her inside the dark space, and then close that door, but don't lock it. Remembering the layout, I guide her past the sink, towards the back wall. Her breathing is heavy. I too used to come here for afterschool activities. There’s one thing I love about this old building. Figuring the distance to one wall, my fingers begin to feel around.
Though muffled, we hear a few more shots. Kitty’s falling apart.
“Baby, sshh…I’m here, okay?” When my fingers brush against the dip in the wood, I press in. There's a click. A secret panel swings open. This is what I love.
Using the light from my phone, I usher her inside. The enclosed area runs the length of the closet. Large enough for four or five people.
“How did you know that was there?” she chokes out.
After securing the door back in place, I leave my phone on a shelf. “I got beat up in fourth grade. They locked me in one of these custodial rooms. I found it by accident.” I omit, when my head hit the wall after a nasty punch.
In the stream of light, she appears ghostly. “Stand here, next to me, okay? Until it’s over.” I take her bags and place them beside my phone.
Kitty nods and removes her coat, depositing it next to her things. Her breathing shaky, she whispers, “Who’s shooting? Are they your friends? Are they looking for you?”
“No.” How could she ask me that? “I saw Ricky and two of his guys when I came in. They’ve never been my friends.”
She steps up beside me, so close I can count every eyelash. Fear is etched in the fix of her mouth, and in the way her gaze seems distant. She’s probably thinking back to the day her parents died during a botched hold-up in a bodega.
All I want to do is keep her safe. I reach over and straighten her Santa hat. “I always loved you in red.”
There are sounds of chairs being smashed from the rooms next door. We flinch. Kitty gasps, holding her arms across her stomach like she’s going to be sick. “S-s-should we call 9-1-1?” She rubs her arms.
I shake my head. “Somebody already did. Hear the sirens?” They’re faint but grow stronger as the seconds pass by.
“I’ll check here!” A guy yells. Outside the hallway?
Kitty's eyes grow huge. Her mouth flops open. Before I know what, I clamp a hand over her lips. Shocked, she glares at me. I merely shake my head once more, imploring her to keep quiet. She swallows hard, fat tears dribble down her skin.
In that instant, I know two things.
One, that despite my good intentions, she’s going to scream.
And two, I don’t’ want to die. Not today.
So, I do the next best thing.
I yank my hand away and kiss her.
My intention honorable, but the second my lips crash on top of hers it’s like coming home after a long time away. Since I had crappy parents, my best memories are of living with Gran and Aunt Annie. Home was a small, clean, two-bedroom apartment on West 197th Street.
When Kitty and I dated, she introduced me to a new world filled with relatives, big homes, true love, and sex.
My arms slip around Kitty’s waist, tugging her up against me. Her soft sweater and plush curves always provide a comfort. One of my hands automatically slides up her back, fingers in a mad dash towards her hair. Once there, my tips massage her scalp in the way she once found relaxing.
Covet the Curves: a Romance Collections Anthology Page 29