Training Her Curves - Miami (A BBW Billionaire Domination and Submission Romance)

by Christa Wick

  About Miami

  Part II in the Training Her Curve series (follows Training Her Curves - Chicago)

  Jake Morgan’s contract waits unsigned in Alexa Hunt’s apartment, an unboxed shredder on the floor below. While her agent pleads and threatens, Alexa drops bookings she’s already scheduled for, digging the hole she finds herself in a little deeper every day.

  Part of her -- the moist, throbbing bits branded by Jake’s touch -- wants to sign the contract. The offer is not only one heck of a payday, it’s a year in the service, and bed, of the only man who has ever made her ache in all the right ways. But her brain knows what her heart refuses to consider — for Jake Morgan, this is nothing but business. He needs the submissive vulnerability and unique look of the plus-size, tattooed redhead to crack open the checkbooks of his jaded clients.

  At least that’s what Alexa thinks, and it’s not like Jake is going to show up and convince her otherwise…

  Right?

  ********************

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  Training Her Curves - Miami

  An unboxed shredder waited next to the folding table and chair that served as my occasional desk. I had purchased the shredder three days after my visit to the downtown offices of the Kehoe Investment Trust Group. After bringing the box home, I only touched it long enough to tape the receipt to the top, telling myself that I would decide whether to use the shredder or return it unopened after I read the contract Jake had given me.

  On day five, I opened the manila envelope I had shoved the contract in after returning home from the meeting. It took another day of the pages sitting on my desk mocking me before I began the slow process of reading every last detail. I figured by then, I had waited too long to sign. Jake had warned me that his company had to move fast. I didn't need a master's degree in business to understand the scale of how much money was consumed every day a new club sat empty or the factory for manufacturing the clothes remained offline.

  Even though I was certain I was out of the running, I kept reading. I ignored my email, equally confident that Lena, my agent, continued to flood my inbox just as she had done each of the first five days following the meeting with pleas for me to sign the agreement that alternated between passive coaxing and aggressive demands.

  Think of all the good advice I've given you...

  You owe me this...

  Little sister, I only want the best for you...

  Why are you being so selfish?

  I ignored my text messages and voicemail, too, after that first day. I dropped assignments that had been booked weeks in advance, basically ensuring that I would find no modeling work in Chicago, maybe anywhere else, ever again.

  I had to make the decision, one that had most likely passed already, to go big or go home.

  Only there was no home to retreat to, just my cramped apartment that I could barely afford and with few prospects of different employment given my size and all the ink that covered my body.

  Leaving the contract and pen on the table, I paced restlessly through my apartment. I inventoried my assets, as few as they were, for what I could sell. A 20-inch television, my laptop, jewelry that, as much as I adored its quirkiness, had no resale value, one fabulous pair of Italian leather boots that it hurt to even consider parting with.

  Plopping down on my bed, I pulled my phone and laptop from the nightstand next to me. Letting the laptop run through its start routine, I thumbed through my text messages and voicemail looking for the one name that could help me decide...

  Jake Morgan Kehoe.

  All I found on my phone were messages from Lena and a few pissed off photographers. I turned to the laptop for more of the same.

  My hand drifted toward my mouth, my teeth fastening on the thumbnail and grinding until the first flake of polish touched my tongue. I moved to chewing on the back of one knuckle. Seeing no message from anyone at the Kehoe group, I knew -- the opportunity was gone. I doubted it had truly survived my last meeting with Jake. I couldn't figure the man out. Hot one second, cold the next. Wanting me, driving me hard and fast to the edge of orgasm, then directing me like some whore to clean up in the executive lavatory while he walked out of the room without ever looking back.

  Had he really expected me to sign the contract after that?

  Probably not. It had been his free fuck with an indirect "fuck you" at the end.

  Jumping up from the bed, I stalked toward the box resting on the floor beside the folding table. I bumped the door handle as I went, my vision blurred by tears I refused to shed. Sinking to my knees, I pinched the end of the sales receipt and slowly peeled it from the box.

  Breaking the seal, I opened the lid and removed the top molded piece of Styrofoam to reveal a black shredder wrapped in plastic. Inverting the box, I started to slide it off the device just as a knock landed on my apartment door.

  I froze, trying to remain silent until the visitor revealed their identity. I expected Lena or maybe the leech two doors down who always went around covered in bling but couldn't afford milk for her kids' cereal.

  The knock repeated, its rhythm and force altered to something more purposeful and demanding. Too hard for it to be Lena, too solid for it to be the leech.

  "Alexa."

  My fingers numbed instantly at the sound of Jake's voice. My hold on the box slipped and I winced as it slid down to re-cover the shredder. Knowing he would need extraordinary hearing to detect the soft whisper of cardboard over plastic sheeting, I remained immobile.

  "I expected more maturity than this," he continued, his tone firm and disapproving. "Open the door."

  With another wince, I started to move, my lips mashing together as I pushed upward. The mashing turned to biting at one corner as I slid the chain and then the bolt before grabbing hold of the knob and turning.

  I didn't need to pull the door open. Jake slowly, but resolutely pushed it inward. His eyes locked on my face for one second before he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him. Shifting a briefcase from his right hand to his left, he took hold of my elbow and marched me into the living room.

  I didn't look at him until he snorted softly. I tracked his gaze to find it focused on the upturned box with the shredder inside.

  "Looks like I arrived just in time," he chuckled as he placed the briefcase on the table. Releasing my arm, he walked toward the open door to my bedroom.

  Slow to react, I followed after him a few seconds later, my lips moving soundlessly as I tried to force some protest through them over his invasion of my privacy.

  "Stop," I weakly ordered as he finished thumbing through my phone and reached for the handle of the nightstand's drawer.

  "You know 'stop' won't do," he said, pulling the drawer open. Nimble fingers sorted through the layers of personal debris inside the drawer -- an address book, a fashion magazine, a lighter alongside the unopened pack of cigarettes I still hadn't thrown away after quitting the year before. With a smile creeping up the side of his face I could see, he pulled out the one object I didn't want him to find and likely the exact thing he had been looking for.

  Bigger than a carpentry nail and far smaller than a railroad spike, the discreet vibrator had the shape of both, with a flat head attached to a neck chain for the days I wanted to boldly wear it as a pendant.

  Pocketing the vibe, he looked inside my closet.

>   My lips puckered indecisively, only half shaped to form the beginning of my safe word. They changed course at the last second. Clearly, the opportunity hadn't passed, but I didn't have much time to decide what I wanted -- the poor house with my pride intact or a gilded cage I only left when Jake needed to fuck me.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked as I started to shut the sliding door while his hand remained inside the closet.

  Catching the door's edge, he forced it open. Leaning down, he scooped up the dark red Italian boots that had cost me a month's rent and tossed them on my bed. A second more of rifling through my clothes, his nostrils flaring in seeming disapproval, before he reached a clingy knit dress colored a dark chocolate. He placed them alongside the boots then moved to my drawer. Out came my two sexiest bra and panty sets, both of the top pieces with front clasps.

  "These can go with you, everything else stays."

  I sucked a deep breath in and held it for a count of three before I challenged him. "Where the hell do you think I'm going?"

  Raising one dark brow, Jake closed the distance between us until we stood chest to chest.

  "To Miami," His answer vibrated with a warning growl. "With me."

  I took a step back and pointed through the open door at the shredder. The one I had been unboxing after he had left me stewing more than six days after our last meeting. I arched my brow until my expression mimicked his. I couldn't hope to match the growl, so I kept my words precise and low-voiced -- completely passionless despite the heat burning through me.

  "Can't take a hint, can you?" I asked.

  A smile cracked his stern glare. Capturing my outstretched arm by the wrist and wrapping his other hand around my opposite hip, he pulled me to him. "Your safe word is the only hint I'll accept today."

  I twisted out of his embrace, surprised when he didn't try to restrain me. I stomped toward the shredder, finished removing it from the box and placed it right side up. Grabbing the cord, I leaned toward the electrical outlet.

  "I brought another copy."

  The amusement evident in his voice caused me to turn and stare at him. He didn't catch me looking at first, his own gaze focused on my plump bottom pushing toward him as I twisted. His eyes shifted to my face and he offered a smile and an unapologetic shrug for his blatant ogling of my backside.

  "Several copies, in fact," he said as he moved to the table and popped the locks on his briefcase. He pulled out a ream of paper and I quickly counted five binder clips dividing the pages into equal numbers.

  Five copies...what the hell does that mean?

  "I sent you home with a signed copy of the contract," he reminded me as he flipped to the last page of the first bound section of the papers he held. He angled the page so that I could see that he had signed again. Then he flipped to the very last page and showed me his signature again.

  The entire stack fell to the floor next to me with a heavy thump. I looked up at him, my thoughts remaining muddled and uncomprehending.

  "How many times would you guess that I've sent an opposing party home with my signature already on the contract?" he asked as he crouched next to the shredder. "Come on, Alexa, guess. How many?"

  My mouth twitched with my response. "I suppose you want me to think that 'never' is the right answer."

  His gaze narrowed and his mouth flattened for half a second before his expression went serene. "I'm really going to enjoy the first time I spank that sweet ass of yours."

  I swallowed hard at the veiled threat. My pussy contracted just as hard at the same time and I realized how heavy my breasts had become as I remained on my hands and knees, clutching the shredder's power cord like a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman.

  I promptly stumbled to my feet and put half the room between us.

  Jake grabbed the cord I had dropped, stretched his long frame to the side and pushed the plug firmly into the outlet. He flipped the shredder's power switch on. The machine's teeth gnawed and gnashed for a few seconds and then it went quiet.

  His hand patted next to him until his fingers closed around the five copies he had brought with him. Blindly pulling the first binder clip off, he read the icons on the top of the shredder.

  "Oh, good," he said dryly. "It's heavy duty."

  Not looking once in my direct, he fed the first half of one copy into the machine. He seemed absorbed in the sound the metal cutters made and how the sheets quickly disappeared into the shredder's hungry maw.

  He plucked the second half of the contract from the floor and poised it over the machine. His head angled slightly, one eye studying me. "Zero is the correct answer, Alexa, not just the one I want you to believe."

  His hand dipped, the machine taking it's first greedy bite of the fresh pages.

  "Stop!" My volume shocked me and I retreated a little further from Jake. I crossed my arms as far across my breasts as they would go. My right foot tapped against the linoleum as I searched for some way to sound less desperate than I felt. I knew I had caved too quickly.

  "I still need to read the contract," I offered lamely.

  Leaving his copies on the floor, Jake stood and grabbed my copy from the desk. He ran his thumb along the edges in a quiet display of their dog-eared condition. I had read through each page more than once and it showed, but he didn't say anything, just took a seat on the small couch, the contract resting on his lap.

  "So read it."

  I perched on the armrest on the side opposite from him. My hands twisted in my lap. I stared at them, tried to will them to stop wrestling with one another long enough to take the papers from him and offer at least a pretense of looking at them.

  Jake slid closer, his head tilting upward so that he could look at my face. "Maybe you've read it, but still have questions?"

  His voice had dropped persuasively low, a light rasp coating each word.

  I nodded. "The contract says it's prorated...by engagement. But you said I couldn't easily walk away from it."

  My mind skipped back to those last few minutes in the conference room, when he had flipped from up close and very personal to a distant stranger.

  Jake rose, the pages slipping from his lap to the floor. He stepped over them, grabbed my knees and parted my thighs. Another step in my direction had him nestled between my legs, his hands on my hips.

  "I wasn't talking about the contract, baby." His hands slid from my hips to the center of my back. He pulled me closer, my ass perched at the edge of the armrest, my center of gravity dipping low in a dizzying way as my mound pressed against groin.

  Damn, he was hard...and so very big. I squirmed, just a little but the motion dragged my breasts upward against his thick chest. My nipples already swollen, the motion made them ache and I released a small whimper.

  Was he really saying he wouldn't let me walk away from him?

  Raising one hand, he brushed my hair from one side of my neck. He dipped his head. His lips pressed warmly against the skin he had just exposed as his hand drifted to my breast. Cupping it, he squeezed as his thumb and index finger searched for my nipple.

  Finding the hard point, he pinched it, the pressure increasing as he nipped the fleshy curve of my neck. Stopping, he took hold of the underside of my chin and forced me to look at him.

  "You wanted me to chase you," he stated simply.

  I shut my eyes and nodded. I hated making the admission. I wasn't sure why. Maybe because it made me feel manipulative or immature, a charge he had already leveled at me when I tried to hide as he knocked.

  "Look at me, Alexa."

  Reluctantly, I opened my eyes. Overwhelmed by his raw, masculine beauty, I dropped my gaze again and pressed my face to his chest. I knew then why I had wanted him to chase me -- I needed proof that a man like him really wanted a woman like me, a woman whose body was openly scorned in the page of every fashion or beauty magazine, in every image that flashed on television, at the movies and across my computer screen.

  Fat as I was, society deemed me worthy of only being the si
dekick, not the leading lady. The joke, the comic relief, or maybe, just maybe, the villainess, the ugly and cruel stepsister to Cinderella or the monstrously large sea witch to the quicksilver beauty of the little mermaid.

  "You need me to chase, I need you to submit," he said then waited silently for me to quit hiding and look at him.

  I did, my heart heavy from his words. "Just another way we're not compatible," I offered.

  My hands crept between our bodies and I tried to push at him.

  "Wrong, Alexa." Shaking his head, he crushed me closer. "We're completely compatible. I chased...and you will submit."

  He smiled, the movement of his lips reaching up to dance in his jewel-like eyes. Releasing me, he grabbed all the contract's copies and placed everything but the original and a second copy into the briefcase. His hands shuffled like a magician's, one removing a pen from the case and placing it on the table, the other palming something and sticking it in his pocket -- the one that still held my vibe.

  I smoothed my expression as he turned in my direction, erasing the perplexed crinkle as my brain tried to make sense of the shape his pocket had taken.

  Definitely squarish, like a small box.

  "We are opening the Miami location tomorrow, Alexa," he said, gesturing me closer. "No more hesitating."

  My feet slowly carried me toward him even as I nodded my understanding. It was now or never and I would sign. I might regret it at some future point, but I would immediately regret not signing and watching him walk out the door.

  I picked up the pen and bent at the waist as he flipped the two copies to the last page. As I signed, his hand landed softly on my bottom, drifted slowly to the center back seam of my pants and then smoothed down to absently stroke my perineum through the fabric.

  Pausing, I looked at him, my eyes rolling upward. "You want the two signatures to look the same, don't you?"

  The left side of his mouth quirked, but he said nothing. Instead, he moved behind me, his erection filling the valley between my butt cheeks and his hands taking firm possession of my hips. Forcing down the moan that instantly surged up my throat, I focused on the blurring signature line of the second copy. With an aching precision, I formed the letters of my name.