Big Girls & Bad Boys: 8 Scorching Hot BBW Alpha Male Romance Novellas Box Set

by D. H. Cameron

  “You are lying to me. There is no need to hold back with me,” Marco said and pat my knee.

  “I don’t want to ruin the evening,” I told him.

  “Then out with it. Tell me and relieve yourself of the burden,” he said. Honestly, I was embarrassed. The humiliation I felt at finding myself in this situation, in debt to a mob thug, was bad enough but talking about it and telling Marco the details was too much.

  “I can’t. You don’t want to hear about my problems,” I said. Marco glared at me and I withered under his stare. I found I couldn’t resist. “Tony...he gave me an ultimatum last night. I have thirty days to pay him back or...or...,” I explained but I couldn’t finish.

  “He struck you, no?” Marco asked and the question surprised me. How could he know?

  “I earned it,” I said and regretted it immediately. Part of me felt that way but I knew I didn’t deserve to be treated in that way.

  “No! Never say that. No woman deserves such a thing,” Marco admonished me.

  “I know, I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do,” I admitted. I didn’t want to ask Marco for help. I didn’t want to impose on him, to lay my problems onto him, but Marco was more perceptive that I gave him credit. My pride wouldn’t let me ask for help but Marco made sure I didn’t have to.

  “Let us enjoy the evening. I will take care of this tomorrow,” Marco told me. He didn’t know what he was getting into.

  “Marco, Tony...he’s in the mob. You can’t,” I said but Marco only smiled.

  “Do you take me for a fool, Nancy? I know more than you think. Havana is my home. I will take care of this. I will take care of you,” he promised.

  “Marco,” I said unable to find the words to dissuade him from doing it.

  “Please, think of it no more. I know what I am doing, I assure you. Enjoy the evening with me, please?” Marco implored me as he looked at me expectantly. I wasn’t sure what Marco could do to help me but I trusted him. He was the first man to treat me with any respect or show me any real affection since I’d arrived in Cuba.

  “All right. Just promise me you won’t get hurt,” I told him.

  “You needn’t worry. I promise,” he said. His hand was still on my knee and I covered it with mine and squeezed. I couldn’t begin to understand why a man like Marco would choose me. Looks aside, I was trouble. I’d never forgive myself if Tony hurt Marco. I put it out of my mind as he asked, however. It was easier than I’d expected when I was with Marco and as we drove through Havana. It was a beautiful city, in some ways even more beautiful here than in the lavish downtown by the sea.

  Where we stopped surprised me. I expected a fancy restaurant but instead Marco had brought me to a small cafe that had more tables on the sidewalk that it did inside. Several tables were occupied, some with couples, others by families and groups of men. As Marco came around to help me out of the car, several of the patrons greeted him by name in Spanish. Marco turned and greeted them in return, shaking the hands of the men and kissing the hands of the women. I spoke some Spanish but English was fairly common in the heart of Havana so I never was forced to acquire a firm grasp of the language.

  Marco introduced me, quickly and informally. The patrons he knew nodded at me and I did the same in return. Then Marco excused us and led me inside. “I’ve reserved a quiet table for us inside,” he said.

  “Who were those people?” I wondered.

  “Most of them work for me. The large man is a business associate,” Marco told me.

  “They call you Marco? I asked. I’d never seen workers refer to their boss so casually.

  “Yes. They are all like family to me. The business is owned by my family but without my workers, it would be nothing,” he said. I wished Tony felt that way. His employees, especially the women, were treated more like livestock than people.

  “You’re an extraordinary man, Marco,” I told him. He looked at me skeptically.

  “No, I am just a man. A fair and honest one, but just an ordinary man,” he replied. I looked up at him as he took me inside. Marco may have been just a man but he was a good one to be sure.

  ~~~

  ~4~

  “Marco!” A short, round man called out as we entered the cafe.

  “Manuel, good to see you my friend,” Marco replied in English.

  “Come, sit down,” the man replied in English also, though not nearly as clean as Marco’s, and they shook hands.

  “I’d like you to meet, Nancy,” Marco introduced me.

  “I’m honored to meet such a beautiful woman,” Manuel said as he took my hand and kissed it. I turned red.

  “Nice to meet you, Manuel,” I replied with a smile that wouldn’t go away.

  “Marco, you didn’t tell me you were courting a young lady,” Manual said.

  “We’ve only met recently. I hope she will allow me to court her,” Marco replied and winked at me.

  “Well, then. I will do my part and leave you two alone,” Manuel said and pulled the chairs away from the table. Marco came to seat me but Manual brushed him away. “Allow me,” he said.

  “Muchas gracias,” I ventured in Spanish.

  “De nada, señorita,” Manuel replied. Marco took his seat and then Manual bowed, “Relax and enjoy, my friends.” Manuel left us but returned a moment later with a pitcher of mojitos and two menus. Marco waived him off.

  “Dos arroz con pollo, mi amigo,” Marco told Manuel. The man bowed and left us again. “Rice and Chicken. My favorite dish. A peasant dish but those are often the best, are they not?” Marco explained.

  “We always had chicken on Sundays when I was little. Sometimes with rice, sometimes with dumplings but my favorite was my mom’s chicken soup,” I told him.

  “I would imagine every culture has its classic chicken dishes. You will enjoy Manuel’s arroz con pollo. Only my mother’s own recipe can compare,” Marco replied. I wanted to ask him about his promise to take care of things with Tony but I didn’t want to spoil the evening. I couldn’t imagine what Marco could do to help. Tony was just small time but he worked for one of the biggest mobsters in Havana, Meyer Lanksy. Lansky was tight with the dictator Batista and the American mobster Lucky Luciano. Lansky controlled most of the gambling and prostitution as well as the drug trade in Cuba. I’d never met the man or even seen him, but I knew Tony ran the Aunt Nena Club on his behalf.

  “What is it?” Marco asked as he poured us each a glass from the iced pitcher. Mojitos were like wine in France or Beer in Germany, a staple of the Cuban culture. The refreshing drink was made from rum, sugar, lime, sparkling water and mint leaves but there was no one right way to mix them and every Cuban likely had their own favorite recipe.

  “Is it that obvious?” I replied.

  “You worry about this Tony, yes?” Marco asked as if reading my mind.

  “You don’t know who he is. He’s connected, Marco. He’s trouble,” I told Marco. He only laughed.

  “And I am not connected? I assure you, Nancy, I know what I am doing. You needn’t worry. Now, please, let us forget about such things and enjoy one another’s company. Tell me more about your home,” he told me. I sighed and nodded.

  “All right. I’m from small town in Iowa called Riverside. Only about six hundred people live there. My father is a history teacher at the high school and he coaches the basketball team. My mom takes in laundry to make ends meet. All I ever wanted to do when I was young was to get out of there. I wanted to see the world but sometimes I wish I’d never left. I miss it. I miss my mom and dad. I miss the peace,” I told Marco.

  “I know of what you speak. I long for simpler times. It was not always so complicated here. At one time Havana and Cuba were peaceful. Then Batista brought the mob and the gambling here after his coup. Now Castro brings war. It is the way of things. Without these trying times, we would not know how to appreciate the quieter times,” Marco told me.

  “I suppose that’s true. I didn’t appreciate home until I’d left. The grass isn’t always gr
eener,” I told him.

  “Nadie esta contento con su suerte,” Marco said. I tried to work that out but my Spanish wasn’t all that strong. “No one is content with his lot. The grass is always greener essentially. I prefer the Cuban proverb that says coffee from the top of the cup and chocolate from the bottom,” Marco told me. I thought about it for a moment.

  “Good things come to those who wait?” I wondered as I tried to decipher the proverb.

  “Yes, I suppose. To me it always meant that there is a reward awaiting those who persevere. You must endure times like these, the coffee, to see the good times, the chocolate. A more optimistic proverb that reveals the same basic truth,” Marco explained.

  “I like it. Sounds yummy too,” I told him. Marco laughed.

  “Rum, coffee, cigars and chocolate are the things that make life worth living, no?” Marco observed. In Cuba, that was probably true. In America, that list was different but I knew what he meant.

  “The good things,” I added.

  “Yes! Pleasurable and comforting things that take the edge off,” he replied. Just then, Manuel brought our dinner, two plates heaped with savory rice and pan-fried chicken pieces. It smelled delicious. “Gracias, Manuel,” Marco told the owner.

  “Yes, gracias,” I added as I enjoyed the delectable steam rising from my plate.

  “My pleasure. Enjoy, my friends,” Manuel said and disappeared again.

  “This is the chocolate at the bottom,” Marco observed. I suppose he was right. “Do not be shy. I will not be,” Marco said and took a piece of chicken in his fingers and took a big bite, embellishing just a bit. I followed suit and was overwhelmed with the deep flavor, so familiar to me but different too.

  “This is so good,” I said not even bothering to swallow the bite. Marco only nodded, too busy eating his dinner to answer. We both enjoyed the meal, neither of us able to finish the massive amounts of food but Marco made a valiant attempt. Finally, as I had already pushed my plate away reluctantly, Marco did the same and leaned back in his chair.

  “I surrender. I cannot eat as much as I would like,” he told me.

  “I feel the same,” I said. Marco smiled agreeably. We sipped our chilled mojitos until Manuel returned to take our plates.

  “You enjoyed it, no?” Manuel asked.

  “Very much. Muchas gracias,” I told him. Marco thanked him too.

  “I am honored. Flan, pastelitos?” he asked referring to common Cuban desserts.

  “Oh my, no. I couldn’t, gracias,” I replied.

  “No, no. Gracias, mi amigo,” Marco said but he did order us two coffees. Cuban coffee had no chocolate normally but it was strong espresso sweetened with sugar. Cuban’s drank it like water. Manuel bowed and left us, the ever dutiful waiter and chef. Marco pulled a cigar from his jacket. Cut the end and lit it sending a swirling column of thick, blue smoke into the air. I had to admit, there was something attractive about a man, especially a Cuban man, smoking a cigar. I enjoyed watching Marco savor his cigar. I could tell he appreciated it as only a Cuban could.

  “Marco, do you mind if we go walking instead of dancing,” I asked. I just didn’t feel like it. Honestly, I wanted to get away from that world after the previous night.

  “Of course. I could not dance after that meal in any case. I hope I do not appear presumptuous but I would be honored if you would come to my home instead,” Marco told me. I was flattered by the offer and wondered if Marco had other motives but unlike the night we met, I hoped he did.

  “I’d like that. Thank you, Marco,” I replied. Marco grinned behind his cigar. Manuel brought our coffees and Marco and I sat in silence as we digested our meals and sipped the strong but tasty coffee. Even though it was warm, the hot coffee was satisfying. For a few moments, I could forget about Tony, my lot in life and the revolution. This was the chocolate the Cuban proverb referred too, I was sure. Marco finished his coffee and took one last puff on his cigar.

  “Shall we go?” he asked as he stood. He donned his fedora and offered me his arm after tossing a hand full of bills on the table, enough to pay for the meal plus a generous tip. Manuel came to see us off, thanking us and bidding us to come again soon. Arm in arm we left, saying goodbye to the people sitting outside as we went. Once in Marco’s Cadillac, he placed his hat on the seat and we drove away towards his home.

  Again, we toured the neighborhoods of Havana on our way back towards the heart of Havana but we didn’t end up near the tourist hub. Instead, Marco took me towards the harbor and to the edge of an industrial area. There, we parked on the street in front of modest row houses.

  “You live here?” I asked.

  “Yes, does that surprise you?” Marco asked.

  “I expected a villa overlooking the Caribbean or a mansion in the hills,” I told him.

  “My family’s factory is just over there,” Marco explained pointing down the boulevard. “Many of my workers live nearby too. I will not lie. My family is wealthy but I see no reason to live in a mansion. I spend much of my time at the factory and it would be a waste.”

  “That makes sense. I don’t mind. Anything is nicer than my cabana,” I said hoping I hadn’t offended Marco.

  “It is yours and keeps the rain off your head? Anything more is just for show, is it not?” Marco said and winked.

  “Yes, I suppose,” I said as he climbed from the Cadillac and then came to help me out. Marco led me to a wrought iron gate set in the front of the building that revealed a stairwell beyond. He led me up to the second floor and then unlocked the single door at the top. Marco showed me into his home and the interior matched the exterior in form. It was humble yet elegant, a workingman’s home, somewhat cluttered but not dirty by any means. Stucco walls, wooden floors and painted shutters over the windows gave the apartment a cozy feeling.

  “It’s very nice,” I said.

  “You flatter me. It is home, comfortable, safe and quiet but no more. Come, sit. Would you like a drink?” Marco asked, after removing his hat and jacket and hanging them near the door. I nodded as I sat on his sofa. His home wasn’t fancy but it was filled with quality furnishings. The sofa was soft yet supportive, the chair covered in rich leather and fine wood. Books sat on shelves and an old radio sat in the corner, the kind I’d listened to serials and news reports on back in Iowa. Next to the radio was a table with a bottle, full of rum I assumed, and glasses on a silver tray and a wooden humidor next to those. Ceiling fans stirred the air and fine rugs covered the wooden floor.

  “I hope rum is acceptable,” Marco said returning with two glasses full of the golden liquor poured over ice Marco had retrieved from the kitchen beyond.

  “Fine, thank you,” I replied. Marco sat in the chair and I could tell it was his favorite. He sipped his rum and then pulled another cigar from his shirt pocket that he had retrieved from the humidor as he returned with the drinks. He cut the end and lit it, luxuriating in the taste.

  “Nancy, I...thank you for coming. Your presence illuminates my home,” he said. I smiled and my cheeks turned red. Marco’s words were pleasant but that accent lent a bit of romance to them.

  “Well, thank you,” was all I said and took a sip of rum finding it hard to meet his gaze.

  “I must confess, Nancy, that I have ulterior motives. I hoped we might be alone, you and I,” he told me.

  “For what?” I asked but I suspected I already knew. Marco stood and joined me on the sofa, setting his glass on the table and his cigar in the ashtray behind it. He placed his hand on my thigh and brushed my blond hair from my face.

  “You are beautiful, Nancy. I find myself wanting you desperately,” he said. His words were sincere but I had my doubts.

  “Marco, I appreciate that but why?” I asked. He frowned, almost sadly.

  “It pains me that you ask. If I may say so, you are too hard on yourself. Not all men desire the same type of woman. I prefer women who possess a full figure, curves if you will. I prefer you, Nancy. Let me show you. I desire to explore your n
aked body, feel your soft warmth against me and pleasure you beyond your wildest dreams. Permit me the honor of making love to you,” Marco said. It was a request but one any woman would find difficult to resist. I took a swig of rum as his hand slipped under my dress and the other moved to my breast. I felt my heart pounding as Marco kissed me.

  His tongue slipped between my lips, my resistance already melted. I’d not have thought I would give in so easily but I found I had no desire to resist. I took his face in my hands as his words and actions conspired to remove any trace of apprehension. I let Marco kiss me, let his hands find their way under my dress, let him take me. Then suddenly, he broke the kiss and pulled his hands from me, leaving me flushed and breathing heavy.

  “Show me, Nancy. Show me that you want me as I want you,” he told me. At first, I wasn’t sure what he wanted but then I wondered if he wanted me to take the lead for a moment. I bit my lip and stood. I took Marco’s hand and coaxed him to his feet, pushing him back towards his chair and then down into it. Then I handed him his glass and cigar. I took another sip of mine, for courage, and then slipped from my dress, exposing my body. Modesty had no place here. Marco’s eyes flared as I tossed my dress aside and then reached behind my back and unhooked the brassiere I wore.

  “Nancy, you are truly a goddess,” he whispered as he took another puff on his cigar. My breasts spilled forth as I removed the impediment and then turned to slip from my panties. I took my time, slipping them down my legs slowly. I knew the game and how it was played. I wouldn’t play for money but for Marco I would play the game the way it was meant to be played. I stepped from my panties, fighting the pang of self-conscience embarrassment, and then turned. Only my garter and stockings adorned my full figure. The look in Marco’s eyes banished any remaining doubts about his desire as I straddled him and kissed him softly.

  “I want you, Marco. The way you make me feel...just take me,” I said as I loosened his silk tie and unbuttoned his crisp white shirt. I found myself without fear or embarrassment, longing for Marco to make love to me like I’d never wanted before. He inhaled deeply as my hands untucked his undershirt and pushed underneath. His stomach and chest were covered in soft hair but beneath he was like stone, hard and angular. I felt myself warm and swell as I kissed him. Marco grew in turn within his trousers between my creamy thighs.