Craving For Curves #1 (BBW Erotic Romance)

BOOK: Craving For Curves #1 (BBW Erotic Romance)
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Craving
For Curves

By

Evelyn Rosado

 

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Macaroni
and cheese and juicy lips - two things that always are a recipe for me being naughty. And tonight was no different. That's how it began; first with a bowl of mac & cheese from Nipsey's, then with Braxton's lips. So goes the story of my life. I can’t control putting something hot and tasty in my mouth.

I walked into
Nipsey’s Keyboard Lounge on Friday night for a bite of their world famous macaroni and cheese. Okay, it's not exactly world famous - just in my mind. To me, it's that damn good. So good that I come here at least three times a week for a sizzling plate of cheesy goodness. Hey, I'm a glutton for good mac and cheese – sue me. It's had to have added a few waist sizes to my jeans over the last few months, but it's worth the sacrifice.

I come here
around a quarter to twelve; right after the band finishes their last set of the night. There aren’t many people in here around that time. I’m not much into jazz music, just food. Nipsey's is a place where dreams come to die and wedding bands are left behind on the rusty bathroom sink. No one I know comes here. Good. I can drown in a pool of velvety yellowness in peace and quiet.

P
atty, the best cook they have here, brings out my plate - cheese strings and breadcrumbs almost dripping off of it. She always says, it's
piping hot, honey, be careful
. Every time. She has never failed to say it.

"We're doing a raffle at the end
of next week. Be sure to put your name and phone number in the fishbowl to win okay?" she said. "Enjoy honey. It’s piping hot, honey, be careful."

"Sure will. Thanks Patty." I grabbed
a pen and wrote my name and phone number on a red wine stained napkin and tossed it in the bowl.

The aroma of my dish swirled up to my nostrils and my mouth began to water from the anticipation. I unwrap my utensils and dig my fork in to pull out a hearty bite.
Right before I place the cheesy delight on my tongue, out of the corner of my eye, I see the most attractive man I've ever seen sit down two stools to my right and order a German beer.  I lost all my train of thought at that moment and slid the bite into my mouth - forgetting how hot it was. I scorched every inch of skin on my tongue.

"Oh shit," I
loudly mumbled. I was bouncing the morsel on each side of my jaws trying not to scold my mouth even further. I should’ve listened to Patty. That was embarrassing.  What was worse was this handsome stranger to my right witnessed the entire thing.  So much for an introduction.

"Are you okay?"
the man said. Oh my god. He’s speaking to me? Fix your boobs! Swallow your food! Don’t worry about chewing! Swallow now!

"Yes, I'm okay," I said trying to pretend my throat
wasn’t seared after swallowing that bite. I burst of smoke ejected from my mouth like I had smoked a Cuban cigar. I was on the verge of a coughing fit, but I fought it off.

"Are you sure? I can make a call to the fire
department if you need it." His huge smile showed that he was really getting a kick out of my mishap. I could take the heat in my mouth, but with those big brown eyes of his gazing back at me, I don’t know if I could withstand the fire which was brewing between my legs.

"Hardy
har har. I'm a big girl, I'll be okay." Where did this confidence come from all of a sudden? Normally, a guy this hot sitting next to me would make me melt like the cheese all over my macaroni. His skin tone reminded me of caramel. Hmmm, Mr. Caramel. I like the sound of that.

"I told you to be careful, honeypie," Patty yelped from the kitchen. I rolled my eyes in shame.

"Hey, it's okay. You put a plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front of me and I'll make a mess like a two year old." I imagined him slowly slurping up a long noodle into his mouth and licking the sauce off his luscious lips.

"What's your name, Miss Macaroni?" I
couldn’t take my eyes off his lips. I would love to slurp his spaghetti and meatballs.

"Helloooo?" he asked.
Waiving his hand in front of my face to snap me back into reality.

"I-I'm Cassie, Mr. Caramel...I mean, I'm Cassie." Jesus, lord. I wish the earth would open
up and swallow me whole right about now. There goes that smile of his again. Wow, he was really enjoying me making a fool out of myself.

"The name is Braxton." We shook hands. I felt a jolt of
electricity surge through my veins. His touch was magnetizing. I didn’t want to let go. I held on a second too long - I hope he didn’t notice. From that point, he had me. His hand was a perfect fit in mine. It felt right - too right. It felt ethereal, like past spirits meeting again. "But Mr. Caramel does sound kind of nice."

I nodded in agreement. It was all I could do from the embarrassment.

"Hey man, that was a fantastic set. Helluva set. Amazing!" a gentleman said, patting Mr. Caramel on the back.

"So y
ou're a musician?" I said, quickly diverting the spotlight away from me and my shame.

"Yes, we just finished our set."

Ugh - a musician. My grandmother always warned me about musicians. She said they're one women men - and that
one
ain't you - their first love is music. I never followed much of my grams advice - she was big on the bourbon. That quip stuck with me though. But he didn't look like the typical musician that came through this lounge. They were usually balding and boozing. Mr. Caramel was none of the above. He had the demeanor of a rock star. His figure resembled a boxer's or a mix martial artist's; chiseled to perfection. Threatening enough to make men respect him and make a woman safe in his arms. It looked like he spent just as much time on his body as he did perfecting notes on his instrument. I would love to blow a note or two on his trombone.

"My band is called Conjure
. I play the trumpet," he said. His eyes began lingering on my thighs more than my eyes.  “We're a quartet."

I imagined him placing the brass mouthpiece on his soft lips and injecting moist breath from his lungs into the trumpet pi
pes and creating melodic tales that could seduce even the most apathetic and callous woman.

"Do you like jazz?" he asked, taking a small sip of beer.

"Not really, I'm more of a pop fan," I said. My tongue felt like it had third degree burns. Maybe he should have called the fire department. But the thought of Mr. Caramel drizzling his fingertips on my body, made my tongue's singing an afterthought.

"So why are you here at a jazz lounge? You seem like a regular here."

"The mac & cheese is amazing. I come here all the time for it. Maybe a bit too much," I said tapping my voluptuous thighs. He smiled, moving a seat closer to me. Uh-oh. Here comes trouble. “You sure don’t look like the typical jazz musician?” I asked, putting the spotlight back on him.

“Humor me, what does they typical jazz musician look like?”

“Well, from what I’ve seen a lot of them are out of shape, have severe alcohol problems with and beat their women.”

He held his head down in laughter and shame. “Wow, that’s the typical jazz artist? Cassie, you need to stop watching those old black and white movies that come
on late at night.”

“You’re still not making me believer though. You look like you should be trying out for a football team rather than blowing a trumpet.”

“I love lifting weights and staying in shape. My body is my temple. And I treat it as such. That is, except for tonight. I’m going to enjoy this beer.” I’d worship his temple anytime.

“I keep telling myself I need to lose weight, but
this
gets in the way.” I pointed down at the gigantic bowl of mac and cheese.

“Well, y
ou get regular checkups right?”

“Of course, all my blood work comes back great. No health issues.”

“Then whatever you do, don’t lose those curves. I bet your boyfriend wants you to lose weight.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” I couldn’t hide my blushing. My face was turning fire engine red.

“Mmmm. Is that right?” He smirked and took a long sip of his whiskey.

"
But, I would like to lose the weight. A lingerie cover model I am not." I took another bite of my food. It was still warm. Like the back of my neck. It always sweated when I got nervous. I hated talking about my weight. It was a subject that I boxed up and put in a deep dark corner of my insecure subconscious.

"What? Please. Those models
don’t look sexy. They're borderline anorexic. I've met a lot of them. Their diet consists of water with a slice of lemon and cocaine on the side."

"Oh dear god," I chuckled. He’s
funny too, I thought. Wow, he was really dispelling the myths and stereotypes I had about artists. That damn grandma!

"I like a woman to be a woman. Curvaceous, full figured, you know, meat on their bones.
I'm not into the angst ridden thirteen year old pre-pubescent boy look that’s all the rage these days." He slowly scanned me from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. "I want something to hold onto. So tell me, why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

Okay, time to exit stage left. The way he was looking at me made my
pussy hotter than a California brush fire in July.

I placed a ten and a five under my untouched glass of water. All the cubes had melted
in the glass and there was a small puddle saturating the napkin it was resting under. Damn, even the ice cubes noticed how handsome he was.

"Sheesh, look at the time,
” I said rustling my purse and what looked like me attempting to put my trench coat on. Knowing me, I probably put it on inside out.

“You have to leave?”

“Uh, yea. You see I have this
thing
I have to go to that I forgot about.”

In
a frenzy I attempted to button up my coat, but I failed to fasten them because of my nervousness.

“It was nice meeting you, Cassie.” He had a look of reluctance on his face.

“Nice meeting you too.” I jetted past him in reckless abandon. I’m sure he wondered why I was leaving hastily, but I had to get out of there.

***

I turned the key to my apartment door. Home. Away from the world. Why do I always run from what I want? It was a question I was always afraid of answering. No matter who asked it – even me. It was a long night and the only thing on my mind was my bed. For twenty minutes, I lie there agitated. Replaying the earlier encounter from Nipsey's, I imagined Braxton’s body lying next to mine and using my body like every instrument in his band. Tickling my juicy clitoris like it were ivory keys on a grand piano. Strumming my mountainous breasts as if they were strings on an upright bass. Crashing into my thighs like cymbals with his wooden drumstick. I urgently grabbed my dildo out of the 'goodie bag' in my nightstand and slid it into my sticky walls. I was wetter than the Everglades.

I closed my eyes tighter and imaged his hulking body next to mine. He was totally naked and fully erect. He was gliding his tongue over every soft fragment of my body. His teeth were nibbling on me like I were morsel of candy. Wetness was gushing from out of my pussy and his hand was massaging my drenched clitoris. The sensation I imagined him giving me by sucking my nipples was overwhelming. Was this reality or was I dreaming
? I slid the rubbery cock deeper inside me. The ridges on the dildo were riding against my walls making the pleasure more powerful.

I faded deeper into my naughty vision where Braxton’s tongue traveled from my massive breasts down in between my moist thighs. My pussy was an ocean and he was lapping up every succulent
wave. His warm lips pursed on my swollen clitoris, making my ass tense up from the pleasure-filled shockwaves. Reeling from the gratification, he slid two soft fingers slowly into my hot, pink passage.


Mmmm. You like that, Cassie?”


Yeeeesssss, baby. It feels so good baby. I want three fingers inside of me.”

He was pumping two digits into me with a calculated
rhythm and managed a third one into me. My tight pussy stretched to welcome the third penetration. Braxton began tickling my g spot back and forth; forth and back, almost blinding me with pure sexual bliss. I was so wet, my hole was making a soppy, squishing sound, along with the noise he was making with flicking his tongue up and down. He was a master musician making sweet harmonies with my body.

I spread my legs eagle; my feet were hanging off the bed. He released his fingers from inside of me and replaced it with his tongue. His sweltering tongue burrowed deep into my hot cavern. Braxton’s tongue was jack-hammering into me at a pace that increased at every thrust.
Him rubbing my clit with the tip of his fingers was driving me closer and closer to the brink of a potent orgasm. He grabbed my colossal ass and buried his entire mouth over my kitty, consuming me. He began to furiously alternate between flicking my clit with his tongue and driving it into my humid hole. He gripped tighter on my ass and massaged it with his massive hands. My thighs launched into an uncontrollable tremor.

“I want you to come for me, Cassie. Will you
come
for me?”

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