Curves in the City, page 4
part #1 of Curves in the City Series
“Yeah,” I repeat myself. It’s only been a few weeks, and I know in my heart that he’s the one. That he’s the man I want to be with for the rest of my life. Call it a hunch, or intuition, but there’s no one for me other than Zaid Zarin, but that doesn’t mean he won’t have to work for it. “I think so.”
His lips crash down on mine. His smooth, warm tongue wiggles its way into my mouth and an explosion of wetness drips into my panties. The vibrations in my center increase as he slowly pulls the blanket away from my hips, leaving me standing there in my thin t-shirt and panties. His rock hard erection presses against the thin cotton of my underwear, rubbing against my swollen, aching nub.
“Are your roommates home,” he growls into my mouth. I bite my lower lip, pressing my forehead against his.
“Nope.” Another animalistic noise escapes his mouth. This time when he lifts me up, there’s not an ounce of worry in my body. Instead, I wrap my legs around his waist, grinding into him as he kisses me again. “It’s the second door down the hall,” I say.
Zaid wastes no time, carrying me into my room and setting me down on the bed. He closes my laptop and places it on the floor. “Friends, huh?”
“It’s like comfort food.”
He crawls on top of me, my shirt rising under the pressure of his body. “I like the sound of that.” His teeth nibble into my neck, and a little giggle escapes my mouth.
“Sorry,” I say, trying to suppress my laughter. “I’m ticklish.”
“I like it,” he says, making his way down my body. He pulls my t-shirt up over my stomach, planting gentle kisses near my belly button. For a moment, my body clenches. I have stretch marks and cellulite and other imperfections that he’s literally face to face with. His hands continue pulling up my t-shirt until he exposes my breasts. Zaid looks up at me with hooded eyes. “You have no idea how gorgeous your body is, do you? It’s perfect. Like a painting,” he says in between kisses. “A work of art.”
My nipples stiffen at his words. As soon as I wiggle out of my t-shirt, Zaid’s mouth heads further south, kissing my swollen, aching mound over my panties. He takes a long, firm inhale.
“You smell so good. Ripe and ready for me.” He grabs me between my legs and squeezes. “This is mine now, Tori. It belongs to me.” His thumb rubs circles against my clit, and my breathing increases. “Say it!”
“My cunt belongs to you,” I say, feeling power in the word.
“But don’t worry, my love. My only intention is to make you feel good, to make you come and come until your body runs dry.” His hot breath causes goosebumps to flare up and down my legs as he kisses me over the fabric.
I lift my hips for him as he pulls them off completely. His soft, supple lips press against the crease between my center and my inner thigh. My fingers find his hair. I want to pull him closer to me, shove his face deeper, but the anticipation is all part of the fun.
When he tastes me, my body bucks upward. My breasts fall into my armpits but I don’t care. The trained pleasure of Zaid’s tongue removes all of my worries, and I ride his face as he inserts his fingers, twists them up, higher than I thought possible, and taps my sweet spot.
Within seconds waves crash behind my eyes. The vibrations start soft, but crescendo in no time as I pulse and twitch against his thick tongue. With my arm draped over my eyes, my knees twitch on both sides of Zaid’s head. He kisses me gently, wiping my juices off on my inner thigh.
“You taste so good, Tori.” He moans and makes his way to standing. “I plan to feast on your body every single night.” He pulls his t-shirt over his head and unzips his jeans. His tip is once again bulging from the waistband of his boxers.
“I could get used to that.” I hoist myself up on my elbows, once again awestruck by the grooves and pockets of muscle lining Zaid’s perfect body. I point to my bedside drawer. Zaid takes the hint and grabs a condom from inside. He pulls his shorts off, puts on the condom, and climbs on top of me.
“I promise I’ll take my time with you,” he groans, nipping and sucking at my breasts. Down below, his thick pre-come sticks to my treasure trail. “But not tonight. I need to fuck you, Tori. Fast and hard.”
I grip him by the back of his hair and pull his head up so he can meet my gaze. “So what are you waiting for?” His nostrils flare, lips curling into a snarl. With his mouth on mine, he rubs himself up and down the length of my soaking wet slit. When he enters me, I cry out in pleasure. My hand slaps his back as he presses further into me, stretching my walls to make way for his massive girth.
It doesn’t take long for our hips to find their rhythm, dancing in tandem. Our chests make sucking noises as they slap together, the air conditioner doing little to cool off our body heat. “I fucking love you,” he says.
Our pace increases and again, he finds my sweet spot. It doesn’t take long before my fingernails drag down his back, a squeal squeaking from my lips. “I’m coming,” he whispers.
“Me too,” I say, barely any strength to mutter the words. My body releases pent up aggression, desire, and relief. When he’s done, he tries to roll off of me, but I pull him close and kiss his forehead.
“That was even better than I expected,” he says.
“I know.” My ragged breath blows strands of his hair.
“You’re an amazing woman, Tori Stephenson, and I’m honored to date you. But, I have some bad news.” I peer down at him, worried at what he might say. “My company has a strict no dating policy. So…”
“Don’t say it,” I say and gently kiss his lips. “Because I quit, anyway.”
“Well,” he says, smiling that crooked smile of his. “How about that?”
“Yeah, my new boyfriend has enough money to help me out until I find my dream job.” I reach down and give his cock a little squeeze. That’s all it takes for him to stiffen up again.
“Hell, you never have to work again.”
“Easy partner,” I say, lifting my hips to meet his, letting him know that I’m ready for round two. “I didn’t come to this city to be anyone’s housewife. You can get my back for now, because one day I’ll be the one bringing home the bacon.”
His lips find mine again, and for the first time since I’ve moved to the city, I know that everything will work out just fine.
Just fine, indeed.
Eight Years Later
Tori
“If you don’t slow down, you will get sick.” Viv’s voice echoes through my blue tooth headphones. I roll my eyes at my best friend. Little does she know that I’ve doubled up on Vitamins since the second The Zarin Group acquired seven new accounts earlier this month.
“I promise you, I’ll be fine.” The car pulls up in front of our West Village townhouse, and I make my way from the backseat. I could’ve walked, but lately I’ve been a bit too tired for that. “You’re still coming in to the city on Saturday?”
“I wouldn’t miss my nephew’s fifth birthday for the world,” she says.
“Good, because I’ve arranged for Zaid to take the kids out on Sunday and we’ll have the whole house to ourselves. Junk food, non-diet soda, and lots of pizzas.”
“Sounds amaze.” I smile, pressing the code into our keypad. My stomach jerks, and I gasp. My hand flies to it, waiting for another sign, but nothing comes. Damn!
“Viv, I’m home. I’ll buzz you tomorrow.”
“Sounds good,” she says, hollering at her own little one who must’ve done something they shouldn’t have—again. “And I mean it, babe. Take it easy.”
“I will,” I lie. There’s no way I could quit working now. No way that I’d want to pause all the excitement happening at our company, a baby on the way or not.
I walk into the smell of marinara. Zaid stands with his back to me, an apron on. The wooden spoon at his lips as he takes a taste.
“Mommy!” Jack screams and rushes from the table over to me. He nearly knocks me down.
“Easy, Jack. Remember what we said about being gentle with mommy.”
“Yeah,” he says, running his sticky finger against my dress. “She’s got a baby in there.”
“That’s right,” Zaid says, making his way over to me with the spoon. He holds it to my mouth, giving me a taste, then plants his lips on mine.
“Delicious, babe!”
“Anything for my hard-working woman.” He kisses me again and heads back over to the stove. Jack leads me to the table. He made a hand turkey in Kindergarten today. I’m relieved to see something so child-like. Last week, he sang an entire song to me in French. I’d heard NYC schools were advanced, but sometimes I think it’s downright ridiculous.
“How is mommy feeling?” Zaid asks.
“A little tired, but we nailed the pitch meeting with the Grow-a-Unicorn folks today.”
“Like I ever had a doubt.” Zaid heads over and slides a bowl of steaming pasta with homemade meatballs in front of me. My mouth waters at the garlicky aroma.
When I got pregnant again, I insisted on working as long as possible. Zaid decided to go at it part time on the days Jack has school. I had no idea he’d be such an amazing stay-at-home dad. The house is clean, dinner is ready, and Jack is (usually) in bed on time.
Zaid moves behind me, places his gigantic hands on my shoulders, and gives them a rub. I always pictured moving to New York and being like Carrie Bradshaw or Hannah Horvath, independent and loving it. How could I have expected that the love of my life was waiting here for me, along with my dream career and a family of my own?
I place my hand over Zaid’s and take a moment to breathe, grateful beyond words. “You okay?” Zaid asks, brushing my hair off of my neck and planting a warm kiss that sends chills down my spine.
I look up at my husband, his green eyes sparkling. A spot of marinara stained across the front of his apron. A smile beams across my face.
“Honey,” I say, fighting the urge to cry. “I’ve never been better.”
More Curves in the City
COMING SOON: the next book in the series featuring NYC OTT Alphas and the BBWs they can’t live without! #swoonyc
Curvy Librarian: Curves in the City Book 2
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