Authors: Whiskey Starr
Tags: #new age, #bbw romance, #bbw menage, #erotic bbw, #jk publishing, #bbw multiple partners, #new adult bbw romance
Cajun Protection by Whiskey Starr
by Whiskey Starr
© Copyright March 2015 JK Publishing,
All cover art and logo © Copyright March 2015
by JK Publishing, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Cover by Jess Buffett
Published by JK Publishing, Inc.
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This is dedicated to two amazing editors who
helped me when I needed it the most! Thank you so much Caroline and
To my mom, who is always willing to listen
when I just need someone talk to. I always know she is there for
me. Love you, Momma!
To my husband, without you my life would be
like a black and white movie, sweet, but always needing something
more. Thank you for bringing color and fun into my life and helping
me with various research projects. You’re the reason I am the crazy
kinky person I am today.
And last, but never least, to my readers, and
friends. You are the reason I write every day. And yes, Jen, I am
adding you to this dedication because I told you I would one day.
So smile chicky and eat another fry for me.
Hope you all enjoy this book,
“I hate him, I hate you, and I hate
everyone.” I hate crying, but in the shower no one can see me. As I
sit on the small tile floor of the shower, the
hot water meshes with the scolding tears running down
my face. It is my comfort zone, my safe haven. I can cry, scream,
shout all I want, and it will always just be me. My own personal
space to let my emotions run free. The stupid fucked up ass is
going to pay this time. It is all his fault I feel like this. No
matter how hard I wash, or how many times I go to therapy, I can
never get clean. He didn’t do as much as what he wanted to, but the
fact is, he still said it. Now I have the stupid cops asking about
his whereabouts at least once a week. His stalking took a whole new
turn when he killed my poor cat, Penny, claiming I would be next
and he would enjoy fucking my dead corpse.
Deciding my skin, no matter what I do, will
not get clean enough. No amount of scrubbing will help. My skin is
pink from the hot water and my vigorous cleaning. Stepping out, I
grab a purple towel hanging on the rack and wipe myself down. I try
to wrap it around my body, but the damn manufacturer never makes
them big enough, at least my boobs are covered, but half my side
isn’t. Fuck it. Dropping the towel, I walk into my room and
determine today is the day I get a gun. Well maybe.
But right now, I need to head to work.
Currently my job is a teller at the local county bank. It doesn’t
even have a proper name, just County Bank. It pays the bills for my
crummy apartment. Looking into my closet it’s gonna be another
black base day with flares of color. Being a woman with more curves
than not, I find if I have a black base of clothes, I can add
necklaces, scarves, or anything bright and fun to my outfit to make
it work. Plus, they always say black makes people look slimmer.
Personally, I think skinny bitches say to make real women feel
better. Am I bitter about my size? No, not at all! I mean I am a
healthy size sixteen, with bountiful breasts and a bubble butt, but
at least I can say my tits are mine and not man-made. I never
really have any issues with what I eat. I like food,
food. Nothing is better than cheesy lasagna or a big juicy steak
with potatoes. Sure, I can eat a salad and normally do for lunch
when I know I am having a larger dinner. Through all my curvy
thoughts, I think back to those who made fun of me, or used it as
an excuse to not date me. It’s their loss.
I pull on my stretchy black dress, high
boots, and bright blue necklace with matching belt, I fix my hair
and what little make-up I wear. Breakfast today is a simple
Pop-Tart and half a cup of juice. I hate the mornings when I let
Andrew get to me. But he skipped bail and now they were on the
hunt, at least that’s what they said. Looking at the clock, I
realize I don’t have much time. Grabbing my coat and purse, I run
down the stairs of my apartment before jumping into my small Toyota
Echo, my little bubble on wheels. It’s small and roomy, just like
me. I giggle at the small thought and head to work.
Spotting an empty spot near the back, I pull
in then grab my bag after I find the key to let myself in the back.
Misty, our manager, is already here and the all-clear signal is
set. Putting my key into the door, I quickly enter and lock it
behind me as I hear her playing with papers.
“Hey, Zoey. Give me a minute to finish in
here and I will help you open everything up.” I nod and sit my
purse under my workstation before turning on the computer. Knowing
she will be a little longer than five minutes, I go ahead and make
the coffee for us, and for the older customers who come in. Setting
out a few cookies, I make sure everything is presentable and all
the papers and flyers are in place. As I head back to my station,
Misty is walking toward me.
“Ready?” I nod and soon the two of us are
entering in the two-person combination to the main safe, and the
night drop safe. Pulling out all the bags, we lock it up before
writing the bag numbers down that we collected. Both of us sign off
and she walks them back to my station where I put them into my
small safe to count as I grab my drawer from the back. Doing a
quick count and entering in the numbers on my computer, I start
counting the bags and printing receipts for each business. Today we
only had eight, so it is fairly quick. And just like that, we are
ready to start the day. I have the morning shift, while Debbie and
April close up at night. We all rotate weekends so at some point we
have to work a weekend, it’s not a bad job, just a very quiet and
sometimes slow one.
Then again not much happens in Bostwick,
Louisiana. Next to the bayou, we have all walks of life that come
to visit the bank and town. But I wasn’t born here. Nope, I was
brought to the great state by my dad who took a job out here after
my momma left us for a rodeo rider. It still ate at me that I
didn’t have a momma growing up, but I try not to dwell on it too
much, I at least had my gran, and that was more than most.
Living with Gran had its fun moments, but
afternoon naps sucked, and eventually she relented me having to
take them as long as I stayed inside and read, or watched a movie.
Plus Gran had some neighbors close by who would watch me when my
dad had to work. They were nice to me, but I can still remember
them talking about me and my mother, and hoping I didn’t turn out
like her. Other comments came in hushed whispers in church, but
Gran would try to get me to focus and ignore them all. It wasn’t
until after high school that Gran suffered from a stroke and didn’t
wake. I used what little money I had, and some of the money she
left me to get a car and an apartment. That’s how I got the job at
the bank, the owner knew Gran and offered me one as long as I was
willing to work in the morning.
As for Gran’s house, dad and I never had the
heart to sell it, so it still sits in the big field on the west
side of town. Since dad no longer lives in Bostwick, he asked if I
wanted to move into it, but the place was just too big, and it
wouldn’t feel right without Gran. Her sweet smelled of fresh baked
bread still lingers every time I go to dust and need a break from
everything, it’s like coming home. My own secret haven. I would
love to one day move in with my own family, well, at least that’s
what I tell myself. Lost in my little world, I look at the clock
and realize I have been daydreaming for far too long and it is time
to start the day.