Curve Effect (A BBW Box Set of Contemporary, Science Fiction and Paranormal Romances) (39 page)

“I think you pegged it,” she said, trying to joke. “Brycie, ‘baby’.”

“No.” He held her chin between his thumb and index finger and lightly forced her to look at him. He kissed the edges of her mouth, whisper soft at first and then more insistent. “I only meant my baby, Bryce. Mine.”

A hard kiss emphasized his claim and then he nervously pulled back. He ran a hand over his chest and offered a playful grimace at the feel of the tacky fruit juices. He looked in the direction of the bathroom and the grimace turned to a sheepish grin. “We’re messy,” he said.

“Just like you said we’d be.” She smiled back, ready if he was to pretend for the rest of the weekend that this was more than a charade.

Diaz took her hand and led her into the bathroom where he filled the oversized tub with hot water and garnet-red bath salts scented with pomegranate. When it was a little over a third full, he tested to make sure it wasn’t too hot. He took her left hand, holding her steady while he coaxed her into the bath. She sat down, relaxing her hold on him but he didn’t let go.

“I’m in,” she said and tried to pull her hand away.

Head tilted, he studied the charm bracelet. He ran it round until the clasp faced him, his grip on her hand tightening when she tugged sharply. “The heat might damage it,” he said and unhooked the clasp. “And you seem so fond of it—I wouldn’t want to see it broken.”

A dark blue enamel box sat in the middle of the double sinks and he placed the bracelet inside it before climbing into the tub behind Bryce. When she wouldn’t relax into him, he leaned against her back, his arms holding her just below the bottom swell of her breasts. He pulled her hair to the side, so that it hung over one shoulder and allowed his lips access to the opposite curve of her throat.

He grabbed a bath sponge, soaked it and squirted body wash onto it. With a thick lather worked up, he opened a small gap between their bodies and massaged the suds onto Bryce’s back. The hot water and relaxing touch of his strong hands guiding the sponge made her sleepy. She sighed, the sound one of pure bliss.

“I thought we’d go by my studio this afternoon,” he suggested. “It’s off Alameda.”

His words pulled Bryce from her reverie and she wasn’t sure what bothered her more—the idea of going out in public with him or the fact that he was successful enough to have a separate studio. She glanced at Diaz over her shoulder. He was staring at her back, his gaze following his hands as the sponge stroked down her side, along her tailbone and up her other side. Finished with her back, he brought the sponge up to her breasts, moving it in slow circles first around the perimeter of one breast and then the other. He moved in a horizontal eight, the figure drawn tighter and tighter until he was just moving from nipple to nipple.

“A separate studio, a two bedroom apartment without a roommate and Courvoisier,” she said, trying to concentrate on something other than the hypnotic dance of the sponge over her rigid nipples. “You’re not a really famous painter, are you?”

“Not yet,” he answered and let the sponge fall between her relaxed legs.

“Then how do you pay for all this?”

He kept one hand on her chest, teasing a nipple until her entire breast swelled from the delightful torment of his strong and nimble fingertips. Leaning forward, he pressed against her back, forcing her breast into his palm. His other hand reached between her legs where the sponged had disappeared beneath the soapy water.

“If you really want to know,” he told her, his fingertips finding the hard line of her clit and beginning to rub, “I’ll tell you…” Keeping his thumb moving in maddeningly tight circles, he slid his index and middle finger lower, finding her hot core.

Bryce lifted her bottom from the tub, one hip higher than the other to ease the entry of his fingers. “You’ll tell me?” She wanted to know, but right now she really wanted him to fuck her, his fingers a preliminary tease to the thick cock that shifted against her lower back.

She lifted higher and felt the tip of his erection graze the cleavage of her ass. His hand slid beneath her, found the entrance to her cunt and held his cock steady as she slowly settled onto his lap.

When she was halfway down, he gripped both of her hips and controlled her descent. “Yes, I’ll tell you…” he said, leaving her body and mind waiting as his swollen head stretched her wide.

Bryce waited for him—to ram into her, to tell her, to do both hard and fast. She bit down, sensing the sharp thrust before he delivered it.

“I’ll tell you Monday.”

*****

Bryce gave a little whimper of protest but didn’t stop moving against Walt. Her pussy was hot and tighter-than-tight despite the heat and soap. He ground his hips and then pressed his palm between her shoulder blades, forcing her to lean forward and expose more of her body to him. She couldn’t hide within the tub’s confines, though he knew she wanted to. Wrapping the length of her hair around his hand, he forced her further forward until she was on her knees in the tub. Her breasts pressed flat against the white enamel and she gripped the sides for support.

His cock twitched inside her and he withdrew until half his length remained concealed. He unknotted his fist from her hair but kept light pressure against the small of her back with his open palm. With his other hand, he spread her butt cheeks further apart. He had to control her pleasure this time instead of falling mindlessly in after her, lost in her soft moans and yielding flesh.

“Ah, Brycie, you’re so hot.”

And she was hot, the air around them steaming with her lush, sultry perfection. He watched her pussy hug his uncut cock, his shaft pushing deep and slow into her while the sheath of skin moved only a little. Her ass winked at him and he fished around in the soapy water to find the sponge. He squeezed the water from the sponge over her tail bone, watched it run across the tight pink star and down until it cascaded around his cock. He did it again, and Bryce gripped the sides of the tub harder, flinging her head back and grinding against him.

Walt dropped the sponge into the water and ran the pad of his index finger over the sensitive skin of her nether hole. It contracted beneath his touch, quivering with a nervous anticipation that made the skin covering his balls pull tight with his own excitement. He kept his voice soft and caressing as he increased the pressure he was applying.

“Brycie, you said just your mouth was virgin?”

When she only moaned in response, he slowly wiggled the very tip of his finger into the ring of muscles that guarded her ass. She was so incredibly tight there. He couldn’t believe she had dared to fuck herself in the ass. But then he’d never met a girl who had taken her own virginity before. The thought of taking her there with his finger, stroking the warm, soft muscles of her ass while he pounded her pussy, made his balls ache harder.

“Bryce,” he asked again, his voice not so soft or caressing. “Only your mouth, right?”

“Mmm…yes,” she moaned, pussy and ass pulling at him, questing for more. “Take what you want, Walt.”

Bryce ended her sentence with a small cry of need and he felt a sense of victory wash over him. Whatever negative ideas she held about her body, she wasn’t thinking them now. She was down to how good it felt, how good he was making her feel. And he would bring her back to this point again and again this weekend, taking her sweet mouth and ass and pussy until she would finally let him take
and keep
what he really wanted—her heart.

“Slow down, Brycie,” he cautioned, emotion thick in his throat. Cock still, he worked his finger into her ass, watching the tip disappear. Her cunt fluttered around him and she hyperventilated with need. He kept her perched there, tightening his perineum so that his cock moved inside her without him thrusting.

He slid his finger in to the middle joint, gently moving it in a small, dipping circle. She turned her head to the side, her cheek against the cool enamel coating of the tub. Her lips were parted and colored a dark, blood infused cherry. A matching spot of color flushed the apple of her cheek. She was close to coming now, her hips moving to match his pace. He started to stroke both holes, his finger sliding all the way in.

She had every muscle locked around him. Her grinds had turned desperate and short, her body almost in seizure as her second climax overtook her first. His finger worked her ass and she straightened at the waist. She let her weight pull her down so that he pushed deeper into her, great contractions rolling through her as she came again and collapsed forward.

Walt eased from Bryce, settled back in the big tub and pulled her to him. She twisted until she was three-quarters on her stomach, her lower body nestled between his spread legs. She rested against him, their bodies chest-to-chest. He stilled his thoughts, focusing only on the feeling of her lips as they brushed against his collar bone.

He knew she was tired and sated, too content to worry about her body. He also knew it would take a lot more to move her beyond this being a merely transitory state in which she was Bryce the Beautiful—the lush creature that fueled his every fantasy.

But, for the moment, his satisfaction was complete.

Chapter Twelve

Dressed once again in the black georgette, the charm bracelet securely around her wrist, Bryce waited while Diaz came around to her side of his parked Suburban and opened the door for her. She stood next to him while he made sure the vehicle’s doors were locked, and then they started across the lot to the building that housed his studio.

They were just off E. Alameda Avenue and the sound of passing railcars drowned out any chance of conversation as they walked. The area was at the top end of being low-rent for Glendale, but she still couldn’t imagine paying for both an apartment and space in one of the buildings. As she’d learned on the drive over, he was paying for an entire floor.

“I’ve got some paperwork to take care of while I’m here,” Diaz said, inserting his elevator key. “It should only take me about half an hour, so have a look around and I’ll give you the grand tour when I’m finished.”

The elevator stopped at the top floor and he slid the gate back, letting Bryce enter first. She didn’t need to wait until Monday for Diaz to admit to being a trust fund baby or someone who’d managed to get out of the market before the dot.com craze went dot.bust—his studio said it all. The space was huge, the area directly in front of the elevator furnished with a midnight blue sofa and pearl gray love seat in a short napped velvet. The seating surrounded a large square coffee table made of a light colored wood that looked something like a pickled oak. She wasn’t exactly sure what type of wood it was, but knew the table wasn’t a garage sale find. The desk he sat down at to take care of his paperwork matched the coffee table and had a cushioned low back chair. Until she reached the actual work area of the studio, she felt like she had walked into a Casa Armani showroom.

The rest of the loft area was all business. There were canvases in groupings, not as if they were on display, but warehoused as if to suit the building’s original purpose before it had been converted. Some paintings were waiting to be framed and packaged. Others were wrapped in plain brown paper for pickup. These sat next to shipping boxes and crates, as well as the more practical canvas tubes. Bryce discreetly looked at the shipping labels. Most were merely tagged for a courier service without a buyer’s name, but she knew all the trendy and star-filled neighborhoods as well as any other Angelino.

Maybe he isn’t a trust baby after all,
she thought as she bent down to examine the first unwrapped painting. It was a nude of a middle-aged black woman. She was smaller than Bryce, but her body was a sensuous example of her heritage. She was propped against white fur, her dark gleaming skin stretched over full hips and heavy breasts. Her hand rested between plump thighs as if she’d been caught mid-caress.

Forcing her thoughts away from what Diaz must have felt painting women who looked caught in a moment of passion, Bryce bent lower to see if the portrait was dated. She smiled; the mahogany goddess was over a year old and Bryce would have remembered the woman if she’d ever shown up at the apartment building while Bryce was going in or out.

Above the date was his artist mark. She couldn’t read it at first, would have sworn it was written in a blocked
kanji,
but then, tilting her head, she saw it was pure tagger techno. Would a trust fund baby sign his name like a graffiti artist, she wondered?

The initials were reversed, the “D” before the “G”, with something like a Gemini symbol or a Roman II forming the bridge between the letters. Bryce straightened, wondering whether she should interpret it as “Galtero Diaz the Gemini”, or “Galtero Diaz the Second”? And if it was the latter, was Papa Diaz the Napa Valley vintner?

And, oh, dear God, no—that would make Artemesia Diaz his mother.

While it was only through her perverse fetish for the local gossip columns that Bryce had ever heard of the woman, Bryce felt she had every reason to believe Artemesia Diaz was pure bitch. The idea of having to meet her was terrifying—overriding the reality that everything would be over with Diaz come Monday anyway. Artemesia subscribed to the existence of two types of women—those who were served and those who serve. Absent the right pedigree from birth, you could never be more than a servant. And it was a well-known fact that every up-and-comer in Hollywood had better be prepared to kiss her well-toned ass if they wanted to join any foundation or club she held a board directorship on.