Cocktails and Curves: A BBW Billionaire Romance by Abbott Alexandrinha & Holiday Virginia

Author:Abbott, Alexandrinha & Holiday, Virginia [Abbott, Alexandrinha]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Reed, Street & Justice
Published: 2014-01-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 3

When I arrived home from John Goldman’s extraordinary mansion, complete with its basement dungeon and that satin-covered round bed, I was walking on air. We had made love for the second time, and the restraints and blindfolds had only made it more thrilling. My heart was still pounding with excitement, and I had my doubts whether my heart rate would ever return to normal again.

I unlocked my front door and floated into the house. The first thing I noticed was the flashing red light on my answering machine. I pushed the button, and my co-worker’s voice rang out of the machine like a bell. “Terry, it’s Sarah. Frank said you had to leave early for some kind of emergency. I hope that everything’s okay. Call me.” Sarah was a sweet girl. It was nice of her to check on me.

The machine beeped. Then Sarah’s voice started again. “Call me, Terry. I hope that everything’s okay, and you’re just being entertained by the handsome and mysterious billionaire with a fetish for women who look like his late wife, among other things. I’ll be waiting for details.”

There were several more missed calls, but Sarah had managed to keep her messages to just two. She was right to be worried. I was never late to work, and I never left early. Since meeting the fabulous billionaire John Goldman, I had done both in one day. At this moment, I had a feeling that her worry was tempered with pure, unadulterated curiosity. I had told Sarah all about my new billionaire acquaintance including all the kinky specifics. It was no wonder she wanted to know more. I couldn’t blame her.

The truth was that everything was fine. It was better than fine actually. How could I complain about a man who had made sweet love to me with and without hot melted candle wax, made me quit my job, demanded that I call him Master, insisted on calling me by his dead wife’s name and bought me an entire new wardrobe that filled a closet larger than my entire apartment? There was nothing to complain about. Maybe there was just one thing. Master was coming here to check out my apartment, and it looked like a cyclone had hit it. Housekeeping had never been my strong suit, and I didn’t know how I was going to start this late in the game.

I wasn’t a dirty girl by any stretch of the imagination, but I did consider myself particularly busy. Until recently, I worked as a cocktail waitress at a bar whose patrons appreciated my voluptuous curves and tipped generously as a result. My hectic schedule and upside down hours left me little time or energy to clean the apartment. Even now, empty pizza boxes, crushed diet soda cans, discarded napkins and rumpled clothing lay strewn accusingly on every surface from floors to countertops. Ordinarily, it didn’t bother me at all.

Had Master said when he would arrive? I didn’t think so. A good hot shower was definitely in order before I tackled the hot mess that was my humble abode.

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