The Curvy Sister (A BBW Erotic Romance) (12 page)

That is, until Jason’s fist
connected with Jonathan’s jaw. His head snapped back and he stumbled, but Jason
stood like a wall, breathing hard, fists balled into weapons. Jonathan
recovered with a roar and came at his brother shoulder first. They connected
and when staggering back. Fists connected, bodies fueled by alcohol and anger,
protectiveness and jealousy and everyone went a little mad. Bailey and I stared
at each other, appalled at what we’d done, and then we were on our men.

I wrapped my arms around
Jason’s shoulders from behind and pulled him into me. Bailey had an easier time
with Jonathan because he was already well intoxicated and the beer on the floor
made it hard for him to stand. I didn’t realize there were tears in my eyes and
that the pain in my chest was growing more out of control by the moment. The
voices, the screaming, the doubt and untamed rage let loose what had been
quieted for so many weeks. They blinded me, blocked out the words of the people
around us trying to help us up. Jason saw them, felt them touch his cheek and
his arms were around me before I could stand. He scooped me up like I weighed
nothing and put me on my feet. His hands wiped at my tears, at my shredded
attempt at make-up. He whispered to me things I couldn’t hear over the noises
in my head.

Jonathan’s friends helped him
into a chair and a cold unopened bottle of beer was pressed against his cheek.
Dan intervened with the bartenders and Jason and I made our way for the door.
His arm slung over my shoulder like he needed my help out, but I think it was
for my benefit, to give my mind something to concentrate on.

We made it down the steps to
the parking lot when the door burst open and Bailey came running out. “Cassidy!
Cass wait, please wait.”

We stopped and turned to
stare up at her. Her hair was messed up and I was surprised to see emotion in
her eyes that was not bitterness or bitchiness. I couldn’t read her, but I
think there was regret there.

“We’re done, Bailey. We’re
done.”

And I was. I really was.

12

____________

Jason and I went back to the
farmhouse and went straight to my bed. There was nothing soft in the way we
tore at each other, nothing soft in the way he took me, rough and possessive.
We fucked to get rid of what had just happened, to lay claim to each other, to
undo all the terrible things that were said. He mauled me, scraped my thighs
with his rough facial hair badly in need of a shave. He kissed me everywhere,
nipped me, sucked at me and I writhed for him. Nothing was off limits, nothing
he did was too hard or too fast. I came twice like a tempest, screaming and
scratching at the bedposts. He came on me for the first time, ripping the
condom off to ejaculate on my thighs, intimate and indecent at the same time.

Slick now, sticky, soaked by
his lust, we slowed down. Until dawn we kissed and stroked each other to almost
coming before slowing way down again. He slid inside of me where I was raw and
bruised from his earlier wild need, and I gasped and held onto him for dear
life. He told me I was beautiful. He told me I was the best decision he’d ever
made. He told me he didn’t want to go home.

And I believed him. For every
moment it stayed dark outside I believed that somehow this was going to last
longer than one night. That he wouldn’t leave after the week was out and my
sister was no longer Bailey Blue and the farmhouse was no longer mine, that
he’d take me away to his loud, crowded, gigantic city and I wouldn’t have to
see any of these people again. That night I didn’t replay Jonathan’s horrible
words in my head. I was no one’s fat nightmare. Jason wanted me. He said so,
whispered against my skin, against my mouth, when he kissed my belly button and
when buried his face in the crook of my neck. I believed everything was going
to be fine.

But only until morning.

###

When I woke up, Jason was
already out of bed putting his boxers and jeans on. I blinked sleepily and
rubbed the crusties from the corner of my eyes. He watched me, a strange little
smile on his face I couldn’t decipher.

“Morning,” I murmured.
“Heading home?”

“No, I’m going to make us
breakfast. We need it.”

I grinned like he was joking.
“We don’t do breakfast.”

“It’s foreplay. Let’s go.” He
tugged my blanket from where I was trying to pull it over my head and actually
picked me up out of bed. I kicked and squealed, but he set me down lightly on
my feet.

“Alright, alright. I get it.
We’re doing breakfast.” I grabbed my robe off the back of the bedroom door and
followed him into the hallway and down the stairs. “Besides, if we have any
more foreplay, I’m not going to walk for a week.”

“Sounds good to me. Mmm, a
week in bed? Fantastic.” He was very punchy this morning, and the happier he
seemed, the more anxious I felt. I followed him into the kitchen, but the knot
in my stomach held me back. It had Jonathan’s voice and whispered all these
terrible things in my head. Jason didn’t notice and kept talking animatedly
even when I wasn’t beside him. “There’s this Italian bakery on the street level
of my building. Thanks to Mario and Louisa, I haven’t made my own breakfast in
two years and I’ve had to start running every morning. What do you think?”

I kept the kitchen island
between us as he started opening and shutting cupboards. I watched him
uneasily. He looked good shirtless in my kitchen, barefoot and rumpled early in
the morning.

But it was a little too
comfortable. Temporary distractions did not eat eggs in his underwear at your
dining room table.

Less than a week. He was gone
in less than a week.

“I’m more of a granola bar
and apple slices sort of girl.” I tugged at the frayed strings of my robe and
watched him lean into my nearly empty fridge.

“Cassidy, there’s like, a
half a stick of butter, four eggs, and some hazelnut coffee creamer in here.
What do you eat?”

“Look, I’m like three cats
away from starring as the town spinster in ghost stories teenagers tell each
other over bonfires while trying to impress girls. Thanks to YouTube I know how
to make like, four things, all of which I make in large quantities and freeze
so I only have to cook once a week.” His eyebrow arched while I rambled
neurotically. I needed to get him out of my kitchen before I made a fool of
myself. “I live alone. I don’t need much.”

“You’re a terrible farm
girl.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

He grinned and scrubbed a
hand through his messy hair. “Ok. Well, we can do something with four eggs and
butter. Not a lot, but we won’t starve.” He placed the egg carton and butter on
the counter. He kept his back to me while he pulled down bowls he’d found in
his earlier hunt. “You’d love New York. Everything comes with a delivery boy
and a tip. You never have to leave your apartment if you don’t want to.
Sometimes I even have groceries delivered.”

The offhanded comment
startled me. He didn’t mean anything by it, but he said it like there was some
possibility I’d ever find out about delivery boys and tips. As he cracked eggs
against the edge of the counter, my anxiety grew like a tornado siren in my
head. He was supposed to quiet the world, not make it scarier.

I opened my mouth to tell him
to stop and go home when he turned, ready to set the mixing bowl on the island,
but froze, eyes falling on the mess between us.

“Why do you still have that,
Cass?”

Jason’s voice sounded
cautious and a little accusatory. I followed his stare to the blue cashmere box
and mess of packing peanuts. The wedding invitation looked a bit smudgy around
the edges where I’d handled it obsessively dozens, or possibly hundreds, of
times.

He eyed the invitation like
it was a dangerous weapon, a bomb, a grenade, the only other person in the
world who saw that little slick piece of pink and cream paper for what it
really was. He didn’t know that it had stopped being the manifestation of my
ruined engagement and had started being the countdown for his departure. He set
the mixing bowl down and scooped the invitation up in one hand. By the time I
realized his intentions, I was too late to stop him.

“That’s none of your
business!”

“You don’t need this. It’ll
only make you crazy.”

I lunged for it, fingers only
just scraping its edge before he yanked it out of reach.

“It’s mine. You have no right
to judge me. What are you, twelve? Give it to me, Jason!” He held it up at
arm’s length, his mouth set in a firm, deep frown as I made a jump for it but
missed by a mile. Panic suffocated me.

“It’s been here for as long
as I have and you don’t need it. Why would you do this to yourself? You have to
let go.”

Five words and whatever
pleasure I felt when I was with him went up in flames. The hollow space where
my heart had once lived throbbed raw and red and empty. I sagged, bewildered
and ambushed.

“No,” I stumbled. “Not you,
too.”

Of all the people in the
world I thought I was safe with, it was this man. Strong body, strong resolve,
passionate, charismatic, and mine. But he wasn’t mine, had never been mine, by
virtue of my rules and his being a King. He was Jonathan’s, and by default
Bailey’s, on loan to me while I self-medicated on his kisses.

“You’re done with this.” His
face hardened, his resolve making him look so much like Garton King in that
moment. He pulled away and went for the sink in two long strides. “It doesn’t
define you. It never did.”

“Stop, please. Jason please.
I’m begging you don’t do this to me.” I chased him, clawed at him, reached and
pulled and punched him, but I was too small against his broad frame. When
begging didn’t get through to him, I wildly changed tactics.

“This is not your business!
You are temporary and meaningless and you have no right to interfere! You don’t
get to make breakfast or sleep over or make decisions about my life.” He pushed
my hands away, wedged my body from the sink, but it was clear he knew he could
hurt me if he really needed to keep me back, and he was trying not to let it
come to that.

But knowing this didn’t stop
me from leaving scratches on his arms and beating my fists against him for all
I was worth. He flicked on the hot water and reached for the garbage disposal
switch. It erupted in a roar and shook the cabinets like an airplane about to
take off. My heart careened into my ribcage, ripped itself apart. I didn’t even
recognize my own voice, screaming his name, begging him to stop, calling him
terrible words I’d never be able to take back. He didn’t look at me or stop or
shove me away when I hurt him.

I sobbed as he shoved the
invitation down the sink, and when I tried to save it, he snatched my hands
away from the drain and held them up and away.

“Stop it! Are you crazy?”

His hands were too hot around
mine, no longer the comfort I remembered them to be. The blades chewed up the
paper, some scraps fluttered into the air, but most turned into a wet pulpy
mess that disappeared down into the dark.

My hands sank when I couldn’t
hold them up anymore. He only let go with one hand to flick off the disposal.
The silence was extraordinary and painful.

“You need to leave.” I didn’t
look at him. I felt beaten.

Jason reached over me and
tucked me in to the circle of his arms, his hands still gripping mine like I
might try to retrieve the shredded paper from the disposal anyway. He touched
his cheek to my temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“And you’re not coming back.”
I tried to twist away, not sure what was worse, the way he held on or the fear
that he might stop.

“It’s just a piece of paper.
It doesn’t mean anything. Let it go.”

“It meant something,” I
murmured darkly. “Just nothing good.”

I looked up, steeled myself
for those eyes, but my attention caught on the dust clouds kicking up down the
long road to my house from the highway.

I could only name a handful
of people who would stop by unexpectedly this early on a Saturday, and I didn’t
want any of them to know Jason King was here. Not after what happened at the
bar last night.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.
Hide.” I pushed him towards hallway and strained to keep an eye on the dust
cloud getting closer.

“People know now. I’m not
afraid of whoever that is.”

“Well I am and you’ve got a
life elsewhere so you don’t count. Go. Hide.”

I shook my head and gave him
a little shove before using the cuffs of my robe to wipe the evidence of tears
from my face. I wrapped the robe tight around me and tied it off, suddenly
afraid of my own shadow.

The car pulled to a stop
beside mine. A black Toyota. Great gas mileage and a sun roof.

My sister.

I opened the back door before
she could. She wasn’t alone.

“Cassidy.” Jonathan’s voice
was guarded and irritated, but it lacked certainty and expectation that I
hadn’t noticed until Jason who had certainty and expectation in excess.
Jonathan seemed thinner than I remembered noticing too, less bulky, more small
town politician. He parted his hair on the left and kept it short. Jason didn’t
part his at all. He looked pixilated through the rusted screen door. Not quite
real. Like seeing a celebrity in real life you’ve only ever seen on TV.