His Sugarplum: Curves For Christmas

by Love, Frankie

  His Sugarplum

  Curves For Christmas

  Frankie Love

  Copyright © 2019 by Frankie Love

  Edited by Teresa Banschbach

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  His Sugarplum

  1. Smith

  2. Sugar

  3. Smith

  4. Sugar

  5. Smith

  6. Sugar

  7. Smith

  8. Sugar

  9. Smith

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  Curves For Christmas!

  Frankie Christmas Romances…

  About the Author

  His Sugarplum

  Curves for Christmas

  By Frankie Love

  When I win a poker game on Christmas Eve, I never imagined the pot would be so damn good.

  Sugar’s a prize I don’t deserve.

  Her curves make my cock ache and her honey blonde hair has me wound up tightly.

  I don’t make it a habit of treating women like they are possessions.

  But if I leave her here, with these men, she’ll be devoured.

  Now my job is to protect her. At all costs.

  This year, it’s a dark-ass Christmas, but Sugar doesn’t seem bitter about her situation.

  Truth is, she seems downright pleased to be shut up in my cabin with me.

  I don’t want to ruin her… but she’s my sugarplum now.

  And I’m ready to taste my Christmas treat.

  Dear Reader,

  Smith is growly, bearded, and in need of a little TLC.

  He’s a twenty-seven-year-old virgin who’s been waiting all his life for his one and only.

  For Sugar.

  This filthy-sweet holiday romp is exactly how it sounds: Delicious. Enjoy!

  xo, frankie

  1

  Smith

  The room is dark and depressing as hell. Makes me wonder why I came down from my cabin in the first fucking place. Just the thought of spending Christmas Eve alone sounded sad as sin but turns out being in this dimly lit bar is the real heartbreaker.

  “You want in?” a man asks, catching my eye. He’s looking for trouble, scouring the bar for an easy target.

  Not sure what he thinks when he looks at me, considering I’ve got a sleeve of tats, a burly beard, and biceps as big as a tree trunk. Not to mention this guy is drunk off his ass. Me? I’m stone-cold sober. I just got to this seedy bar and haven’t even ordered a beer.

  “What are you playing?” I ask. Jingle Bells blares through the speaker and it feels decidedly wrong to have such upbeat music on in a place like this.

  “Poker, in the back room. Buy-in’s a hundred bones.”

  I look around, taking in the other men playing cards tonight as they head to the back. They look like a motorcycle gang. I run a hand over my beard, wondering what they’re doing out here this time of year. The weather has been a bitch and it’s supposed to snow by morning. Of course, conditions are always a hell of a lot worse at my cabin up in the mountains than they are down here in town.

  And I haven’t seen these guys before. Then again, I keep to myself. Figure I came down here to entertain myself and poker seems more interesting than the women tossing back Jägermeister at the bar.

  “Sounds good,” I say, following the man back. Once in the card room, a cocktail waitress circles around us taking our orders. I ask for a whiskey neat and ignore the waitress in fishnets as she tries to catch my eye. I’m not interested in her. She’s running her hand over the chest of every man here, laughing extra loud, squeezing her plastic tits together in hopes of a better tip. No judgment — it’s honest work — but I know she’s not for me.

  I’ve been celibate for my whole damn life and I made a pact with myself not to look at a woman twice unless she was the woman. My one and only. I figured I’d know her when I saw her. It worked for my parents and I suppose there’s no reason it won’t work for me too.

  Then again, that plan seemed mighty fine when I was a kid, holding out for the love of my fucking life—but now I’m a twenty-seven-year-old virgin. My cock has been aching for over a decade and I want a woman to hold like nothing else on Earth.

  There are four of us at the table, and the man who asked me to play introduces himself as Rizz.

  The guy next to him laughs. “Yeah, but we all call him Jizz.”

  “And we call you Pussy Juice,” Rizz says with a scowl. Then they bust up laughing and I realize they’re all friends. A guy affectionately named Rimmed, tells me they ride for Badlands MC and I nod, having heard of them before.

  “You live here?” Rizz asks.

  “Up in the mountains.”

  “Alone?”

  I nod.

  “You running from something?” he presses.

  I pull a hundred-dollar bill from my pocket and set it on the table. Enough small talk. “No, I just like the quiet.”

  “Fair enough,” Rizz grunts and we all take a seat. Three women come out from the shadows, half-dressed with pleasure in their eyes. The men adjust their cocks as they come closer. It’s clear who they belong too. The motorcycle gang.

  “You, come here,” Rimmed says to a brunette, pulling her to his lap. He grabs her crotch and she pouts her lips.

  “Can I have a twenty?” she asks. “Please.”

  Rimmed raises an eyebrow. “And what are you gonna do with that?”

  “Get some dinner. I’m hungry. And bored.”

  He gives her the cash then slaps her ass. “You better not get trashed. I plan on fucking you sideways tonight.”

  She leans over, pushing her ass in his face, her eyes meeting mine, a smile spread wide across her face. “Okay, Daddy, I’ll give you what you want.” I look away, not interested in whatever their kink is. I don’t want that. I want a girl who is as innocent as me. Because I may look like these men but deep down, we aren’t alike at all.

  I’m not riding a motorcycle every day to get away from my demons. No. I settled down, built myself a cabin, and work in my carpentry shop. I sell custom furniture. Sure, it’s not flashy, but it is a good life. A solid life. A life my parents, God rest their souls, would have been proud of.

  The cards are dealt, and I sit back, playing my hand, winning a few rounds. I notice the men’s eyes rise around me, and I wonder if someone plans on calling my bluff.

  I’m a fucking straight shooter even when I play cards. I know how to win; how to keep my eyes on the prize. We keep drinking, they a hell of a lot more than me. I have no intention of walking away broke at the end of the night. If these fuckers are dumb enough to invite a stranger to their game, they are dumb enough to lose all their money to me too.

  By the sixth round, the men know they are in trouble. Pussy Juice and Rimmed are out of dough and the pot keeps growing. I know I have the cards to win but Rizz is scared. I see it in his bloodshot eyes. He wants to walk away with three hundred bucks. But fuck, so do I.

  “Hell, I need another drink for this,” Rizz groans, whistling for a waitress. He takes another look at his hand before pushing away from the table for a breather, his cards pressed to his chest. I want to finish the hand knowing mine is good enough to win the pot, but I set my cards down in front of me, going along with Rizz because I don’t know these guys well enough to argue. When the waitress doesn’t arrive straight away, everyone starts getting irritated. Why they don’t get off their asses and get their own damn dri
nk is beyond me.

  “Where the fuck’s your sister, Rizz?” Rimmed asks. “She can get us a round.”

  “Probably reading some stupid ass book in the bar, avoiding eye contact,” Rizz grunts. “Hey, Sugar,” he shouts. “Get over here. We need a drink.”

  The waitress from earlier doesn’t sashay around the corner to take our orders. Instead, a different woman enters the back room. Her hair is honey blonde and long, past her curvy waist, with hips that are hugged nicely by her black pants, and her eyes are drawn to the book in her hand—which has a half-naked man on the front of it. Her nails are painted red and green — for Christmas. Her thick eyelashes flutter against her full cheekbones. When she lifts her chin, my heart fucking stops.

  She’s the prettiest woman I’ve seen in my life.

  I swallow. My cock is instantly hard at the sight of her and I don’t want to fuck this up.

  It’s what I’ve been waiting for all these years. An angel to appear, and here she is on Christmas Eve. A goddamn miracle.

  “Where the hell have you been, Sugar? I gave you one job tonight. One. I told the other girls they could have the night off.”

  She licks her lips. The pink tongue that pokes out makes me forget why I’m here. But the cards have been dealt and the game is still being played.

  I try to focus, but it’s tough as nails.

  “Sorry,” she says. Her voice soft, her finger dog-earing the page in her book, not even eyeing the table. “I was distracted.”

  Rizz laughs. “Busy reading your porn?”

  She rolls her eyes, not arguing, still not making eye contact. It’s like she knows these men well enough to know they don’t deserve her full attention. “I don’t see why they don’t serve you. They’re your girlfriends, aren’t they?” Her words are strong, but her gaze is on the floor like she is scared of meeting anyone’s eyes.

  “Keep your mouth shut, Sugar. Do your damn job.”

  Sugar blinks wildly, keeping what I can only assume are tears at bay. She doesn’t bite back. Instead, she swallows and tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. And I sure as hell don’t like the way they are treating her.

  Rimmed pushes his front lips together. “Who the hell do you think you are? You’re nothing but an extra mouth to feed. At least they put out.”

  “Hey, that’s my sister,” Rizz growls.

  “Right, and you really like this arrangement?” Pussy Juice asks.

  “Family is family. Until tomorrow morning, when I give Sugar to Marco— “

  She cuts him off, her words soft and pleading, “Can we not have this conversation tonight? It’s Christmas Eve. I’ll get your drinks. What do you guys want? Bud Light?”

  They grunt in agreement and she starts to walk away. I have to speak to her.

  “I’ll have a whiskey,” I tell her.

  Sugar stops and turns to face me. Her eyes meet mine. They are deep blue pools of water, swimming with tears and I see she’s far more rattled than she let on with her brother. “Who are you?” she asks, looking at the guys, then at me, trying to place me.

  “I’m Smith.”

  “And you’re friends with my brother?” she asks, eyelashes fluttering. Making judgments on me as she takes in the room. Smoke in the air, empty beer glasses, a pile of chips. The other women enter the room, finding the laps of their men and I clench my jaw. Wishing I had never walked back here. This isn’t where I belong, not buy a fucking long shot. I should have stayed put at the bar. I could have met this woman under different terms. Now she is just lumping me in with these other guys.

  “Not friends,” I clarify. “I’m here to win.”

  “Win what?” she asks, practically daring me to pick her up and push her against the wall, to run my hands all over her skin and make her mine. Here and now. She’s all I want. The self-control this moment takes is excruciating.

  Rizz laughs, his smile broadening. “Hey, let’s finish this hand, Smith.” He looks at his cards, a smug ass expression on his face. He pushes his last pile of chips to the center of the table.

  I nod, sitting back down at the table. After taking another look at my cards, I push all my chips to the center of the table, calling his bluff. Rizz lifts his eyebrows and the other guys whistle low. “What’s it gonna be, Rizz?” I ask, daring him.

  He sucks air through his front teeth as he makes a decision. He has no more chips on the table. Looks like he is out of options. But then he gives us all a wicked grin.

  “Sugar’s gonna cover my bet.”

  I feel her stiffen beside me. My cock gets fucking stiff too.

  Rizz nods. “Yeah, you like thick virgins?”

  “What are you doing?” Sugar asks, her voice rattled.

  “I’m gonna win this hand but might as well make you sweat for it. Tomorrow you’re going to Marco at the Badlands as a little Christmas gift. Let’s make sure you know how to do the deed before you’re his property.”

  I want to punch the fucker in the goddamn face, treating this woman like a piece of property to buy and sell, to trade. I can practically feel Sugar’s rage because I feel it too. Rising up in me.

  “Fine. What do you got?”

  Sugar gasps behind me, and I understand why. I’ve just agreed to a deal where she is the gamble. The way I see it, she spends the night with these fuck-ups, or she spends the night in my cabin – a cozy little place where she can actually get some much-needed rest. With me she is safe but staying with these losers there is no guarantee for her protection.

  Rizz gives a cocky grunt as he shows us his hand. A flush.

  “Well shit, guess you got lucky, Sugar,” Pussy Juice laughs, lapping his knee. “Still gonna be a virgin come Christmas morning.”

  “You call this lucky?” Sugar asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t watch this,” she says, leaving the table and heading for the bar.

  “What do you got, Smith?” Rimmed asks.

  I place down three aces. The tension in the room is thick, and I know Rizz thinks he got me. But then I set down my last two cards. Two queens.

  Full house, aces full of queens.

  “Fuck you,” Rizz growls, his anger at losing to me, a stranger, is palpable. “This is bullshit.”

  “Keep the money,” I say, not wanting their dirty cash anyway. “I’m taking the girl.”

  “You’re stupider than I thought,” Rizz laughs and I push away from the table, grabbing the fool by the collar.

  “Don’t follow me,” I grunt.

  Rizz pushes at my chest. I let him go. “I need her by morning. You can have her until then, understood?”

  2

  Sugar

  My brother is a piece of work. Always has been. Some things never change, do they? He’s the only family I’ve got and what good does it do me? I should have left a long time ago but that’s easier to say when you have something to fall back on.

  I’m a high school dropout, former foster kid, a girl who at nineteen has exactly one person in her corner and that’s barely saying anything. Rizz wants the MC boss, Max, to give him more power. Any power, actually. My brother and his friends are out of money and low on fuel. He’s hoping to get me to Wyoming to give Marco a Christmas gift. An offering. Me.

  And what does it say about me that I am still here, playing along? What kind of person am I that I haven’t run?

  I’ll tell you what kind.

  The scared kind.

  Because there’s actually something scarier than being a gift to a powerful man… and that is being on the streets and being taken advantage of without anyone to call on to help me.

  But this threat… the threat of giving me to that beast of a man at the table? Smith, was that his name? With dark brown eyes, a thick beard, forearms that make me think he could actually pick me up and carry me to bed.

  It’s too much. Too much to even consider.

  Tears burn my eyes as I leave the back room. I head to the bar, ordering a round of beers and wiping my eyes. Focus, Sugar.
Focus. Don’t let those guys get under your skin.

  Still, embarrassment rushes through me. The way Smith looked at me when Rizz made the offer of a thick virgin — all I saw was disgust in his eyes. He wasn’t interested in me. At all.

  And he was exactly the kind of man I would want.

  Strong. Silent. Smart. And I’m sure he will win the game.

  Before I get the beers — and the whiskey — my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see it’s Candy.

  She’s one of the only people who I still keep in touch with from high school. It was hard for me to make friends, after spending so many years in foster care, but Candy was always there to give me a smile or offer to help me with my homework. Now, she is faithful about checking in on me and making sure I’m okay.

  But it’s hard to be honest – to tell her how scared I really am. And right now, I’m terrified.

  I’m sure she’s worried about me, and I bite back tears as I shove my phone back in my pocket. Even though I want to know how things ended up with her and the tree farmer, I don’t want to worry her on Christmas Eve. She’s deserves to enjoy herself tonight.

  I turn back to the room, resolved to not let my emotions get the best of me. Scared to hear how the poker hand went. Where I will be sleeping tonight.

  The women in the romance novels I love to read, are always strong and resilient and I can be like them. Hold my head high and not let the haters get me down.

  Still, when I walk back into the room, I feel all eyes on me. For a moment I falter, nearly toppling the tray with the drinks. The beer sloshes over the rims and a glass falls to the floor. Smith is by my side in seconds, his hand on the small of my back steadying me.