Our Forever (Every Curvy Inch Book 2)

by Alexa Blue

  I haven’t bothered with a relationship since college.

  I’ve hated the idea of a relationship. It’s just not worth the trouble, not worth the pain it brings. For the longest time, I’ve been comfortable with random one-night stands… until now.

  My father was a cheating prick, and my mother stayed in that relationship besides how it killed her. She said me and my brother was the reason she stayed in that relationship, that she wouldn't allow me to grow up without a father.

  I’ve grown up watching how a relationship can kill someone instead of doing what it’s meant to; to provide comfort, a sense of belonging, love.

  While my father and I may not be close, I have that prick's DNA. I’ve seen what he had put my mother through, and I'd hate to think I could ever do that to someone else.

  I hate relationships and have no plans on getting involved in one.

  But, why the fuck can I not get Brooke out of my mind?

  Chapter Seven

  Brooke

  By the time I wake up, I could not feel more comfortable. Inside his arms, I could not feel safer. We had two more steamy sessions, which concluded the evening, before passing out. Last night I had the best sex ever. Mr. Muscles claims he doesn’t sleep around much, but the man has skill. Not only does he have a massive tool, he knows how to use it.

  I look up and see Storm smiling as he sleeps. The man looks so peaceful asleep, and I contemplate spending a few more moments in bed. My mind tells me everything about this man is dangerous, that I should run as fast as I can and never look back, but my heart tells me something else. I want to enjoy this moment just a little longer, but it’s not a risk I’m willing to take.

  I lean over and kiss Storm on the forehead, before sneaking out of bed. It takes me a few minutes because his hand searches for me with every movement I make. I scan the room for my clothes and find my panties laying on the ground. I slip on my skirt, deciding to leave my panties behind as a souvenir, something for him to remember me by.

  Once dressed, I spend a few minutes snooping around his apartment. To prevent me from waking him, I walk on my toes, and with my high-heels in my hands.

  His, mostly empty, apartment has a modern finishing, but the furniture he does have looks expensive—a man with taste. What stands out most for me is a large bookshelf filled with fantasy books. One book, in particular, catches my attention. I grab on a book written by Storm Haywood, and for a second, I contemplate the surname, toying with it in my head—Brooke Haywood. As much as I hate admitting it, it has a pleasant ring to it.

  Last night, I opened up to Storm in a way I have never opened up to a guy. He had an intrigued look in his eyes, a look that suggested he was taking in my every word. He could lay and listen to me speak for hours. He had the ability to make me feel like I'm the most special girl in the world. When he listened to me, I felt like I’m the only girl that mattered to him.

  The more we spoke, the more dangerous this ‘one-night-stand' started becoming. Even when he suggested I sleep over, I tried fighting against the idea, but secretly, my heart fluttered with relief when he insisted.

  I wasn’t always so full of shit. Back in my teens, I believed good guys exist, that I will one day find my knight in shining armor and he will love me with all my quirks and my stubborn ways. But after being cheated on by my last two boyfriends, those ideas died a painful death.

  The first time I discovered I was being cheated on, it hurt like hell. And I couldn’t have felt like more of an idiot after my second boyfriend cheated on me. I believed I was the problem for a while, but then I soldiered up and became the cold-hearted bitch I am today.

  I’ve convinced myself I’ve never been happier. Being single, living life on my terms, and dropping a guy before he has the chance to hurt me. Yet, I cannot waive this feeling of emptiness I feel as I sneak out of Storm’s apartment.

  With Storm it’s different, and I know it’s not just because of his squared jaw, those luring brown eyes, his muscled physique or even that enormous dick of his. It’s not lust; with Storm, it’s something much more.

  “Look at you, was someone a naughty girl last night?” Amanda chirps as I walk through the front door. It's six o'clock in the morning, and she's the last person I want to see as I take the dreaded walk of shame.

  I look like a completely different person than what I looked like fifteen hours ago. My clothes are creased, make-up smudged, and my hair is in a state.

  I struggle to make eye contact with Amanda. “Hey, sis,” I say and brush past her.

  “Good morning to you too, are you not going to give me details? How was the date? And you slept over? That’s a first.”

  Amanda sits on the kitchen stool, sipping on a cup of coffee, staring at me expectantly. As if she’s been waiting for this piece of gossip since last night.

  “It was—it was okay.”

  Amanda rolls her eyes and lets out a painful sigh. “Really, Brooke, I know you’re lying. You’re can’t look at me,” she lowers her gaze, “as for those twitching fingers?”

  “Okay, fine! It was more than okay. But, whatever it was, it’s over now.”

  Pretending not to notice Amanda shaking her disapproving head, I walk off to my bedroom.

  I strip down to my clothes, and jump in a shower to wash his scent off my body, wash off the last memories I have of Storm.

  It's been a few days since I last saw Storm. By now, I should have moved on, and yet he is all I think about. Everything reminds me of him. Whenever I see a book, I think of him. I doubt I’d be able to look at Chinese food again without images of his face entering my mind. I’ve even started listening to Country music lately.

  When I wake up every morning, the first thing I do is check my phone, hoping there’s a message from him. I’ve considered sending him a message myself, perhaps I could tell him I need to collect the panties I forgot in his apartment. But I tell myself I don’t want to look desperate.

  Amanda can tell how miserable I’ve been over the past few days and keeps trying to convince me to give him a call. I tell her I’m not miserable, that I’ve never been happier, but we both know that’s the biggest load of horse shit.

  I reach for my phone and dial Lexi’s number. I can use my best friend, I can use the distraction to take my mind off Storm.

  “Hello,” Lexi answers. Her voice sounds muffled as if she just woke up and I hear shuffling. There’s another voice in the background, and I know she woke up next to the hunk living with her.

  “You bad girl, you finally got some?” I tease. For as long as I know, Lexi’s been holding out on her virginity, so this man must be something special.

  She reduces her voice to a whisper, “Brooke, I think I’m in love, and it feels fucking amazing! I swear he treats me like a queen. He brings me breakfast in bed every morning, and he won't fall asleep until he kisses me on my forehead.” Lexi takes a brief pause. “And…Um… He's a fucking machine in the bedroom.”

  I pause briefly, before smiling. “I’m happy for you Lex. Anyway, I’ve got to go, just wanted to check up on you.”

  “Wait, you still haven’t told me about your date?”

  I fake a giggle. “There’s nothing much to say, it was a once off thing. You know I don’t see the same guy twice? Anyway, let me leave you two lovebirds…I err… I’ve got a lot to do. Bye now.”

  I hang up the phone before Lexi asks more uncomfortable questions. The reason I phoned Lexi was to get my mind off Storm, not to be reminded of one of my biggest potential mistakes.

  Even as I put the phone down, the sound of her happiness echoes in my mind. I could hear my best friend was all smiles and admiration. I suppose that’s the sound of love.

  I should be happy for her. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s Lexi. But, why do I feel so damn jealous?

  For the first time, the thought that I’d die alone runs through my mind. I’ve always known I’d remain single until my last days, but the thought never hurt, not until now.

 
I pour myself a glass of Chardonnay. This is my fourth glass. Usually, one glass of wine does the trick when I’m feeling down. But lately, I could down an entire bottle and still feel so fucking depressed.

  I sit in the emptiness of my apartment and let out an alarming scream that has Amanda rushing to my room. Amanda walks in and finds me in tears. There’s no need for her to ask what’s wrong, she knows. She finds a seat next to me, takes the glass of wine out my hand, and rubs her hand against my back. “Shhhh. It’s okay, big sis, we’ll get through this.”

  I’ve decided to stop feeling sorry for myself, and a night out is exactly what I need. Drinks, dancing till my feet hurt, and getting out my fucking mind.

  So far, the solo drinking in my room has not worked all that great. If anything, it feels like I’m becoming more depressed.

  Two freaking weeks, and I still cannot get this damn man out my head. It’s annoying to think a man can have such a hold over me.

  I slip on a pair of blood red heels and look in the mirror, making sure I look my best. The red lipstick shines on my full, pouting lips. I’m dressed to perfection, wearing a slim summer dress that molds around my curves. When I look good, I feel fucking fabulous.

  Deciding I’m ready for a night out, I order an Uber to Thirsties, a bar not far from me.

  The air is clouded with cigarette smoke, and the loud, excited voices speak over the sound of the music. Groups of guys sit and watch a sports game on the large plasma screen TVs mounted on the wall. The rest are on the dancefloor, and the guys around the bar have their eyes glued on me.

  I look past the greedy glares from a group of bikers and make my way to the bar. In the corner of my eye, I see them checking me out, but pretend not to notice them.

  For the first time in two weeks, I’m not thinking about Storm. I’m surrounded by so many other guys I could pick, choose, and refuse. But, I’m not here to get lucky with another man. I’m here to let my hair down, get motherless drunk, and dance till my toes give in.

  I lean over the bar and order a glass of red wine. A large man beside me is not very discrete as he checks out my ass. On his right arm is a tattoo of a dragon, and a bold ‘7’ directly underneath the dragon. That’s the tattoo members of the Sevens gang all have inked on their arms. Guys like him work on my tits. They believe they can get anything they want because they own a gun, have a few spots of ink, and annoyingly loud motorbikes. Getting over Storm would have been so much easier if he told me he belonged to one of these crews.

  Turning to the guy next to me, I give him a look that says, ‘I’m not interested,’ before walking off to find a table near the dance floor.

  Amanda gives me hell for coming to this bar alone; a bar known for its rowdy crowd and brawls.

  “I’m a big girl,” I tell her, “a big girl that can look after herself.”

  I'm also a girl that knows what she wants. When I give guys a disapproving look, it means I’m not interested.

  My foot taps playfully to the Rock music when the same biker approaches me. I see him walking towards me and roll my eyes. I hate it when guys don’t get the message, especially when that message had been made crystal clear.

  He towers over me and clears his throat. From the beer spilling out the sides of his mug, and the foam resting on his beard, I can tell he has had one too many beers.

  “Hey, you sexy thing. What do you say we take this party to my place?”

  “Sorry, sweetie, I’m not interested.” I look past him onto the dance floor, but he doesn’t budge. He leans over my table, his face closing in on mine. His breath smells of tar, as if he’s been surviving on a beer and nicotine diet for the last few weeks.

  “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? Lucky for you, Big Joe loves him a challenge.”

  Big Joe can go fuck himself.

  “Good to know. But, Big Joe can find a challenge somewhere else, I’m not interested. Now, please leave me alone.”

  ‘Big Joe,’ stays standing, glaring down at me. Despite my request, he refuses to leave. He slurs a series of drunken cusswords before reaching out his hand, grabbing on my wrist. I jerk my hand out his grasp and stand to my feet. He may be twice my size, but he does not scare me.

  My voice is deep when I speak again, and I stare intensely into his eyes. “I said, leave me the fuck alone, asshole!”

  He clicks his tongue and looks down at me with a disgusted look. “You fucking whores are all the same.”

  It’s as if a powerful force propels my hand. I lean back, and when my back straightens again, my palm connects to the side of his face. The sound is deafening and causes a group of guys to look our way. Instantly, his cheek turns a darker shade of red.

  My slap is as loud as a clap and catches him off-guard. He clutches his hands to his face as he stumbles backward.

  My heart’s racing at a million miles per hour. The man is easy twice my size, which says a lot because I’m a big girl.

  When he regains control of his senses, his evil glare sends shivers down my spine.

  “You fucking bitch, how dare you,” he growls and closes in on me.

  What the fuck have you gotten yourself into, Brooke?

  My knees tremble with fear, and I swallow hard.

  From behind me, I hear a voice. Not just any voice. It’s a voice I haven’t been able to get out of my head for the last two weeks.

  “Buddy, I suggest you leave her alone and walk away if you know what’s good for you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Storm

  I've never believed in fate… until today.

  My work suffered over the last two weeks. I haven't been able to write, and I've canceled all my stripping jobs until I can get my head straight.

  Brooke is all I think about.

  The moment I walk into Thirsties, I hear her voice. I recognize her cocky voice from a mile away. I watch as she stands to her feet and starts shouting.

  When I see her slapping a guy, I grind on my teeth, and my muscles quiver with anger. I don’t think twice. I dash forward and stand in front of Brooke.

  This is not what I had in mind when seeing Brooke again—threatening a biker gangster if he dares to lay a hand on her.

  I watch her slap a gangster. I don't give a fuck what gang he belongs to, or who he brings for back-up. No one touches my woman, and that's fucking final.

  I try reasoning with him, but he’s not the kind of guy that thinks rationally. Judging from his stench, he’s not the kind of guy that believes in bathing either.

  I glare at him, giving him a threatening look as our eyes lock.

  He raises his voice, trying to intimidate me. “Who the fuck is this dickhead?” I wipe his spit from my nose as he continues shouting.

  I don’t usually throw myself into bar fights, but to protect Brooke, I’ll put my fucking life on the line.

  “Leave this woman alone, and nobody gets hurt,” I repeat. My voice is calm and sure.

  “Storm,” Brooke says from behind me, “leave this asshole. He’s not worth the time.”

  He holds an evil grin as he takes a step back. Thinking he caught me off-guard, he swings a punch. With a second to spare, I duck. I avoid his fist and recoil with a punch of my own.

  Blood flows out the side of his mouth as my uppercut connects with his jaw. The dirty biker lands on the ground with a thud.

  I tremble with rage, imagining what would have happened if that punch landed on Brooke's beautiful face. Fury overcomes me, and I reach down for him, punching him again in the face. “Storm!” Brooke’s voice sounds desperate.

  She pulls on my arm, breaking off the fight.

  “Storm, we need to get out of here, before the rest of them come for us.”

  She grabs on my hand, pulling me out the bar when I stop her. “Brooke, wait. What about your wine?”

  Brooke pauses, her head flinches back slightly. “Seriously? Fuck the wine! We need to get the hell out of here.”

  We run out of Thirsties like Bonnie and Clyde. I’m a
mazed at how fast she is in those heels. I growl at the sight of her dress lifting with her every step, revealing more of her thick thighs. I hate the idea that she shows so much skin.

  From now on out, I’ll be the only man lucky enough to see her sexy legs, to worship those thighs with my hands. I’ll be the only man that kisses on her thighs as I work my way up to her sweet pussy.

  I’ve never believed in fate, but as we run, hand in hand, I’ve sealed her fate.

  It’s decided, Brooke is mine. Fuck whatever rule she has about seeing the same guy twice, fuck my take on relationships. Fuck it all.

  I’ll never be anything like my prick of a father. I’ll protect her, make sure she has everything of the best.

  Come hail or sunshine, I’ll make this sexy woman mine!

  A wide grin is plastered on my face. I can’t stop smiling. My excitement is partly from the commotion in the bar, but mostly because I’m seeing her again.

  We stop running two blocks down from the bar to catch our breath. Brooke pulls me into a dark alley between two buildings.

  “Mr. Muscles, I… I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  The moon gives off a shining glint in her eyes. I don’t know how it’s possible, but this woman is even sexier than the first time I saw her.

  “Do you believe in fate, cupcake?”