Troll-y Yours BBW Erotic Curvy Fantasy Romance (The Centaurs)

by Fredricks, Sheri

  Anger, hurt, aggravation—they all bubbled up, and she used the welcomed jolt of energy to fight back. Thank the gods for ugly sturdy shoes, because stilettos would have snapped in half with the kicks she delivered to the hairy shins beside her.

  Phranq gave a quick jerk to her wrist.

  Agony streaked up her arm and settled in her shoulder. Her feet slipped on the slick mud and she fell against him, gaining a nose full of his sour body odor.

  The powerfully-built Minotaur used the unbalanced moment to spin her around to face Al. He shifted his hairy arm to lie heavy across Ella's throat, pinching her airway in the crook of his elbow.

  Ella closed her eyes and gratefully inhaled sweet rain-washed air. She blinked them open and saw concern lining Eli's face.

  “Ooh, hold me like that!” Carryyn danced her butt to shimmy in front of Al, tickling only Pan knew what with the end of her tail.

  Aleksander locked eyes with Ella, his expression deadly. He didn’t break the hard stare as his hand gently pushed Carryyn off to the side.

  Droplets streamed into Ella’s eyes as she tried to focus her gaze on him, and his form wavered in a watery blur.

  “I’m ordering you to release Ella and step away from her. Unless you want to end up in the bottom grotto, I suggest you do it,” Al demanded.

  “What the hell are you doing, Phranq? Let her go,” Eli exclaimed. “This isn’t helping the situation.”

  The oppressive arm lowered from her neck to drag over her breasts. He purposely settled his grip under their weight and lifted to plump them high. Phranq’s breathing came shallow.

  Ella didn’t know if that meant he was angry, turned-on, or indecisive, but she really didn’t care either way—and wasn’t about to wait and find out. She lifted her right elbow high enough to deliver a hard blow to the stinking Minotaur’s ribs. The moment he grunted and his arm fell away, she bolted straight for Al.

  Al’s four hooves braced in the muddy terrain, rain sprinkling down, her would-be client and savior swept her behind his withers with one arm. Immediately, he backed away, keeping Eli and Phranq in his sights.

  “Go home,” Eli shouted. “You should’ve never been out here in the first place.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.” She sucked in a curse and walked backward with Al, keeping a grip on his tuft of mane. “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t shown up, none of this would’ve happened.”

  “Leave it alone, Ella,” Al urged. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Phranq allowed Eli to pull him further up the muddy trail, but spoke a parting shot, “This isn’t over, Centaur. I know your face now.”

  “Hey, wait for me!” Carryyn bounded up the slope after the retreating figures, hooves slipping in the mud. At the top, she stood as a shadowy outline amongst the falling rain and turned back. “Sorry about our party tonight, Alek. Let’s try again next time.” She scrambled after Eli and his disagreeable friend.

  When the night swallowed them up, Al reacted with lightning-quick reflexes. He grasped her upper arm, though not so tightly as to hurt, and bolted toward the Centaur mall.

  “Wait! I left my bag.” All her paperwork and money from the night’s session was in there.

  “Forget it.”

  Once they rounded a giant sycamore tree, Ella hauled back and resisted going further. Why were all the males going prehistoric on her? “No. I can’t leave it. My life is in that bag.”

  Future speed date sessions, signup sheets, and the zippered moneybag were irreplaceable. Those were the tools of her investment to a better life—a future that would not include Eli and her parents.

  Resolve stiffened her back. “I won’t leave without it.”

  Al slid to a stop, hooves splaying in the mud. He swung his stern expression toward her. “For the love of the gods, woman. You would risk your life for some paper and pens?”

  Pissed-off from Eli’s unbrotherly-like treatment, Ella’s temper flared high. She stood her ground. Instead of answering Al’s question, she conveyed her determination with crossed arms and a focused glare.

  “Fine.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Stay here, I’ll go back.”

  “Don’t let anything spill out.” Ella appreciated his gallantry, but she didn’t trust he would get the job done. The items were too important, the stakes too high.

  How could he understand? This Centaur was all too handsome. What did he know about hard work and making dreams come true? Ella sniffed, ignoring her irrational thoughts.

  Al shot her a dark look and turned to lope up along the trail.

  She heard his wide hooves squish through the muck as his steps took him further away. The rain continued to fall, and she could almost feel her dress start to shrink. Not to mention her hair was soaked and hanging in clumps.

  What am I doing? Damp, chilled, standing in the rain, waiting on some male she just met to bring back her most valued possessions. She didn’t know if Al could be trusted to return at all. She might be standing there all night, waiting for him while he grabbed her bag with the money and that’d be that.

  C’est la vie.

  Indecision twisted her resolve, and she scraped her soggy bangs back. A strong breeze kicked up and sent a shiver down her back. If she wanted something done right, she had to do it herself. Nobody cared about her future more than she did. Especially not an overly confident Centaur who had more than flirtation in mind.

  “Dammit.” Cloud cover made the night darker, but the trail up the slope gleamed a thin line. When she’d taken no more than a few steps, sounds of splashing mud came to her, followed by a filthy Aleksander. “What the heck happened to you?”

  Sludge covered one side of his lean equine body and a good portion of his face and hair. His crisp white shirt was ruined. The hand that held her book bag, however, remained clean. And except for the spot where the bag landed on the ground, her canvas bag was fairly unsoiled.

  “I slipped.” He handed the bag over. “But I’m all right, thanks for asking,” he said tightly.

  “Of course you’re okay. You’re walking and talking, aren’t you?”

  One of her many flaws, as her mother loved to point out, was to become surly when made to feel guilty. She wished she could stop herself, to break the bad habit. But once it started, it really rolled.

  “I thought Centaurs were more sure-footed than that. You wouldn’t find a Troll slopping in the mud, just because of a little rain.”

  Ella opened the bag and checked the contents. From what she could see, everything appeared to be there. When she glanced up to thank him, a pair of dark chocolate eyes pierced her with an intense stare.

  Immediately contrite, knowing she was the cause of his anger, she apologized. “Sorry.” Acting defensive was a natural reaction, she told herself.

  Al shook his hand to flick off gooey mud, and his jaw clenched as he spoke.. “You’re not looking like a million bucks yourself, you know. The bottom of your dress is caked.”

  “Crap.” The dress was old, but she’d hoped to get another year out of it. Not only was the jumper stained, but her mother would fly off the bad end of berserk.

  ‘Soon,’ she told herself. Very soon, she’d have enough money to buy or rent a place of her own. Then, incidents like this would no longer be a concern.

  Bells of Tartarus. Ella glanced at Al’s muddy flanks and wondered what she should do. There’s no way she could go home looking like the swamp thing.

  Six

  Was that anguish flitting across the Troll’s rain-streaked face?

  Aleksander stuffed his protective side down. More likely a play of shadows, otherwise the sharp-tongued Ella would seem at odds with herself. Still, the way her fingers picked at the soaked dress that clung to her curvy figure showed her distress.

  What’s a male to do?

  “Come on. You can cleanup at my place. Maybe it’ll stop raining long enough for you to go home.” He snapped the water out of his tail.

  Bedraggled and looking indecisive, Ella’s
shoulders slumped forward. “Thank you, and sorry for what I said.”

  “Apologize later. Let’s get out of the weather.”Alek held out his hand and was pleasantly surprised when she placed her palm in it. Warm and soft, she brought delicious tingles to his chilled body.

  They backtracked to the opening of the great palace cavern, with no surprises along the way. Foot traffic remained light since the dinner crowd dispersed for the night. Mall sweepers who pushed noisy cleaning carts eyed them with curiosity. It wasn’t every day they saw Kempor Aleksander covered in mud and tugging a reluctant Troll along with him.

  He and Ella traveled through the centuries-old, hand-cored rock. Legend said Trolls built what was now the Centaur palace. Alek had his doubts. If that were the case, why did the gnomes live in underground nests?

  Alek guided her past the mall junction that led toward the Neigh Café. The passageway seemed darker, but not spooky dark because hell—he smiled to himself— nothing scared Aleksander.

  Not one damn thing.

  “You live in the palace?” Ella asked.

  “Bachelor officers’ quarters.”

  “Wait a sec, Al.” Her footsteps faltered. “You’re in the Centaur military?”

  Aleksander paused his hooves and regarded her quizzical expression. Even windblown with bits of leaves stuck in her hair, Ella torqued his lust.

  “I introduced myself as Kempor, did I not?”

  “You said your name was Aleksander Hedson.”

  Unable to fight his growing smile, he plucked a few twigs from her hair. What a delightful little Troll, turning the tables on him, as if he were a wet-behind-the-ears colt.

  “No. I distinctly remember giving you my name. There are those who hear, and those who listen.”

  Ella drew in her bottom lip and bit gently.

  At the gesture, he stilled and wished she wouldn’t distract him. “I am Kempor Aleksander, Head Centaur Guard.”

  Speaking succinctly, he enunciated the last three words clearly and separately.

  Ella said nothing, but her eyes grew wide.

  Alek resumed walking, pulling her along beside him and at the gurgling fountain, hung a tight left. Just as his mud-crusted legs started up the side staircase, the small hand holding his resisted. He turned and raised a brow in question. Now what?

  Seemingly spellbound over the atrium’s white marble splendor, Ella’s stared while her mouth hung open. Her eyes traveled the bluegrass plaza and she gave an inward gasp. “For the love of the gods.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve never been farther than the mall.” She gazed all around, stretching her neck to view the second and third levels. “You people really live like this?”

  Alek considered Ella’s words. While he took much of his royal living conditions for granted, she reminded him that many living in the wild Boronda Forest stayed in less than ideal homes. Unfortunately, he had no way of knowing her background.

  Her eyes swept the vast grass covered floors with awe.

  Judging from the stunned expression spreading over her face, he’d speculate Miss Attitude lived in a typical underground dirt floor hovel.

  “The common spaces have fulltime maintenance crews,” he offered. “You won’t be so impressed when you see where I live.”

  “If it’s half as grand as this . . . .?” She gave a low whistle.

  “Believe me, Sweet-thing. It’s not.” Military personnel didn’t require the posh surroundings civilians did. Aleksander believed in living a minimalistic life. No muss, no fuss.

  With a gentle tug on her hand, he restarted them up the stairs. A glance at his watch showed 2130 hours, or 9:30 pm. Less than two hours before reporting for duty. And three hours until transition.

  Depending upon the gravitational pull of the moon, and the time of day born, each Centaur’s transition time differed. Never would all herds be in human or equine forms. This unique design by the gods was necessary to help them blend with the human world. More importantly, the variance in form aided in times of war.

  Clunky and more serviceable than a Minotaur whore, Ella’s shoes tapped loudly on the alabaster stairs. Stealth was certainly not her forte. Unlike his unshod hooves, her wooden heels cracked an echo in the round, cavernous room. Built in an open auditorium design, sound bounced around the vestibule like a caged tree squirrel. An absence of strolling Centaur mares and foals helped to increase the overall size of the underground room.

  On the second floor landing, Aleksander walked a short distance before taking the corridor that eventually led to the officers’ quarters. A center strip of bluegrass ran the length of the hall and silenced the heavy clomp of Ella’s shoes. Because it was night, the embedded glow minerals overhead were also subdued.

  He smoothed a hand over his goatee. Low mood lighting, a warm female in hand, and his quarters only a few doors away. Things were looking up.

  “This is it.” He gave her hand a squeeze, then released to pull the keys from his vest pocket.

  If he played it right, the saucy Troll with the bedroom eyes would be naked in fifteen minutes, leaving time for a little bedroom sport before reporting for duty. True, it would all be one-sided in favor of Ella, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy the hell out of her.

  Alek twisted his key and the door creaked open. He stood aside and allowed Ella to enter before him.

  A frown wrinkled her forehead as she hesitated a moment, looking back the way they’d come. Then, she visibly squared her shoulders and walked into his stall.

  Ella’s perfume of night-blooming jasmine hovered like a cloud, much like his bad judgment to invite her over. Aleksander knew the rules of civilians in the officers’ quarters. Especially civvy female Trolls.

  But damn. The way Ella’s damp dress fastened to the curves of her woman’s body had him seeing cross-eyed. She didn’t embody the reed-thin figure of the Nymphs. She had the lush roundness, he found so attractive. He closed the door and watched her.

  Ella toed off her muddy shoes, then stepped deeper into the small living room. She looked a little lost and a whole lot of nervous, wringing her hands the way she was. Her teeth chattered from the cold, and she crossed her arms to control her shivering.

  Perhaps the encounter with the males had shaken her more than he thought. Though one of them, the Troll, called her by name, Alek wondered how she knew them.

  To draw her attention away from his brown, standard issue couch, he clopped his hooves down the short hall. “The shower is in my room. I’ll get some clothes you can wear.”

  Inside the stallroom, Alek waved to indicate the separate bathroom off to the side.

  “Thank you.” Ella’s gaze drifted over his sparse bedroom.

  There wasn’t much to look at. No family photos or artwork hanging on the plain white walls. No curtained window with a view. There was only a neatly made floor bed with a blue comforter for his true form, a tall secondhand dresser in the corner, and next to it a wooden chair that’d seen better days.

  It didn’t take long for her eyes to land back on him. “You have a nice place. Sorry to be such a bother.”

  Nice place? Yeah, he wasn’t buying that one. Unless where she lived—hmm. “No bother at all. The bathroom is yours.”

  The sway of her hips under the hideous dress shouldn’t cause his pecker to bray to the moon—but it did. And according to Meat Wrench, Ella had what it took to get him there.

  Aleksander waited until the bathroom door closed and the sound of spraying water hit the shower walls before releasing the breath he’d held. He needed to change his train of thought before his erection grew out of control.

  In his equine body, it wasn’t an easy feat.

  Bacchus, the god of pleasure and ecstasy, must be at the helm of chaos again. Because tossing a lovely Troll in his path, who had no use for a certain handsome Centaur, had little to do with Alek’s long-term relationship goals.

  Why couldn't job satisfaction fulfill him as it had Kempor Hippolyte? As Head Pala
ce Guard, he should be ecstatic, on top of the mythic world! Hippy found her inner peace as bodyguard and inner sanctum warrior to Her Majesty.

  For reasons unknown, Alek remained restless.

  He loved his job and performed it well. He’d gained a great deal of satisfaction out of it, but where was the touchable, concrete evidence of a job well done? The tangible fulfillment?

  The something which wanted him back.

  The love?

  To keep his mind from picturing the tantalizing Troll who splashed water in his shower, Alek unloaded the arsenal of weapons carried beneath his civilian attire.

  Strapped knives, throwing stars, and a small caliber handgun joined the growing pile in a drawer of the nightstand beside the bed. Normally, he’d leave the tools of his trade out in the open. Because of his guest, he thought better of it. Next, he changed out of his muddy shirt.

  The water shut off, and there was silence.

  “Al? There’s no towels.”

  Aleksander stroked his goatee and grinned. Thank the gods for Bacchus, meddling in his affairs.

  *~*~*

  “Very funny.” Ella eyed the poor excuse for a towel that was laid over the rail of the huge shower stall. The white scrap was no larger than her hand. Beyond the steam, his chuckles stirred her insides and hardened her already pebbled nipples. The little washcloth wouldn’t cover enough of her rounded body from his view.

  He was probably getting an eyeful through the frosted glass as it were. Distorted to a wavy form, his figure stepped closer and another white towel flipped her way, this one larger.

  Grateful for the extra yardage, she grabbed it and wrapped herself in the cottony softness before pushing the shower door open.

  “Hello, Sweet-thing.” Al stood across from her, leaning against the door jam, arms crossed, wearing a drop-dead sexy smile on his face.

  The Girls singing from her molded breasts, noticed he’d removed his rain soaked shirt and neglected to replace it.