Curvy Girls: The Big Girl and the Bounty Hunter

by Georgette St. Clair

  The glorious ivory globes of her breasts were exposed now, framed by the delicate pink lace of her bra.

  Slowly, he began kissing his way down her soft neck, nipping at it and lapping it and shuddering in desire when she moaned in response.

  Her hands clawed at the waistline of his shirt, pulling it up, and he paused in his ravagement of her neck long enough to let her peel it over his head.

  Then he worked his way down to her breasts, reached behind her back, and unhooked her bra. Sliding it off her, he bent down to take the stiff, pink nub of her left nipple in his mouth. He sucked it hard, running his tongue over it, teasing it with his teeth and glorying in how it swelled with his attentions.

  “Yes,” she moaned underneath him, and he was lost.

  He grabbed her skirt and pushed it down, and she lifted her hips so he could slide it down, and as he kissed her soft stomach he bit her skin gently just so he could hear her desperate whimpers of desire.

  Then he was at her neatly trimmed mound of brown curls, breathing in the musky scent of her arousal, and he thrust his hands between her rounded, fleshy thighs and forced them wide apart.

  “Oh,” she moaned. “Oh, Cooper, yes.”

  He spread her lips open wide and ran his tongue across the slick petals, and she squirmed underneath him, gasping, and tangled her fingers in her hair.

  “You like that?” he asked, and did it again, a long slow caress with his tongue, as he reveled in the sweet, tart taste of her juices. He knew how much she wanted him, how much he was turning her on, by her little moans and whimpers and by the way she arched her back and spread her thighs wider, but he needed to hear it.

  “I love it,” she moaned.

  He slid down and kissed the inside of her left thigh. It was soft and rounded and he nipped at it, then sucked until he left a small red mark. Claiming her. Marking his territory.

  Then he kissed his way back up her thigh and engulfed the swollen pink bead of her clitoris in his mouth, sucking at it and sliding his fingers into her tiny tight entrance.

  “Ohhh,” she gasped, “oh,” as he began stroking her velvety inner wall until he found the spot that made her shriek and cry out. And then he sucked her and stroked her until her rhythmic gasping turned into a loud wail and her whole body rippled and shook with the force of her orgasm.

  He pulled away and moved up the bed, gathering her in his arms, sinking into her soft, fleshy curves as she shuddered with the aftershocks of her climax.

  “Wait,” he said, releasing her, and grabbed at his jeans, pulling a packet of condoms from his wallet.

  “Here,” she said, grabbing it. She slowly rolled the condom onto his cock, sliding it down his thick shaft, and the feeling of her fingers brushing against his sensitive flesh made him groan.

  As soon as it was on, he was on top of her, thrusting her legs open with his knee and sliding in between her.

  When he began pressing against her tight entrance she gasped, and let out a small whimper as he forced himself inside. He knew he was large, and her tunnel was so tight that it clamped on his cock like a fist.

  “Am I hurting you, babe?” he murmured in her ear.

  In response, she grabbed his butt, one hand on each cheek, urging him deeper inside her.

  “Yes. In the best possible way.” Her voice was husky with desire, and he slowly worked his way up inside her, thrusting hard, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt and his balls were tickling her buttocks. It felt so right being inside her, so warm and tight and welcoming.

  She thrust forward to meet him, and he reached down and grabbed her hands, stretching them above her head and pinning them down.

  “Now do you believe I want you?” he demanded, staring down into the crystal blue lakes of her eyes.

  “Either that, or you fake it really, really well. And I’m okay with that,” she gasped, and began moving against him.

  He began thrusting rhythmically, moving his hips and feeling the delicious friction of her muscular sheath squeezing him.

  “I’m going to…Oh, my God, I want…”

  Her hands tightened in his and she arched her back, pushing up against him, and he could feel the ripples of her orgasm travelling down her tight tunnel.

  Heat filled him and flushed throughout his entire body until he exploded, his climax rocking him until he collapsed on top of her, gathering her into his arms.

  Chapter Eight

  “Lucky Levi? Goodness, why is everyone so interested in him all of a sudden?” Bertha Goodstone looked up from her desk at her grand-niece Betsy.

  Among Bertha’s job responsibilities was serving as historian for the Crooked Creek Telegram. She helped maintain the newspaper museum, which had copies or reproductions of the newspapers which had been printed in the town’s frontier days, along with old printing presses and boxes of type and other bits of journalism memorabilia.

  “What do you mean?” Betsy asked, puzzled.

  “You’re the third person to ask me about him this week.”

  Betsy stared at her Aunt, trying to make sense of this new information. Sure, Lucky Levi was a colorful character in Crooked Creek history – but to have two other people in a week interested enough to seek out the newspaper’s historian and ask about him? That couldn’t be a coincidence – but she couldn’t figure out who else would be looking for him.

  “I am? Was one of them a pretty, heavyset woman with brown hair and blue eyes?”

  “No, the other two were both men. Although one of them certainly was pretty, and he had the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. If I were forty years younger and single, well, my word.” She fanned herself dramatically.

  “Good lord, Aunt Bertha. I will never tell Uncle Charles you said that. Maybe.”

  “Don’t. He’d pout for days. There’s an extra box of fudge in it for you this Christmas if you keep your yap shut.”

  “I want it next week, and it has to be maple.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, young lady. Fine.” Bertha pretended to look annoyed, but Betsy could tell she was secretly pleased. She was a legendary fudge maker, and she loved it when people flattered her cooking skills.

  “What did the other man look like? And did either of them say why they were interested?”

  “Funny thing, the other man looked like he’d been in a fight. Or maybe a car accident. He wore sunglasses that he never took off, and he wore makeup to try to cover the bruises, but you could still tell that he had a couple of shiners and his face was all puffy, and his lip was split. And neither of them said why they were interested in Lucky Levi. Why? What’s your interest in this?” she looked over the top of her bifocals at Betsy.

  “Nothing. I’ve always loved history,” Betsy lied glibly.

  “Oh, horse puckey, young lady. There’s no centennial coming up, so the only thing I can think of is that whole lost treasure thing. Is that it?”

  Betsy looked around and lowered her voice. “You have to keep this on the q.t. I’m doing this to help out a friend who’s a descendant of Lucky Levi. If we find the treasure, I will make sure that our paper gets the exclusive story on it, and we’ll have a story that every newspaper in the country will follow. Who doesn’t love a treasure hunt?”

  “All right.” Her aunt squinted at her skeptically. “Lucky Levi died in 1872. Crooked Creek was barely a town then, mostly a scattered collection of about a hundred shacks and cabins left over long after the Pike’s Peak gold rush had died down. Levi had spent his life chasing unsuccessful schemes. One of his biggest cons was selling gullible Easterners land plots with gold mines on them, which of course turned out to be fake. He was put on trial for cattle rustling a couple of times, but his lawyer got him off. He was also a not very talented card shark, and every cent that he ever won, he spent at bordellos, to the dismay of his long-suffering wife. So, finally, in 1872-“

  The voice of Betsy’s father came bellowing across the room. “Betsy! Small airplane made an emergency landing out in Applebottom Orchard!
Hop to it!”

  “Damn it! Hold that thought, Aunt Bertha.” Betsy dashed across the room, muttered g-rated curses under her breath. Normally breaking news thrilled her, but not when she was right in the middle of a treasure hunt that was far more exciting than anything else that she’d ever covered.

  It was late evening, and most of the newsroom employees were gone, by the time she was finished with the story on the plane, the summer hay update (prices were holding steady on alfalfa and oat hay), and the obituary column because the obituary writer was on vacation.

  She sent a text to Josephine’s phone: Sorry busy working all day will look into the matter we discussed & get back to u w/ any news. Cooper if u r reading this mind ur own beeswax & stop reading other ppls txts. Jerk.

  Her aunt had gone home hours ago, so she would be on her own tonight researching Lucky Levi, but she knew her way around the museum so well she could navigate it blindfolded.

  It was housed in the small, original building which had housed the Crooked Creek Telegram back in the 1880s, physically connected to the newspaper’s new building. The doorway was in the back of the building, which led down a long hall and into the museum.

  Every time Betsy walked down that long dark hallway, she shivered. It was like stepping into the tunnel of a time machine. She left behind a room of quietly clicking computer keyboards and squawking police radios and bright white fluorescent lights, and travelled back in time a hundred years.

  The museum was spooky at night; the old kerosene lamps that sat on little shelves on the walls had been modernized, wired with electricity, but they still cast off only a dim light in the dusty rooms.

  Betsy walked through the room that housed the ancient printing presses and into the back room that held old copies of newspapers. She turned out most of the lights, because she didn’t want anyone to know she was in there. Anyone like Cooper, say.

  She found an oil lamp sitting on one of the shelves, which was used for demonstration purposes by the docents, and she lit it with a match, turned out the last of the lights, and got to work.

  There were a number of copies of the Crooked Creek Gazette, one of the small newspapers which had preceeded the Telegram, saved on microfilm, but reading them from front to back was a slow, tedious process, and Betsy was still squinting into the microfiche reader at midnight when she heard it.

  Footsteps creaking down the hallway, slowly and quietly working their way towards the room. Towards her.

  Her heart leapt into her throat. She was the only one in the building . The windows on this particular room were all ancient and firmly painted shut. There were two doors – the door that led to the hallway, and a door that led out the side of the building and down a set of wooden steps.

  She quickly snuffed the kerosene lamp, plunging the room into utter darkness, and rushed for the door that led outside.

  As she did, she heard footsteps pounding across the room towards her, and the next thing she knew, she was pressed up against the door by a large, muscular man, standing there in complete darkness.

  “Don’t scream,” the man said. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll leave quietly; I didn’t expect anyone to be here at this hour.”

  Betsy heard the Northeast accent, and took a guess.

  “Jason Sawyer?” she ventured.

  “What the hell?” He fumbled in his pocket, and pulled out a small flashlight, which he switched on. Now they were standing in a tiny pool of light and Betsy was staring up into the face of one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen.

  He had wavy brown hair, and eyes the color of faded denim, just like Josephine’s. He was broad shouldered and large, muscular where his sister was plump. He had the beefy build and strong jaw of a football player.

  He frowned down at her. “Who are you, and how did you know my name?” he asked sternly.

  “Betsy Finkelstein. I’m friends with Josephine. I waitress at the Dry Gulch Saloon a couple of days a week, where she just got a job. She told me about you, and I’m helping her to research Lucky Levi so you guys can find the lost treasure. I already know you’d been at the museum once before; my aunt told me that you and some other guy came here already.”

  “Some other guy? Who?” Jason’s eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t know. Some guy who looked like he’d been in a fight.”

  “Interesting.” Jason frowned.

  “Could just be a coincidence, I guess.”

  “I doubt that. So let me get this straight.” He still had her backed into a corner, pressing up against her. She was trapped and had no place to go…and she found herself liking it.

  In fact, she liked the feeling of him pressing up against her very, very much.

  “My sister is in town,” Jason continued, sounding exasperated. “She has a job here, already. What about her EMT job?”

  “I guess she gave them notice. She says they told her she could come back whenever she wants to.” Betsy continued looking at him. “I’m hoping she stays up here. We like her.”

  “Where is she staying?”

  “In a motel cabin at the other end of the Crooked Mile. Oh, there’s a bounty hunter with her. His name’s Cooper, and he already hooked up with the local sheriff’s office to try to find you.”

  “She bought a bounty hunter with her?” Jason’s eyes went wide with surprise.

  “Not on purpose. He followed her up here.”

  He shook his head, baffled. “This is a lot to process. I should go.”

  “No, you shouldn’t!” Betsy protested. “I can help you find the treasure. Or at least find out if it really exists.”

  “How?” he asked skeptically. “And why would you?”

  “I know this town’s history, and I know everyone in town, including people whose ancestors came here in the 1800s. And I’ve been researching Levi’s history all night; I’m doing it to help Josephine. My family founded this newspaper; you won’t find a better partner to help you solve this mystery.”

  “I can’t have a partner with me on this. I don’t want to put you in any danger. I’ve got a warrant out for my arrest right now.”

  “I know! You’re a bandit on the run! My god, that is so romantic and exciting.” Betsy’s eyes were shining and her heart pounded against her ribcage. Just imagine! Here she was, little boring smalltown Betsy Finkelstein, backed up against a wall and held hostage by a real live handsome bandit. Well, he wasn’t really holding her hostage, he was about to walk out the door and leave her unmolested, but she liked her version of the story better.

  “Is it really, now?” he flashed her an amused smile.

  “It’s like something you’d read in a novel. You have to let me help you! I’ve made real progress.” His eyes flashed with hope, but then he shook his head.

  “Betsy, I can’t ask that of you. You could get in a world of trouble just for talking with me. Please don’t tell Josephine you saw me; I’ve got to go.”

  “No!” Betsy protested, and before she knew it, she, Betsy Finkelstein, timid, nerdy, bookish Betsy, threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his in a passionate, hungry kiss.

  Jason froze in shock for a few seconds, and then his arms tightened around hers and his fingers tangled in her hair and tipped her head back and he was plunging his mouth onto hers, kissing her hard, tongue plunging deep into her mouth. His mouth was warm and his kiss was firm and masterful. He took command, moving his tongue throughout her mouth and slowly pulling away until she whimpered and stretched up to meet him, and then he bent down to claim her mouth again, sucking at her, nibbling gently on her lower lip.

  “There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, Betsy Finkelstein.” He cupped her face in his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

  And Betsy realized that this was how she could finally find out what hot sex was like. Not boring, lie-flat-on-your-back sex like she’d had with her ex-fiancee, but hot, scorching sex. This would be an affair to remember. To dream about for the rest of her long, sexless
life, after Jason found the treasure and blew out of town.

  “A whole lot more,” she breathed. She suspected that maybe that wasn’t true, that maybe she was just boring, kind of cute, glasses-face Betsy, but maybe she could reach down deep inside her and find something more. Something exciting.

  “Now I really can’t let you in on this. I won’t let you get tangled up in my problems,” he said, regret clouding his face.

  “It’s my choice, not yours. And the odds of you finding the treasure on your own are pretty slim, or you would have found it already.”

  He stepped back away from her. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I need you to tell me what you know. You don’t have much time, you know. You’ve got a bounty hunter and the sheriff’s department looking for you.”

  “God damn it. You are really stubborn, aren’t you?”

  “When there’s something that I really want, yes I am.”

  He thought about it for a minute, than sighed. “Fine. I guess I don’t have much choice. There’s not much I can do on my own with law enforcement looking for me, and someone else looking into Lucky Levi.”

  “You have no idea who the other person is?”

  He flashed a rueful smile. “I’ve made a few enemies over the years, although I’ve also been pretty careful to make sure that it would cost them very dearly to come after me. And I don’t know how any of them would know that I’m here. How did Josephine know I was here?”

  “Because you started quizzing her about the old stories that your father used to tell her, and asking her about Levi Miller.”

  He smiled ruefully. “Lucky Levi. He created quite a family legacy. All right, what do you need from me?”

  Betsy took a deep breath. “First…I need you to kiss me one more time.” She couldn’t believe the words had left her lips, but Jason was on her immediately, kissing her hard. He ravaged her mouth, cradling her face in his hands and keeping it upturned, and she could feel the long, hard swell of his erection through his jeans.

  She was dizzy with desire, her nipples swollen and throbbing, and a rush of moisture soaking her white cotton panties.