by Elisa Leigh
His Curvy Woman
Elisa Leigh
Copyright © 2019 by Elisa Leigh
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.
Cover created by Elisa Leigh with Forever Love Cover & Designs.
Created with Vellum
Dedication
For every woman who has ever felt that her curves made her less than desirable. You are beautiful. You are worthy. Wear your curves with pride girl and own them!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Elisa Leigh
Chapter 1
Whitley Grant
“What an asshole!” I say under my breath as the bartender helps yet another person who isn’t me. The tourists have taken over our tiny island town of Emerald Isle, North Carolina, now that summer has arrived. It’s Sunday night and Beach Bums, the bar my brother wanted to come to, is packed like it always is. I’m in no mood to play second fiddle to the tourist trollops tonight. I’ve been waiting for a while, and the bartender keeps helping all the women who look like they could walk a runway and has yet to work his way in my direction.
Of course, I could be getting ignored since it’s freaking Jeremy Titus. I roll my eyes. We had chemistry together in the eleventh grade and sat next to each other. He flirted with me for the first half of the year, and always asked me to help him with his work. I even thought that the cute asshole liked me until after our ice cream date, if you want to call it that, he asked me to give him a blow job. Instead of eating our ice cream at the shop, we got it to go and ate it at the beach. I was having a pretty good time. Jeremy was always a cocky asshole, but he seemed sweet at times too. I just thought it was the way he was. Then he grabbed my hand and put it on his dick and told me he deserved some appreciation for taking me out. After I took my hand away and awkwardly declined his request, he told me that I should feel lucky he took pity on a fat girl like me. I shoved what was left of my ice cream in his face then got out of his car. I called my mom to come pick me up, never telling her what really happened. Jeremy ignored me for the rest of the year, which was fine by me, and I blew off any guy that ever seemed interested. It’s not like they measured up to the only guy that was ever worth it.
I’m so tired of men treating me like I’m invisible because I don’t look some woman on the front cover of a magazine with perfect hair and makeup. Sure, my jeans are double digits, and I wear a 40DD in my bra, but it sure would be nice for a guy to open a door once in a while or say excuse me when they step in front of me at the grocery store. “What do I have to do to get a damn drink around here?” I fume, louder than I should.
“Are you even old enough to be drinking?” I hear someone behind me ask while laughing.
Is this guy for real? Who is he to judge if I’m old enough to be in a bar? I’m in no mood to deal with another man thinking he can do and say whatever he wants. What gives men the right to talk to women and treat us like we’re less than? Unless we have big tits, a flat stomach, and an ass like Kim K., men act like we aren’t worth basic human decency.
I spin around, ready to let this guy have it. “I’ll have you know…” I don’t even get my snarky response out because standing in front of me is the biggest guy I’ve ever seen. He’s got to be over six and a half feet tall and is crazy muscular. The guy has muscles on top of muscles that are decorated with colorful tattoos that start at both wrists and go up and under the white t-shirt that’s sculpted perfectly around his strong shoulders. “Sweet Jesus!” I mutter.
He laughs, and my eyes fly from his chest to his sea-green eyes, the same sea-green eyes that I spent a summer getting lost in. He’s the boy I’ve compared all others to since I was fourteen. He stole my heart without even knowing it and never gave it back. Now he’s standing in front of me looking a lot less like the boy I fell head over heels for and more like the man who is about to ruin me. I’m in deep, deep trouble. “Hunter Stone,” I whisper.
Hunter Stone played football with my older brother Ramsey when they were in high school. The team used to come over and hang out a lot to swim in our pool during the summer. Especially the summer before I became a freshman and they were going into their senior year. Hunter was always the quiet one when everyone else was rough and rowdy. When they would ignore me, or worse, make fun of my awkward teenage body and crazy curly red hair, he’d tell me not to listen to them. There were even a few times he’d stop by before Ramsey got home and we’d talk about trivial things, that seemed important then. I always thought he was just being nice, but to me, those stolen conversations meant everything. He’d help my mom with whatever she needed and even helped Ramsey, and my dad restore an older model car. He spent so much time over at our house he became part of the family for a while. He was Ramsey’s best friend and like my parent’s adopted son. He never felt like family to me, he felt like so much more.
Then it all changed when he and his family moved in the middle of the football season and didn’t tell anyone where he went. I tried asking Ramsey about it, but he would just brush me off and tell me not to worry about it. Over the years, I have wondered about him. Where he was and what he was doing. I never told anyone about the huge crush I harbored for him. He was four years older than me, and my brother’s best friend. It was too embarrassing to tell even my best friend, Andi. She would have done something awful like blurt it out to my brother, or even worse, Hunter.
“Little Whitley Grant. There’s no way in hell you’re old enough to be drinking in this bar.” He drawls in a southern accent and gives me a wicked grin that makes my pussy throb instantly.
“Twenty-one as of April 9th.” I manage to get out even though my heart is beating rapidly in my chest, and my head is spinning. Where in the hell has he been for the last seven years?
“I stand corrected.” He winks. “Here, let me help you.” He puts his thumb and index finger in his mouth and lets out a loud whistle getting everyone’s attention. The bar quiets instantly, and everyone looks in our direction, even the Jeremy who’s been busy flirting with some girl stops and looks. “Yo’ Bucko, can the lady get a drink?” He yells above the crowd.
Within seconds everyone goes back to their conversations, and the noise around us returns to normal. “Well, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?” I ask sarcastically.
He smirks and is about to say something when Jeremy steps up to us. “Sorry about that. What can I get you?”
“Cranberry and vodka with a splash of lime.”
“You got it, babe, how about you?” Jeremy asks Hunter while starting to make my drink.
“Bottle of Heineken.”
Jeremy hands me my drink and takes the cap off a cold Heineken then gives it to Hunter. “That will be eight for yours, Whitney.” He says while staring at my boobs.
“It’s Whitley,” I say, stressing the ‘
ley’ at the end.
“Don’t look at her like that again. Do we have an understanding?”
“Whatever you say, bro.”
“I’m not your bro, ‘dude.’” Hunter deadpans and lays a twenty on the bar. “Keep the change.”
Jeremy rolls his eyes and walks off.
“Thank you, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Of course, I did. That guy was a tool. Plus, how could I not buy a beautiful girl a drink?”
I roll my eyes. I’m no ugly duckling, but I’ve had my share of self-esteem issues growing up on the chubby side. Hunter could have gotten any girl he wanted when he was in high school, but I never heard about him dating anyone. Now that he’s grown up, I’m surprised there aren’t women falling over themselves to talk to him.
“Right, well, thanks again. I guess I'll see you around?”
“Oh, you’ll be seeing me, Whitley.”
I smile awkwardly, not sure what he means by that and turn to go back to my brother’s table. I should have just ordered my drink from there, but I needed a breather. Ramsey’s new girlfriend and a couple of her friends are back at the table, and they're driving me insane. I never thought of myself as a judgmental person but listening to the girls tonight I’ve caught myself rolling my eyes more than once. Are people really this self-absorbed? What was my brother thinking by dating someone like Julia? She’s just so… hell, I don’t even know. I heard her friends making fun of what other women in the bar were wearing, and they all laughed. Do they not have anything better to talk about? I’m sure they have a lot to say about what I’m wearing. Now I’m wondering what Hunter thought when he saw me in my short jean shorts and a plain black tank top with my cowboy boots.
When I get back to the table, my brother smiles at me, before going back to talking with his friends Trevor and James. They are two of his closest and oldest friends. They played football with Ramsey and Hunter while in high school and also spent a lot of time at my house.
“Where did Julia and her friends go?” I ask, sitting down across from them, my back to the bar and crowd, at the long wooden table.
“I think they went to grab drinks. Our waitress has disappeared, and they got tired of waiting.” James offers.
Trevor and James work at the fire department with Ramsey. The three of them went to fire school together and joined the department when they got out. Over the years, they’ve welcomed me into their friend group. While they’ll still always think of me as Ramsey’s little sister, I’m now welcome as one of their own.
“So, you’ll never believe who I ran into at the bar,” I say.
“Who?” Ramsey asks.
“Didn’t think you were going to show up tonight,” Trevor says, looking at someone behind me.
“Well, I saw Whitley at the bar, had to stop and say hello.” Hunter pulls out the seat next to me and sits down, leaving no space between us. His thigh presses against mine while he rests his left arm behind the back of my chair, making the small hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Ramsey smiles at Hunter and doesn’t pay any attention to how close he’s sitting to me, while that’s all I can focus on. “It’s good to have you back man,” Ramsey says, reaching his hand out to shake Hunter’s.
“It’s good to be back,” Hunter says with a smile.
I take a sip of my drink as I listen to the guys talk and try and calm my jittery nerves.
“You ready for your first shift?” Trevor asks Hunter.
“More than ready. It’s been too long since I’ve worked. I was starting to go stir crazy.”
“You’re back? Like back-back? For good?” I ask, still in shock.
“That’s the plan, Lee.” He tells me and winks, calling me by the nickname he gave me when we were younger.
“Where are you going to be working?”
Chapter 2
Hunter Stone
I knew coming back home was going to be hard. After all, I left behind the people that meant everything to me, and I didn’t get the chance to tell them where I was going or why. Okay, that’s a lie, I told Ramsey I was leaving but made him swear not to tell a soul. Now that I’m back, I’m not going to waste this opportunity. I had the chance to go anywhere and be anyone when I left WITSEC. While my parents stayed in Arizona, living their new lives, I knew exactly where I was headed. Ever since I left Emerald Isle, North Carolina, when I was a teenager, I’ve been making plans to make it back here. Seven long years of being away, and I’m finally back.
I spent years keeping tabs on the Grant family over social media. At first, I just missed home and the people who were like a family to me. As the years went by, I started paying closer attention to Whitley’s pages, though. While I didn’t get to be here when she went to her first homecoming dance or scored a home run when her softball team went to regionals, I silently cheered her on from afar. As she grew up and turned into a woman, my interest in her turned into something I never expected, desire. Now I don’t go more than a few hours without checking on her. I know everything that she’s shown the world, now it’s time for me to learn what she’s kept from them.
“I’ve joined your brother and your dad at the Emerald Isle Fire Department,” I answer Whitley proudly.
Over the years, I’ve studied Whitley’s facial expressions in her photographs. I’ve seen her happy, and I’ve seen her sad. I’ve seen her laughing and even frustrated. I’ve never seen the look she’s wearing right now, and for a moment it makes me nervous. Does she not want me here? Is this an unwelcome surprise? Then she tries to hold it back but can’t, and a huge smile breaks free across her face.
“You’re really back?” She leans in close and whispers. The whole world fades, and it's only her and I. I lean my forehead against hers. “Yeah, Lee, I’m back for always.”
Then, like the world always does, it breaks into the moments that are meant to be savored.
“And who is this?” A woman asks, sitting down beside me. She runs an unwelcome hand up my right arm and squeezes my bicep. “I’m Avery. Julia, you didn’t tell me about this one.” The busty brunette, wearing entirely too much makeup, says while trying to accentuate her barely-there cleavage.
“This is our friend Hunter, Avery. He just got back to town.” Ramsey offers and I glare at him, making him laugh. He knows the score, I told him the first night I got to town what would be happening with Whitley and I. At first, he laughed and thought I was joking. Eventually, he caught on and sobered up quickly. I’m not messing around when it comes to what I want.
“No wonder I haven’t met you yet. We should-”
“No. I’m not interested.” I push back from the table and stand, Avery’s hand drops from my arm, and she gives me a shocked look. The woman has probably never been turned down in her life, judging by the expression on her face. I could care less. The only person I want touching me is Whitley. “Whitley, do you want to dance?” I ask.
Whitley looks from me to Avery and then back to me. I hold my hand out for her, and she takes it. Her hand is soft and small in my much larger one, and our eyes connect. There’s an awareness here, pulsing between us. I pull her to her feet and walk us out to the dance floor where a fast country song plays. All around us people dance and sing to the song playing loudly, but my Whitley looks nervous, maybe unsure of herself. This isn’t the woman I’ve been watching grow up for the past seven years. She fiddles with the hem of her tank top and stares down at the floor. I’m not much better off.
Ride by Chase Rice comes on and all of the uncertainty in this moment disappears. I’ve listened to this song many times, envisioning Whitley and I together. Grabbing Whitley’s hand, I place it on my chest and wrap my arms around her waist. Slowly, I start to sway to the side, back and forth, until finally, Whitley starts moving with me.
She looks up at me with a smile, but then fumbles and steps on my feet. She shakes her head and tries pulling away from me, but I don’t let her go. “Hunter, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
&nb
sp; “Sure, you do, we’re dancing.”
She smiles and the two dimples I’ve been dreaming about for years show on her face as she rolls her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Whitley, just move with me, baby. Follow my lead, and I promise not to let you fall. Can you do that?”
When she nods, I twirl her around in front of me and dip her back, then pull her back up. Her eyes are locked on mine. She’s asking me a hundred questions that I’m not ready to answer. I need this. I need her in front of me, just like this. Our bodies are moving, and our eyes are doing the talking.
Whitley slides her hands up my arms, over my shoulders, and down my chest until she wraps her arms around my middle and her big tits press against my front. Fuck, she’s going to kill me. “Perfect, baby. Just like this.” I murmur against her hair.
We dance through the song and into another, all the while my hands are gripping her hips and pressing her as close to me as I can get her. For years I imagined what it would be like to have her with me like this, but it was never a reality. Six months ago, when the call came in saying we could have our lives back, Whitley was my endgame, in a way she always had been.
Eventually, the song changes to something faster than we’re moving to and Whitley pulls away from me. She checks her watch and makes a weird face then looks back up at me. “I should probably get going. I have to work in the morning.” She turns and walks toward the table that our group of friends are sitting at. That isn’t what I wanted to hear, but at least I got to see her; feel her against me. “I’ll walk you to your car,” I say after catching up to her.
