Nine months ago I wasn’t sure this day would ever come! I had just been diagnosed with Stage IV-B Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, and I was scared. I had just started writing Bulky & Beauteous. I stalled. I told myself I wasn’t going to, but I did. I was scared, and tired, and worn out. But months later (too many months for me) I finally finished it. And now you can read it!
Addi is reliable, always there for everyone. She does everything for everyone, neglecting herself. When her kindness and selflessness is tossed back in her face, Addi snaps. She doesn’t want to be seen as a doormat, but she knows that’s how others see her. Addi takes a page from her irresponsible sister’s playbook and decides she’s going to make some changes in her life.
Joey is a ski bum with no future, Addi is sure of that. What Joey does have is the power to ignite a passion inside Addi she was sure had died off long ago. She keeps him at arm’s length emotionally, but lets him a lot closer physically.
When someone is hurt during one of their interludes, Addi questions the person she’s become. When the smoke clears, Addi has to figure out who she really is… reliable Addi or carefree Addi.
Excerpt from Bulky & Beauteous
He came at me as I approached him. Our mouths collided the same time our hands met each other’s bodies. His tongue was hot and smooth in my mouth, urgent, needy. Desperate. Just like I felt.
I had to touch him. I didn’t care how cold it was outside or who might be able to hear us. I needed to feel him.
My hands tugged at the zipper on his jacket, then shoved it over his shoulders once I could. He groaned at the restraint and released me so he could shrug out of his jacket. I took advantage of his position and stroked my hand over the hard ridge of his erection, making his body lurch toward me.
He yanked off his jacket and tugged mine free, his movements as frantic as mine. When his hands went to the front of my pants I froze.
Shit, was I really doing this? Was I really going to fuck him in the woods?
Unaware of my sudden panic, Joey kept working his way into my pants, his lips on my throat, his hands close, so very close to where I wanted him.
I was being crazy. We were in public. I barely knew him. I couldn’t do it.
Then I heard the whoops of someone on the slopes. The voices of skiers so close, but separated from us. Hidden, in our own private spot. Holy shit, it turned me on. And then Joey’s hand was there. Brushing my bare skin. Hot flesh, cold air.
His fingers touched me, barely grazing across my center. I arched into him like a greedy cat. It was fitting, in a way, considering how desperate I was for his touch. He stroked me, soaking my panties and his fingers, before delving inside.
My knees gave out and his other arm came around me, supporting me. “Lean on me,” he growled in my ear. I had no choice but to listen.
I draped my arms around his neck, my face buried against his sweater. I smelled the musky scent of him, the clean, fresh air, and the pine scent of the thick trees surrounding us. It was a heady mix, made that much sweeter by his ministrations between my legs.
“Yes, Addi, just let go for me,” he groaned, a pained sound that made me wonder if he was as close as I was. Jesus, he was talented. My hips moved on their own, controlled by the hand buried deep in my pants. I wanted to strip off all my clothes to relieve the heat building up inside me, but I knew only one thing would truly help.
And with just a few more strokes of his thumb over me, a few more thrusts of his fingers deep inside, the heat built to four alarm fire status. I burned up from the inside out, flames licking at my skin, or was that his tongue? I didn’t care. My body hurtled toward its release, whether trying to outrun the fire or ignite it further, I didn’t know. Stop, drop, and roll flashed through my head, instantly making the elementary school lesson a dirty idea for adults.
Joey chuckled, his hand slowing as I came down from the high he put me on. “Stop, drop, and roll? Is that next?”
“I said that out loud?” I asked, embarrassed.
“I think it’s a great idea. Well, maybe not the stop part.”
His hand was still inside me, his fingers connected to my most intimate parts. And we were talking about fire drills.
His finger stroked against my core again and I moaned. “Definitely not the stop part,” I agreed.
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