Vegas Curves (A Masters of the Game BBW Erotic Romance) by Christa Wick Page A
Authors: Christa Wick
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on my prior pain. Either is unacceptable. Feeling Luke move, I brace against his anger even though he has yet to explode in my presence.
He drapes an arm across my chest as his weight settles onto the bed and his body sinks toward me. His lips press lightly against one shoulder while his fingers stroke the other. "The scar on your cheek is from some kind of metal rod."
I clamp my lips together. I don't want to discuss my childhood, my scars or the man who gave them to me.
Luke redirects his focus from my shoulders to my head. He brushes his chin against my ear, his hand cradling the other side of my face. "There are no abuse reports because your father kept the three of you out of school and never stopped moving."
I screw my face tighter. Shifting, Luke covers me with his body. His arms support his weight so that I feel only the animal heat radiating from his skin and the reassuring bulk of his cock and balls as they settle against the Y of my clenched thighs.
I realize he had gone soft. My reaction to his toys didn't turn him on. His voice reflects understanding, not pity.
I open my eyes to find him studying my face. Fierce concern stamps his features, deepening my confusion. Why would a man forcing me to sleep with him in return for helping me rescue my sister give a damn about how my father treated me? Why would a man with those kind of toys in his nightstand not be rock hard seeing the fear they create in me?
Luke strokes my hair from my face, his fingers combing through it to loosen the tangles. Doing so, he looks away for a few seconds. When his gaze returns to hook mine, his eyes shimmer with an unexpected wetness. "Tell me, Marie."
I open my mouth, close it to swallow, then suck a deep breath in. Luke rests his cheek against mine, gently quieting my fear and hesitation.
"One of the twins broke the antenna on a portable television." Remembering my father's discovery, I roll my lips in fear just as I did that long ago day. "The twins were three."
"So you said you broke it." Luke rubs the back of his fingers against the line of my chin.
"Yes." A sobby little hiccup erupts from my chest. Tommy had been napping on the couch that day. Finding him in the same room as the broken antenna and television, my father had lifted him roughly by the arm before I could run into the room screaming that I had broken it. The first blow with the metal wand landed on my cheek. Usually careful not to leave marks the neighbors could see, my father had then wrapped one giant hand around my face and used the wand on the back of my head four more times.
"It's okay, baby. He's never going to hurt you again." Luke pulls away, his hand seeking mine. Finding it, he coaxes me into turning it palm up. "And this?"
I closed my hand but he gently pries the fingers away. "It looks like a cigar burn."
I nod. "His last cigar two days after I spoiled a con. The woman...it was all the money she had...I was twelve."
Luke kisses the scar, then carefully closes my fingers over the mark. "Your father is lucky he's in prison."
The tight, low rumble of his voice turns the words into a death sentence. I look at Luke's face for a few seconds before the intensity of his gaze forces me to look away.
"I didn't know that." My body relaxes another fraction as I finally let go of a fear I have carried for six years. "For how long?"
"Another decade, at least." He sits up, his hands caressing my body as he continues. "Without you, his cons completely fell apart. He was busted twice the first year, the second time while he was out on bail and awaiting trial. A mix-up on the docket got his sorry ass out of jail again. It would have been a matter of hours before they discovered the error and put him back in jail. I guess that's why he immediately robbed a liquor store with a Bowie knife."
Luke traces the edge of my bottom lip with his finger. "What I can't figure out is how such a stupid, mean bastard produced a daughter like you."
I turn my head to the
He drapes an arm across my chest as his weight settles onto the bed and his body sinks toward me. His lips press lightly against one shoulder while his fingers stroke the other. "The scar on your cheek is from some kind of metal rod."
I clamp my lips together. I don't want to discuss my childhood, my scars or the man who gave them to me.
Luke redirects his focus from my shoulders to my head. He brushes his chin against my ear, his hand cradling the other side of my face. "There are no abuse reports because your father kept the three of you out of school and never stopped moving."
I screw my face tighter. Shifting, Luke covers me with his body. His arms support his weight so that I feel only the animal heat radiating from his skin and the reassuring bulk of his cock and balls as they settle against the Y of my clenched thighs.
I realize he had gone soft. My reaction to his toys didn't turn him on. His voice reflects understanding, not pity.
I open my eyes to find him studying my face. Fierce concern stamps his features, deepening my confusion. Why would a man forcing me to sleep with him in return for helping me rescue my sister give a damn about how my father treated me? Why would a man with those kind of toys in his nightstand not be rock hard seeing the fear they create in me?
Luke strokes my hair from my face, his fingers combing through it to loosen the tangles. Doing so, he looks away for a few seconds. When his gaze returns to hook mine, his eyes shimmer with an unexpected wetness. "Tell me, Marie."
I open my mouth, close it to swallow, then suck a deep breath in. Luke rests his cheek against mine, gently quieting my fear and hesitation.
"One of the twins broke the antenna on a portable television." Remembering my father's discovery, I roll my lips in fear just as I did that long ago day. "The twins were three."
"So you said you broke it." Luke rubs the back of his fingers against the line of my chin.
"Yes." A sobby little hiccup erupts from my chest. Tommy had been napping on the couch that day. Finding him in the same room as the broken antenna and television, my father had lifted him roughly by the arm before I could run into the room screaming that I had broken it. The first blow with the metal wand landed on my cheek. Usually careful not to leave marks the neighbors could see, my father had then wrapped one giant hand around my face and used the wand on the back of my head four more times.
"It's okay, baby. He's never going to hurt you again." Luke pulls away, his hand seeking mine. Finding it, he coaxes me into turning it palm up. "And this?"
I closed my hand but he gently pries the fingers away. "It looks like a cigar burn."
I nod. "His last cigar two days after I spoiled a con. The woman...it was all the money she had...I was twelve."
Luke kisses the scar, then carefully closes my fingers over the mark. "Your father is lucky he's in prison."
The tight, low rumble of his voice turns the words into a death sentence. I look at Luke's face for a few seconds before the intensity of his gaze forces me to look away.
"I didn't know that." My body relaxes another fraction as I finally let go of a fear I have carried for six years. "For how long?"
"Another decade, at least." He sits up, his hands caressing my body as he continues. "Without you, his cons completely fell apart. He was busted twice the first year, the second time while he was out on bail and awaiting trial. A mix-up on the docket got his sorry ass out of jail again. It would have been a matter of hours before they discovered the error and put him back in jail. I guess that's why he immediately robbed a liquor store with a Bowie knife."
Luke traces the edge of my bottom lip with his finger. "What I can't figure out is how such a stupid, mean bastard produced a daughter like you."
I turn my head to the
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