Former male model and fashion photographer Simon McCallan had a jaded view of women, especially the slender beauties he photographed. But then, Simon had a secret: he wasn’t attracted to thin women. Being in the fashion industry, however, he’d never dated or had any real interaction with women larger than a size six. Then, one stormy afternoon, his new assistant arrived. She was the Rubenesque lady of his dreams, and his one thought from the moment she stepped in was that he had to have her. But Adrienne Parks was no push-over; handsome as Simon was, she wasn’t going to bed him just for his looks. Could he prove to her there was more to him than a pretty face? (F/M)
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“Bed.” And before I knew it, I was in bed with him. He lay atop me, kissing and cuddling me. Even though I knew he was drunk, it was nice to imagine he actually liked me. Nice to feel safe and cared for in his arms.
I went to sleep. That was my mistake.
The next morning, March 9th, I was woken by a snarl. “What the fuck?” I squinted to see Mike propped up on an arm, red-eyed and glaring at me. The hard light of day was pouring into the room, which probably wasn’t helping his hangover.
“Um, good morning,” I murmured, and tried to slip out of bed.
He grabbed me by the throat. He had huge hands and I have a very skinny neck. I gasped and tried to pry off his fingers.
“Did we fuck last night?” he demanded.
My heart was racing. I tried shaking my head.
“Y-you fucked me,” I managed to gasp.
He shoved me off the bed. I landed hard and tried to crawl away, but he was already out and standing over me. He was as naked as I was, but he didn’t look vulnerable. His fist came down, getting me in the back. I screamed.
Then he grabbed me by my skinny arm, so hard I thought he was going to break it. “I must have been really, really drunk,” he said, “and you must have known it, because I don’t fuck desperate sluts like you. I don’t invite them into my home. I don’t invite them into my bed. And I don’t let them suck my cock.”
“I didn’t—you didn’t! I mean—.”
“I don’t fuck their asses either!” Mike backhanded me. Then he kicked and punched, till I was huddled in the corner, protecting my head and shaking. I thought he was going to kill me.
“Get the fuck out!” he barked.
I scrambled for my clothes and got my jeans on before ending up on his front porch.
“You say one word about this to anyone, and you’re dead,” he promised, and slammed shut the door.