Alphas Love Curves Read online

  CURVES ENVY

  Book 1—Alphas Love Curves

  Scarlett Avery

  Copyright © 2015 by Scarlett Avery

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Scarlett Avery / Absolutely Naughty Publishing

  Edited by RJ Locksley

  Proofread by Chrissy Becker

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. This book is for sale to adults over 18.

  Curves Envy / Scarlett Avery

  ISBN 978-1-987943-00-9

  Foreword

  I can't thank you enough for purchasing this sizzling read.

  I’m absolutely passionate about what I do. Once I start writing, I just can't stop.

  It's taking me a whole lifetime to get to the point where I’m able to live out my dream every single day.

  The captivating stories and the enigmatic characters live with me throughout the writing process. I think you'll quickly notice how much care and attention I put into each one of my romance novels.

  Another thing you’ll discover about me is how much I love my readers!

  To thank you for buying this romance novel, I’d love for you to lose yourself in even more sultriness, sexiness and seduction!

  When you sign-up today, I’ll send an exclusive

  Secret Chapter for this book in this series.

  Sign-up TODAY! www.RomanceBooksRock.com

  ***

  Curves Envy Series

  Book 1—Alphas Love Curves

  Book 2—Curvy Girls Do It Better

  Book 3—Claimed by An Alpha

  Book 4—Curvy Conquest

  ***

  BOOK 1—ALPHAS LOVE CURVES

  Chapter One

  I’ve come to look forward to these lazy Saturday mornings with my two favorite guys. I’m sprawled luxuriously across my king-size bed like a queen enjoying some early-morning loving.

  This must be how Cleopatra felt every single day of her life in the kingdom of ancient Egypt.

  I slowly open one eye, careful not to break the sultry mood, and as I peer at the bright sun I know this is the start to an incredible weekend. Leonardo DiCaprio is licking my face while Vince Guardino is fumbling with my big breasts. He squeezes my nipples and I can’t help but purr with pleasure.

  I can’t believe this is happening to me.

  “Oh, Candy, you have the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  I still blush every time Vince pays me a compliment. I’m not used to men paying homage to my body like he does.

  “You say such crazy things because I allow you to fuck my boobs,” I respond, trying to dismiss his flirtatious words.

  “You have a good point. Your double-D tits make me come like an animal. I always think I’m going to pass out once I shoot my load all over your boobs. I can never get enough of seeing your big tits squeezing my hard cock.”

  Hearing him say these words makes me feel like a sex goddess.

  “Okay, Leonardo DiCaprio, stop it. You can’t sit there and lick my face all day,” I giggle.

  “Your cat is hilarious. I still can’t believe you named him after a famous actor. What, Fluffy or Pumpkin weren’t available?”

  “I’d never name him such a mundane name. He’s too precious. He deserves a name fit for a king and since he has the same drop-dead-gorgeous blue eyes as the actor, I thought it was fitting.” I roll to my side to pet my beautiful white cat.

  The truth is I got Leonardo DiCaprio after reading an article online claiming pets help with weight loss. At the time, I was desperate to get down to a healthier size and I was willing to grasp at any straw. I was walking by a pet shop on my way to meeting my best friend Amelia for brunch on a Saturday morning when I fell head over heels in love with Leonardo. There he was looking up at me with his little paws in the air and I couldn’t resist. I ran into the store, claimed ownership and called my friend to let her know we’d have to order breakfast to go since I couldn’t walk into the restaurant with my new pet.

  Amelia thought I was crazy, but she fell as hard as I had when she came over to meet Leonardo. Technically the article focused on having to walk a dog on a daily basis to drop the unwanted pounds, but I hate dogs, so I settled for a cat instead. Needless to say, my beautiful white Turkish Angora cat didn’t help in my quest to discover a trimmer, slimmer and firmer me, but I still love my darn cat.

  “Not to mention, I have a major crush on Leonardo DiCaprio since seeing Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained a few years ago. Don’t even get me started on how dashing he looked in The Great Gatsby—what a dream,” I coo. “I think I must have watched Martin Scorsese’s The Wolf of Wall Street at least eight times. I still believe he was robbed of the Oscar for best male actor and I’d be willing to petition. Yeah, you could say I’m a hardcore fan.”

  “If he ever needs a publicist, you’re the girl for the job.”

  “Oh, no. I could never work for him. I’d throw myself at him constantly like a lovesick fool and I wouldn’t get any work done,” I let out dramatically before turning my head to lose myself in my lover’s deep mahogany eyes.

  “There’s no way he could resist your charms—or your eyes.”

  “It’s true the Hollywood hunk tends to exclusively date twenty-something-year-old hotties, which is a plus in my book. I doubt he’d ever give a second glance to a girl like me. Seems like he’s on a steady diet of skinny blonde models—which I’m not. So I figured naming my cat after him was my only chance to proclaim I sleep with Leonardo every night of the week.” I grin mischievously before turning my body to face Vince.

  I can take care of my cat later.

  “Leonardo is missing out because in my world big girls do it better.” Vince cups the side of my face and drops a soft, tender kiss on my lips.

  “You really feel this way?” I ask, a bit insecure. “I mean, you’re a successful pilot and you travel the world. I’m sure you meet tons of very attractive women. Don’t all men dream of fucking a skinny supermodel?”

  “You’re silly, Candy. I’ll be honest, your eyes were the first thing I was attracted to. They’re so green, so deep and so intense they left me weak in the knees, but when I saw you moving around the grocery store, I thought I was going to go into cardiac arrest when I laid eyes on your curves.”

  Until I recently lost ninety pounds, men never noticed anything else but my eyes. I’m no supermodel and I don’t even know if I’d call myself pretty, but God blessed me with big emerald-colored eyes and even bigger boobs. Listening to Vince go on about my body like this makes me feel like he’s talking about someone else.

  “Oh,” I whisper, silenced by his sweet words, which are such a contrast from those my ex-boyfriend George used to barrage me with. It always seemed to me George disliked my body more than I did.

  I’m still unable to get used to the way Vince showers me with affection. I wish I could see him more often, but I don’t want to rock the boat this early in our relationship, so I’m quite happy with our Saturday morning hookups. He usually drives straight from JFK airport to my place after he’s landed from his weekly red-eye flight from Dubai to New York City. Our hot and heavy fling has been going on for four weeks now and I spend the better part of my week counting down the days until I’m wrapped in his arms.

  “I personally prefer meat on a woman’s bones. Trust me, skinny bitches aren’t nearly as e
njoyable as you,” he says, flashing an arresting smile.

  Vincent Guardino is a thirty-one-year-old Italian-American I met a month ago at the grocery store. Although I’m only twenty-four, I tend to go for older men because they seem to appreciate a curvier woman’s body more than guys my own age—who obsessively idolize a model’s or porn star’s body.

  I know you might think it’s ironic for a big girl to meet her guy while shopping for food, but that’s exactly what happened to me. There I was in the vegetable section trying to be good and follow Dr. Oz’s advice on healthy eating when I felt his eyes on me. At first I thought he was looking at a hot chick behind me, so I instinctively turned around, but when I noticed only a couple of scruffy young male store employees behind me, I lowered my eyes, conscious of the fact a super-sexy dark and handsome stranger was staring at me.

  Unwilling to accept the fact I could elicit this kind of reaction from a man, I attempted to continue my grocery shopping, pretending I hadn’t noticed him ogling me. I thought I dodged him in the dairy aisle, but when I closed the refrigerator door after grabbing a carton of one percent fat milk, there he was—standing in front of me with a charming smile. After we exchanged phone numbers, he casually headed to the checkout counter and I was left fanning myself because I was so overwhelmed by the whole thing. I still remember the incredulous look on an old couple’s face when I opened the freezer door behind me to cool down.

  Once I got home with my bags of groceries, I dismissed the whole early-Saturday-morning courting episode as a joke and figured I’d never hear back from Vince again, but within an hour of getting home, he had texted me to have drinks the same night he caught my eye while I was bagging a bunch of heirloom carrots—you know, those fancy-colored carrots that help you forget you’re eating rabbit food.

  “Baby, it’s already nine forty-five and I’m going to hit the shower,” he says, lifting his head to peek at the clock on my night table. “I’m having a late breakfast with my brother Dean and I have to get going or I’ll be late.” He kisses my forehead before flinging the sheets off his lean body and jumping to his feet like a prize boxer before a match.

  “Oh, no, you’re leaving so soon? You’ve only been here a few hours and last week you promised me you’d be able to stay longer,” I lament as he makes his way to my bathroom.

  “Why don’t you come and join me under the water? We can have some fun and spend more time together.”

  “I love how you think. Why don’t you start without me? I want to feed Leonardo DiCaprio before he starves,” I shout before pulling the sheets over my head, annoyed he’s leaving so soon.

  For once, I’d love to spend an entire day and even a whole weekend with him. I hate how he rushes out so quickly after I’ve made him come. It kind of makes me feel like I’m a convenient fuck, but not someone he’d want to spend quality time with. It’s not as if Vince is a god of sex, but he’s far more attentive than a lot of other guys I’ve been with in the past. So many ex-boyfriends didn’t give a damn about making me come, but Vince tries his best and I appreciate that about him.

  I’m grateful we spend these precious few hours together and he’s a caring lover, but I want more.

  Leonardo meows as if to console me and I pull him close to my naked body for comfort. “I know, Leo, it’s not fair. Do you want me to feed you now?”

  Loud music blares and I roll my eyes.

  Oh, God, he’s singing again.

  I should hide the MP3 dock and speakers I have in the bathroom to prevent him from playing music while pretending to be a rock star. I love having music playing in the background while I take a soothing bath at the end of a grueling day, but for the past four weeks I’ve come to regret my decision. I’m sure Jon Bon Jovi must be shaking his head right now at the way Vince is butchering his smash hit song.

  Don’t quit your day job, buddy.

  Vince has many talents—singing is not one of them. Every Saturday morning before leaving my place, he runs to my bathroom, selects the song of the day, turns on the water and sings his head off like he’s standing in a Los Angeles recording studio. The only problem is Vince tends to sound pitchy when he channels one of his idols and it scares the hell out of my cat. It’s not as if I’m Katy Perry or Taylor Swift, but at least I can carry a tune well enough not to frighten domestic animals.

  I should go join him under the shower to prolong the moment.

  I reluctantly sit on my bed and the white cotton sheet slides off my breasts and lands on my soft stomach. I look down at my body, still unable to believe how he loves every part of me—even the imperfect ones. Although I’ve lost a lot of weight in the past eighteen months, I’m still quite self-conscious when it comes to my body. I turn on my bed and shimmy my ass to the edge before jumping off of my deep mattress set when I hear a knock at the door.

  Funny, I’m not expecting anyone. I try to block out Vince’s singing to focus, but the second knock is much more forceful. Someone is definitely at the door.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” I shout, getting to my feet and reaching out for my robe. Once I’ve covered myself, I run to the door. I get on the tips of my toes and look through the peephole to see who’s disturbing my lazy Saturday morning with my lover.

  I’ve never seen her in my life.

  I’m staring at a stranger’s face and it takes me a few seconds to realize the woman banging down my door is angry as hell.

  “Open the door. I see your eye through the peep hole.” The stranger has one hand on her hip and she’s waving the other in front of her.

  Who is this psycho bitch?

  “How can I help you?” I say, unwilling to open the door.

  “You know exactly how you can help me.”

  “I’m sorry, but you must have the wrong door. I’ve never met you in my life,” I say, hiding behind my closed door.

  “You might not know me, but you surely know my husband, Vinny. I’ve been sitting in my sister’s car for the past hour to find out how long it would take the scumbag to come back out. I guess he’s not done fooling around yet,” she snarls.

  What? Is she drunk? “Did you say your husband?” There’s no way. “I think you have the wrong apartment.”

  “Open this door, bitch. You’ve been fucking my husband and I want you to see the pain you’ve caused me.”

  Holy fuck. Vince is married? He assured me he was single.

  I’m in utter shock. I turn around to the bathroom where Vince still thinks he’s on the stage of America’s Got Talent and bring my hand to my mouth, unable to think straight as I replay past conversations in my head where I confirmed his marital status before allowing him to fuck me.

  Jesus, did he ever give me a straight answer or did I desperately want him to be this sexy single pilot who randomly picks me up because he thinks I’m hot?

  “Open this door or I’ll bust it open.” The stranger bangs with such determination, I fear she’ll wake up the entire floor.

  “Okay, hold your horses. Calm down and I’ll open the door.” My heart is pounding and my throat is so dry it hurts to swallow. I unlatch the security chain with shaky hands, trying my best to believe this is all a big misunderstanding and the angry person on the other side got off on the wrong floor. I’m sure she’s just having a bad day. When I finally manage to open the door, my jaw drops.

  A short, slender, dark-haired fiery woman in her early thirties stands in front of me in four-inch heels, mad as hell. She’s wearing full makeup and a bright look-at me dress. I have to glance at her twice before I notice her protruding stomach.

  Please God, don’t let it be true. She cannot be pregnant.

  “Who the fuck are you?” The stranger throws the question at me before I can peel my eyes off of her round belly.

  “Huh?” I fumble, having missed her question, too consumed by the growing fear that my world as I know it is about to come crumbling down like a house of cards.

  “Listen, you’re too young to have a hearing problem, but
let me repeat myself again slowly this time so you catch it all.” The stranger flashes me a sarcastic smile before repeating her question. “Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?”

  Damn, she has a lot of attitude so early on a Saturday morning.

  Maybe if I tell her my name and she realizes she’s at the wrong door, she might leave me alone. “My name is Candice Westerman. May I remind you you’re the one knocking down my door for no good reason? Who the hell are you?”

  “Well, Candice Westerman, my name is Teresa Guardino and Vincent Guardino, who must be somewhere inside your apartment, is my husband.”

  As if to accentuate her point, Vincent screeches even louder under the shower as he hits a high note. We both look towards the direction of the bathroom. I roll my eyes, unable to believe this soap-opera drama.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are sleeping with a married man?”

  The bitch is condemning me before even having the facts. “I swear I didn’t know Vince was married. He told me he was single,” I add, realizing I didn’t quiz him too much to confirm he was telling me the truth. I was relishing the attention so much, it never crossed my mind he could be cheating on another woman.

  “He’s very married, Candice. In fact, he’s so married, we’re having our third child together,” she says, turning sideways to give me a full view of her belly. The disgusted look on her face gives me chills.

  I can’t believe I’ve been unknowingly having an affair with a married man. I’m not the cheating kind.

  “How long has he been coming around your fuck shack to get laid?”

  “I met him four weeks ago,” I answer, still unsure what’s really going on here. “I only see him on Saturdays when he flies back from Dubai.”

  “Dubai? What are you talking about?” Teresa yells, forcing Leonardo DiCaprio to meow before running for cover.