Dancing in the Dark (Curves for the Rock Star 4 - A BBW Rockstar Erotic Romance) (4 page)

It sounds
corny, but I was living the dream and I didn't want to wake up.

"Anyway," Rick
smiled, I thought you were going to go for the Italian dress you
talked about."

"I am. I'm just
looking, that's all."

"When do I get
to see it?"

"On our wedding
day, silly," I replied. "I've told you before, I want it to be a
surprise."

Rick put a
record on the hi-fi – "Tango in the Night", a Fleetwood Mac album –
and the vinyl crackled slightly before the music sprang to life. He
nuzzled into my neck, kissing it gently. "Oh go on, just a hint.
Just a little one."

"No," I
giggled. "I won't be swayed."

"Please?"

"Nope."

He softly ran
the tip of his tongue up my ear. "Pretty please?"

"I tell you
what," I whispered. "I won't show you the dress, but if you're a
good boy, I might give you a preview of the underwear."

Rick sprang up.
"Now you're talking! When you say underwear, do you mean the whole
thing?"

"Well, I
suppose it depends what you mean by ‘the whole thing’?"

He sat opposite
me and sipped a glass of Italian white wine. "Are we talking a sexy
white bra that pushes up those wonderful breasts of yours?"

I nodded. "Of
course. Anything else?"

"How about the
panties? Are the panties innocent or naughty?"

"Well, what
would you prefer?"

"I'd prefer
naughtily innocent. Or innocently naughty. Take your pick."

I started to
undo the top buttons of my blouse. "Well, I'm not sure which it is,
but I can tell you they're probably the tiniest, skimpiest little
thong panties I've ever worn or ever will again."

Rick took a
deep breath. "Okay, now I'm sweating. Are you hot, is that why
you're taking your blouse off?"

"Well, you want
me to change into them don't you?"

Rick's eyes
widened like a puppy dog. "You…you mean now? You're going to put
them on now?"

"Only if you
want me to, Rick." I bit my lip and fluttered my eyelashes cheekily
at him. "You do want to see them, don't you?"

Rick smiled the
broadest, warmest of smiles. "You see, you women get all the fun.
You know how to push our buttons, don't you?"

I slipped off
my blouse and threw it straight at Rick. "See you in a little
while," I teased, heading into the bedroom to get changed.

I hurriedly
pulled out the bridal lingerie I had stuffed in the back of one of
our wardrobes. I felt a little rush of excitement as I laid it out
on our bed, smiling to myself as I stripped naked. Now, what should
I start with? The horrifically expensive but utterly gorgeous
Simone Perele underwear? Or should I slip on the smooth-as-silk
white stockings? As I pulled out the Jimmy Choo box that contained
over a thousand dollars worth of ivory coloured five-inch high
heels, I stopped to pause for a second. It was almost inconceivable
to me that I was wearing this kind of stuff to get married in, let
alone simply have sex in. For a brief second, I allowed myself to
feel proud of how far I had come. I never dreamed I would date a
rock star, let alone be the woman to change his life.

I used to feel
so angry when people spent money unnecessarily on trivial things. I
would grumble under my breath about what a waste of money such
frivolities were. Yet now, in Rick's world, everything was
relative. Those shoes were just a drop in the ocean, a day’s worth
of royalties on songs he had already written many years ago. I
realised it was time to stop feeling resentment towards people who
had money, because now I was one of those people. I was one of
those individuals I always wished, secretly, I could be.

As I started to
slip on the underwear, the perfect fit and gorgeous fabric so
comfortable against my skin, I realised there was no shame in doing
well for yourself. It didn't mean I ever had to forget where I had
come from – maybe my humble beginnings and years of financial
struggle had made me a better person. I'll never forget meeting
Rick, interviewing and photographing him for a music magazine. I
was doing two jobs for the price of one back then, getting paid a
single rate for double the work just so I could hold onto my job.
Man, those days seemed so far away now.

I remember the
flutter in my stomach and the beating of my heart as I clicked my
camera shutter. I remember that cheeky grin, those rippling muscles
beneath the tight top he was wearing. I remember the surge of heat
and wetness between my legs, my desperation to remain calm. I
remember it all. How could I ever forget?

Now, the man of
my dreams was no longer standing in front of my camera lens or
staring out at me from the pages of a magazine. He was sitting in
the living room of our beautiful New York penthouse, waiting for me
to walk in and blow his mind.

He was waiting
to make love to me.

As I pulled up
my stockings and slipped into my high heels, I decided I shouldn't
keep him waiting any longer. I checked myself one last time in the
floor-to-ceiling mirror beside our bed. Rick had put it there for
two reasons; firstly, because I'm a girl and you know how us girls
need a mirror, right? It was only much later that I realised why it
had to be so close to our bed. I assumed it was so he could watch
as he made love to me, so he could look to the side and see me
moaning in ecstasy as he thrusted deep inside me. But I was wrong.
I never caught him looking in that mirror while we made love and,
in a way, maybe I had been a bit presumptuous, assuming that all
men were like that pretty much all the time.

One night, as
we were drifting off to sleep, he told me he liked to look across
for a moment and see my face as I slept. Rick was the classic
creative – a borderline insomniac who would stay up until 2 AM
working on something then couldn't get to sleep for another hour
because his mind was so active, so full of ideas. So he would get
into bed, being careful not to disturb me, and rest his head on his
hand as I slept, turned away from him. He told me how he would
smile to himself and think of how lucky he was, how seeing the
woman he loved sleeping so soundly and peacefully would clear his
mind and bring him calm. It was enough to allow him to clear his
thoughts, lay down his head and drift off to rest.

I opened the
bedroom door and slowly walked towards Rick, my high heels clicking
against our solid wood floor.

"Here comes the
bride," I sang. "All dressed in white…"

He was grinning
from ear to ear. "And here is the groom, erect way too soon…"

I did a little
twirl in front of him, teasing him ever so slightly. "Do you take
this sexy, curvy woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do. My God,
how I do."

I kneeled down
in front of him and pulled at his belt, feeling the bulge that had
already formed between his legs. "That's good," I cooed, releasing
his erect manhood from its prison of fabric. "Because I promise to
love, honour and cherish the cock I am about to take in my
mouth."

He moaned out
as I slipped his hardness between my lips, rolling my tongue around
the head and sucking slightly. His shaft felt both delicious and
satisfying, a naughty precursor as to the size and length that
would be entering me shortly. I never got tired of Rick's
incredible manhood. He was the perfect length, the perfect
thickness but, more importantly, he knew exactly how to use it. As
I slowly moved my mouth back and forth, my nipples hardened and
heat began to build between my legs. I was making him as hard as
steel now, preparing him to deliver pure satisfaction to me.
Already, I couldn't wait for him to pull off my panties and make
love to me. He didn't just know how to fuck my body. He knew how to
fuck my mind. More than anything, it was the perfect storm, a
delicious combination that made me never want another man again.
Why would I? Rick knew exactly how to satisfy a woman. Fortunately,
that woman was me.

"You've got to
stop," Rick said. "You're going to send me over the edge."

I released his
shaft and stood before him, my legs wide apart, and hooked my
thumbs under the sides of my soaking wet panties. I slowly pushed
them down, air kissing at my exposed buttocks, before the drenched
gusset slipped off my glistening pussy. I left it below the line of
my ass, stretched out between my thighs, and let Rick take in the
view. He brought his hand to his upright cock and began to slowly
masturbate. I touched my clit, delicately enough to excite me but
not enough to cause a premature orgasm. I was already far too
sensitive and knew that the slightest touch at this point could
simply be too much for me.

I let my
panties fall to the floor and kicked them away, then turned to face
away from Rick, slowly lowering myself down onto his manhood. I
gasped as inch after rock-hard inch travelled up inside me,
impaling me with sheer pleasure. There was no resistance; my
entrance was fully parted and my soaking juices lubricating his
entry to the point of complete effortlessness.

"Damn, Amy,"
Rick panted. "You feel absolutely amazing."

"I know," I
smiled. Was this really me? The girl who not so long ago had such a
bad body image? The girl who at times hated to look at herself in
the mirror, not because she wasn't proud of who she was but because
of what the rest of society – and the media, in particular – had
suggested she should be?

Maybe Rick
wasn't the only one who was changing more each day.

I rose and fell
on his hardness slowly and deliberately, each movement causing tiny
ripples of pleasure through my tight inner walls. Rick reached
round and cupped my breasts, my bra now removed, gently squeezing
them and pinching at my erect nipples. His penetration was
unbelievably deep, as if we were one. He slipped a hand down to my
pussy and began to massage my unbearably sensitive clit. My moans
were becoming increasingly loud, filling the room and turning me on
even more. They say that most women find it hard to orgasm from
penetration alone. If that's the case, at least the penetration was
utter ecstasy. Rick knew exactly how to push my button, so to
speak, and made damn sure I would drench him in my juices with his
fingers, if not just his cock.

Surprise,
surprise. I didn't have to wait long before my first orgasm came
crashing down. I screwed my eyes shut, every part of my body
tightening up like a clenched fist. For a moment, I felt nothing
except pure ecstasy. Then, all strength in my legs was lost and I
collapsed back onto Rick's muscular body. He held me tightly and
gently raised me up, lifting me completely in his arms and carrying
me to the bedroom like a firefighter would carry an unconscious
woman from a burning building. Trickles of juice continued to run
down my inner thighs as I let my exhausted body go limp in his
strong arms. He placed me gently down on the bed and then, like a
hunter claiming his prey, climbed onto me and slipped inside with
merciless lust.

I gasped out,
unprepared for his divine penetration. I think we've pretty much
already established that Rick is well endowed, but nothing can
prepare a woman for a rock-hard cock of that magnitude parting her
inner walls and slipping deep inside her while she is still
recovering from an orgasm. Rather than slowly and sensually making
love to me, he scooped his arms under my back and squeezed me to
his chest. His thrusts were forceful, primal; I found myself, eyes
closed and head tilted back, uttering the same words over and over
again. "That feels so good…fuck me hard, fuck me deep…"

This was how it
felt to be claimed by an alpha mate. It's in those moments, when
your boyfriend or your lover or your husband simply takes you and
delivers thrust after rock-hard thrust of unbelievable
satisfaction, that you realise what kind of a man he is. Can he be
loving and caring when required? Can he wipe your tears away and
make you smile when you need him to? And can he, when the need
arises, simply fuck a woman properly? Can he fuck you like a
real
man?

I had the
answer to all of those questions with Rick. Check, check and check.
As I submitted my body to him, as beads of sweat glistened on his
rippling muscles with each drive of his steel-like cock inside me,
I reminded myself – if only for a brief moment – that
this is
how it felt to be taken by a real man
. Screw equality and all
of that politically correct bullshit. Right here, right now he was
my man and I was his woman. Could I be my own person? Could I be
strong and smart and independent? Of course I could. Rick wouldn't
want anything less. But he was fucking me like he owned me, and for
all of the negative connotations that might bring, I was loving
every second.

"Touch
yourself," he growled. "When we come, I want us to come
together."

I did as he
asked and moved my hand down to my aching clit. My fingertips
touched his shaft as it moved in and out of me, causing me to
almost squeal with delight. I placed my index finger against my
most sensitive area, almost enough to make me orgasm immediately.
"Slide another inside," he ordered. "Touch your g-spot."

I would have
done whatever he commanded at that point. I stroked at the
sensitive, rough patch of skin within me with the finger that was
now adorned with a beautiful diamond engagement ring. Penetrated
twice, by him and myself, I began to orgasm. I grabbed the back of
his hair, holding on for dear life, as my body exploded from
within. He began to twitch and pulsate and, within seconds, his
thick, warm cream was flowing inside me. It was deep, as deep as
any man could ever possibly hope to be within a woman's body,
depositing his seed far within my most fertile areas. I was no
longer on birth control. It added to the danger and the excitement,
but it was also what we had decided we both wanted.