The Curvy Sister Read online

  Curves & Corsets

  The Curvy Sister

  Jordan Bell

  Copyright © 2012 Jordan Bell

  All Rights Reserved

  Sweet Stories Press

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Adults Only

  This erotic romance story contains scenes of a very graphic and adult nature which some may find offensive. This story is for sale to adults only. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons or events are purely coincidental. Please engage in safe, consensual sexual practices only. Remember, this is a work of imagination and fantasy. All sexual activities described herein are between characters 18 years old or older and are always consensual.

  Other Stories by Jordan Bell

  Her Secret Pleasure (Secrets #1)

  The Billionaire’s Son: Distracting Jonah Silver

  Taming London: The Erotic Submission of London Mackenzie

  Billionaire Bait: Breakfast with Mia, Ménage for Dessert

  The Submissive Behind the Mask #1: Bondage & Curiosity

  Coming Soon: The Submissive Behind the Mask #2: Bondage & Discipline

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  About the Author

  Excerpt from The Submissive Behind the Mask #1: Bondage & Curiosity

  1

  ____________

  The bomb was delivered to my house in a Tiffany blue cashmere box, crossed twice by a satin ribbon in cobalt, padded inside by matching satin pillows. The cashmere box had been packed in a plain, innocent white postal package filled with mint green packing peanuts. That’s how it got inside, by looking so damn unassuming. It came in with the mail and the cat before dinner.

  While Mystic cried at my feet because her bowl was empty, I dropped the bills in one pile, the junk mail in the trash, and the white box addressed to Cassidy Blue, but no return name, on the kitchen island. I scooped her kibble into her dish while she chattered on about her cat day, a coat full of dirt and hay from the barn and a new notch on her right ear from her ceaseless war with the resident raccoon family. They hated her and she hated them and I spent the summer learning a great deal about at home cat triage.

  Dinner waited in the fridge to be reheated, nothing fancy for a girl living alone on the outskirts of town, but still I needed to turn the oven on. Maybe start a tea kettle. A thunderstorm inked the horizon with an early sunset. There were preparations I needed to make before it started to rain.

  But for some reason I did none of those things. I stood in front of the kitchen island, the darkening sky casting a dim grey across the room. I needed to turn lights on, refill Mystic’s water bowl, turn on the oven, start the tea kettle, batten down the hatches, grab hold of something and hang on for dear life. Instead I slid my pocket knife from my back pocket and ran its edge along the center tape.

  Peanuts scattered. Mystic abandoned her food bowl to throw herself on top of one before I could take it from her.

  I brushed peanuts aside until I found the Tiffany blue box. It was about the size of a paperback book. Big enough for a stick of dynamite.

  The ribbon gave with a hush, but the box stuck a little when I tried to pull the lid off. Mystic crashed into my foot in a valiant effort to tame the rogue peanut that then catapulted across the slick wood floor. She gave wild chase, her back claws scratching for traction as she threw herself belly first on top of her villain and finally I freed the lid.

  And then my world exploded.

  2

  ____________

  All along the flat Nebraska skyline, lightless navy blue stretched until it had swallowed the last of the summer sun. Above my Victorian farmhouse the sky rumbled grey and edgeless, but it wouldn’t be long before the storm front eclipsed the town of Castle Creek and drowned us all. Not that I would have minded. It would be a blessing if Castle could be washed right into the river, never to be heard from again.

  I pressed my fingertips and nose to the screen overlooking my front porch and across the alfalfa fields to the west. That was King land. Almost everything I could see from any room of my house belonged to one of the Kings. My house and the barn and a garage were all that the Kings didn’t yet own on this side of town, but thanks to the bomb in the Tiffany blue box, even that wouldn’t last much longer. Two months and my sister would marry a King and inherit everything, including my home.

  Don’t think I didn’t consider burning it to the ground first. Setting the tea kettle boiling, scooping Mystic into the back seat of my car, going to the garage for the gasoline. Jonathan King would sell the old Queen Ann farmhouse anyway, or bulldoze it, but at least my ex-fiancé and traitorous sister wouldn’t be allowed the satisfaction of sleeping a single night in my bed.

  The first rain drop struck the porch. I dug my fingertips into the brittle, rusted screen and wondered if I’d go to jail for burning down my own house. I wondered if the sheriff could look me in the eye and think I didn’t deserve the satisfaction.

  Something strange happened to the world during a real Nebraska thunderstorm. Light changed, caused colors to wash out in places and become Technicolor in others. Everything goes blue-grey like a dream and any good Nebraskan knows there’s not much time to get everyone to safety when things go dream colored.

  Maybe that’s why I did what I did next, because none of this could be really happening. The world didn’t work this way. It had to have been a dream.

  I shoved the screen door open and shot down the steps into the backyard. The screen door banged as I stalked headlong into the white sheets snapping and breaking in the wind. My boots hit the soft earth of the King’s farmland and kept going.

  The King’s Victorian loomed on the darkening horizon. The wind picked up, blew cold currents down over warm earth and I could smell ozone and the low atmospheric pressure of a really good storm. Like tasting clean air and the wrong end of a battery. I could feel the distant thunder in my bones.

  Honestly I didn’t even recognize the heft of the bat clutched in my right hand until I was deep in alfalfa and even then it didn’t occur to me what I planned to do with it. There was no planning. There were only words.

  Mr. and Mrs. George Blue request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their daughter Bailey Anne to Jonathan David King on October First.

  My parents.

  My sister.

  My ex-fiancé.

  My wedding date.

  And why not? The hall was already rented, the church secured. They didn’t even try to hide what they’d done and apparently even my parents were willing to pretend it never happened.

  That I never happened.

  Well. Someone would just have to remind them.

  The drops started at the half mile mark. Big fat ones. The kind that explode on impact. In minutes they’d soaked my clothes, my hair, my skin. They clung to my eyelashes and made it impossib
le to see more than a few feet.

  And even then it never occurred to me to turn back.

  The King farmhouse rose up like a castle, the classic three story Victorian. Half the windows were stained glass. Of course they were. The richest family in the county could have whatever they wanted. And did. A King was a mayor because. The Kings held court at town hall meetings because. I’d thought Jonathan was different. He didn’t run off to New York like his father and older brother to make millions managing agriculture investments rather than actually growing anything. He wanted to take over his grandfather’s farm and make the King name part of the community again. I believed in that ideal.

  Lying, two-faced bastard.

  I hefted the bat in both fists and took a swing at Jonathan’s new cherry red truck. The impact rattled my bones, made my teeth hurt, and it felt so damn satisfying. I swung again, shattered a headlight and dented the hood, fender, passenger side door.

  That did it. Over the thunder I heard shouts and the front door slamming open. The Kings piled out onto the front porch and gaped as I hacked off the passenger side mirror.

  “Jesus, my truck. Cassidy what the hell is wrong with you!” Jonathan screamed but was smart enough not to leave the safety of the porch. My little sister Bailey threw herself into his arms. She looked so small and fragile against him, all bird bones and a tiny mouth.

  Anger and hurt dumped into my veins, flashes of finding them naked in the barn seared into my brain just before striking the match that would consume the last of my heart. The looks on their faces. Ecstasy. Happiness,

  “Lying, cheating, traitorous, backstabbing bitch!” I screamed and hauled the bat up over my head and brought it down with a solid crack across the windshield. Glass splintered at the impact point, caved in, spiderwebbed out with the most chilling sound in the world. Like ice cracking over a pond when you know beyond a shadow of a doubt there’s no way to make it back to land before it gives way.

  The sound of impending self destruction.

  It didn’t shatter. One of the King clan came barreling off the porch like a steam engine, not Jonathan but unrecognizable in the rain. Someone yelled for someone else to call the sheriff.

  I hefted the bat over my head to finish it off when the steam engine grabbed me around the waist and lifted me forcefully off my feet. We spun away from the truck and I fought like a demon against my attacker, but he was bigger and stronger and taller and not soaked through and muddy and tired. He pried the bat out of my hands easily, tossed it to the ground, and manhandled me like I wasn’t the plus-sized sister.

  “Stop! Cassidy Blue, stop now. I don’t want to hurt you. It’s over, sweetheart, let it go.”

  The sound of blood rushing in my ears drowned out the voice. The words made no sense to me. I wanted to break something. I wanted to tear Bailey’s hair out and claw out her eyes. Those big blue eyes, too big for her petite face, had systematically taken everything away from me and no one bothered to call her on her abhorrent behavior. No one said, “Apologize to your sister, Bailey.” No one said, “What you did was wrong.”

  I planted my boot deep into the mud pit forming beneath us and shoved my shoulders back into his chest. The force threw him, but he didn’t let go and we both tumbled in a riot of arms and legs smack into the mud.

  A very wet, dirty, pissed off Jason King, Jonathan’s older brother, stared up at me. I must have looked wild to him. Even splayed in the mud, he tried to hang on even as I fought and screamed against him.

  I managed to get onto my knees, awkwardly stretched across his chest. He tried to hang on, but we were too slippery. Bright white light flashed across the sky and whatever he yelled at me was lost in a collision of thunder that followed.

  “Let go of me, Jason King! This is none of your business.” I planted my fists into his chest and shoved him back down when he tried to sit up. My strength must have surprised him because he let go and I clamored off his body, slid in the silky Nebraska mud and planted hands wrist deep in the sucking mess. When I tried to pull away, something sharp, a piece of broken headlight, dug into my forearm and sent a shot of pain up through my shoulder.

  I ignored the pain and climbed to my feet. I panted, out of breath and starting to lose my momentum when I reached down to pull the bat from a puddle behind the front wheel.

  “Cassidy…” Jason started as he climbed to his knees, but I wasn’t listening.

  “Shut up,” I warned with the fat end of the bat in front of his face. I wasn’t going to leave until I’d ruined something.

  And then before anyone could stop me, I took a batter’s stance and prepared to lay one last swing and shatter the windshield completely

  “Cassidy Blue you are a certifiable lunatic. You’ve gone completely off the rails, you know that? Wait till I tell mom!”

  Sometime in my struggle with Jason, Bailey had left her dry ivory tower to chase me into the storm. When she screamed my name, I froze.

  Bailey pretended to be the meek, fragile little sister, but we both knew better. She was as mean as a rattlesnake when she wanted to be, and more than once she’d bested me as a kid in a fist fight even when I was twice her weight because she played dirty and played to win.

  “Get over it, Cass,” she said over the wind and the rain and the thunder. “Go. Home.”

  I felt Jason’s body behind me. He wrapped his hands around mine and worked them loose until I had no choice but to give up my weapon. I couldn’t look away from Bailey. She took the fight right out of me.

  “Why?” I hated begging, but my heart had stopped existing months ago and now the hollow space it had taken up threatened to swallow the rest of me. “Why would you do this, Bailey? Why in God’s name would you send me an invitation?”

  Her fury evaporated just like that, washed away in the rain. She blinked her big blue eyes and released her arms to her sides.

  “You’re my sister, Cass. Besides,” she shrugged innocently and used the back of her hand to flutter away the raindrops from her eyelashes. “I want you to be there with me. And mom wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t. Come on Cass, why don’t you go home?” And in case I believed she was at all sincere, added, “While you still have one.”

  3

  ____________

  I launched myself at my sister fully intent on ripping her pretty blonde hair from her pretty head. She screamed and jerked back out of my reach when Jason snagged me from behind. His arms slid around my waist and anchored me against his body.

  “No you don’t, that’s enough. Put your claws away, Cassidy Blue.”

  Once I was no longer a threat, Bailey ran back to the porch. “Jonathan, call the sheriff. Tell him what my psycho sister’s done now.”

  I was honestly surprised when Jason barked an order for her to stop.

  “Do not call the sheriff, what’s wrong with you? She’s your sister. I’ll make sure she gets home and that she stays there.”

  Jonathan nodded, reluctantly, and caught up his bride when she reached the stairs. His mother appeared with towels, coddling the little bird like she’d been the one I took the bat to instead.

  “Let me go,” I sighed and settled heavy and exhausted against his chest. There wasn’t much oomph behind my voice. For the first time I could feel the cold and the wet and the ache in my bones.

  “Not gonna happen. Come on. I’ll take you home.”

  I didn’t fight him and he didn’t fight me, though I resisted having the door to his SUV opened for me and being pushed in like a child. When he stepped up into the cab and pulled my seatbelt across my lap for me, I swatted him away.

  “I’m not a child. Stop it. Don’t touch me.” I growled ineffectually, slipped my hand out of his grasp only for him to harden his expression and grab me again, this time tighter and less forgiving. His grip crushed my wrist. The throb of pain shot up my arm and I gave a cry, startling us both.

  “Forgive me if I don’t trust you not go off like some kind of wild animal. Now hold still before you bleed t
o death.” He kept hold of my hand, though softened now, and popped open the glove compartment with the other. He grabbed a navy blue bandana and wrapped it securely around my forearm. Pain brightened and I bit down and jerked my face away from his so he couldn’t see.

  “Stay,” he ordered and took off for the driver’s side.

  I clutched my arm against my chest. The pain ebbed to a constant level, but nothing I didn’t think I couldn’t ignore. I sighed and let my head fall back against the headrest. Whatever burst of energy I’d gotten to fuel my rampage left me.

  “Just take me home.”

  We didn’t talk as he pulled out of the driveway, slushing and sliding a bit before hitting the rocked covered road leading back to my house and the highway.

  The quiet wasn’t as bad as I’d expect it to be. It wasn’t like Jason King and I had ever been friends when he still lived in Castle Creek, but we weren’t enemies either. He didn’t seem angry at me for taking a baseball bat to his brother’s truck and that was surprising. He’d been a year older than me in high school, beautiful even then, but knew the power he wielded over others and did so without shame. His reputation as a womanizing playboy started in high school and I doubted his time in NYC had been especially pious. Still, he didn’t look like an asshole who’d sooner get your pants off than talk to you. Not at first glance, in the dark, soaked in rain and mud.

  When his attention on the uneven dirt road kept him from paying any attention to me, I risked a sidelong look at the infamous King grandson. Jason didn’t have the sun burnt coloring of his grandfather or Jonathan. He looked like he worked in a big corporate office with floor to ceiling windows overlooking a lot of big buildings. He looked like a guy who did lunch meetings and not at places with cracked leather booths and mismatched salt and pepper shakers. He kept his hazelnut brown hair clean cut and his strong King jaw line smooth and baby soft. Even though he was smeared head-to-toe in black mud, he held himself like he was going to a nice party in his button up dress shirt and slacks. The mud was just a quirky accessory.