Marshmallow, p.1
Marshmallow, page 1
part #1 of Sweet Curves Series
Marshmallow
Sweet Curves 1
Megan Wade
Copyright © 2019 by Megan Wade
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
1. Marsha
2. Carter
3. Marsha
4. Carter
5. Marsha
6. Carter
7. Marsha
8. Carter
9. Marsha
10. Carter
11. Marsha
12. Carter
13. Marsha
14. Carter
15. Marsha
Epilogue
Epilogue 2
Marsha
One thing I’ve learnt in this life is that everyone is different. There is no cookie cutter mold to create the perfect look, the perfect shape, the perfect size. It doesn’t exist. The only thing that truly exists is imperfection. And it’s in all of us. Learning to embrace our imperfections, even loving them, is the biggest hurdle most of us face.
“That’s good,” my friend Georgia states as she looks over my shoulder. “Add your hashtags and let’s goooo. We’ve got a party to attend and swimsuits for you to model, and the light will only stay good for so long.” She tugs on my arm and I chuckle. Georgia is also my official photographer. And before you go rolling your eyes, I’m a plus-sized model. Instagram famous. I get mocked and ridiculed daily, but I do it for the girls who say I’m an inspiration. @marshmallow is my username, the name I was given as a plump child. Marsha the marshmallow. Kids would tease me and say I was fat like the marshmallow man on Ghostbusters. I would run home crying, and my mom told me the best way to stop the teasing was to claim the name as my own and never let them see me cry. So I got a T-shirt with ‘marshmallow’ written on the chest and wore it like a badge of honor. They laughed, but I laughed too, and eventually it was just a name. I took my power back. That’s what I’m trying to do with my Instagram profile—give girls their power back.
“I’m almost done,” I say, tapping in the hashtag #EffYourBeautyStandards followed by #HonorMyCurves #bodypositive and #CelebrateMySize.
Just as I hit ‘share’ a DM notification banner drops from the top of my screen.
Normally, I ignore them until I can sit down with Georgia and we go through them together. I get a lot of DMs, some beautiful, some lascivious, others simply disgusting, so I need the moral support. But this time, it’s the name of the account that gets me tapping the notification right away. @CarterReedOfficial.
Holy crap!
Carter Reed is a beautiful bronze-skinned model whom I drool over every chance I get. I have never made my love of romance novels secret (#smartgirlsreadromance) and Carter Reed graces the covers of some of my favourite novels: a hockey romance called Pucked All Night by Saffron Spark, an enemies to lovers called Hate to Love by Julia Kyle… I could go on.
My eyes go wide as I bite my lip, hungry to read his words.
@carterreevesofficial: check your email. I have a proposition for you 😉
A proposition? For me? From Carter Reeves? What is even happening here?
“What are you doing?” Georgia snaps as I pinch my forearm. “You’ll make a red mark!” She rushes over and rubs her palm up and down my abused skin. “Why would you do something like this, anyway?” she asks, her tone softer now.
“Because I can’t believe my eyes.” I hold out my phone and show her the email I’ve just pulled up on my screen. It’s a booking request for a photo shoot. “I’m going to be on the cover of a romance novel with Carter Reeves,” I squeal.
“Nooo.”
“Yes!”
We look at each other and squeal. “Holy crap!”
Carter
@marshmallow: I’m honored. Can’t wait to meet you 😘
Is it wrong that a little kiss-face emoji is making me hard right now? It’s not the emoji itself, of course. It’s the woman on the other side of it. Marsha Foster, the most beautiful, sumptuous woman to grace god’s green earth. Long chestnut hair, soulful brown eyes and full lips that she has a habit of pressing her teeth into. She has the body of a goddess and skin so smooth it looks like peaches and cream. The moment I saw her, I knew I had to make her mine. I’ve spent hours scrolling through her profile while imagining the feel of those sweet curves and soft skin. Does she taste as good as she looks? I’m desperate to know.
That’s why, when an author I’ve modeled for mentioned she was writing a book with a curvy heroine, I jumped at the chance to suggest myself and the delicious Marsha as her muses. She said yes almost immediately and I swear my dick hasn’t calmed down since. I’m about to be in the same room as the woman of my dreams, and I plan to claim her as mine. No more quietly stalking her profile, I’ll have the real thing within my grasp. I’ll treat her so right, she’ll never want to leave.
Which is exactly what I want.
Marshmallow will be mine.
Marsha
“What if I say something dumb like: Nice to want you? Or if I just start saying cock or pussy or…” I wave my hands to calm my overheating face as we ride the elevator in the hotel where the shoot is taking place. These cover photos are racy, and I’m not sure I’m going to be able to keep myself from creaming all over the place when I’m that close to a man like Carter Reeves.
“You’ll be fine,” Georgia coaches, also trying to cool me down with her waving hands. “You’re a professional. He’s a professional. Just remember that you’re getting paid, and this is amazing exposure. Saffron Spark is a twelve time New York Times bestseller. This is huge for your career.”
“That’s not actually helping me calm down,” I gasp, afraid I’m about to break out in hives. “Maybe we should just go home. Cancel the whole thing.”
“No way. As your best friend, I forbid you to let this pass you by.”
“But it’s him. And then it’s me. What if he’s grossed out touching me or something?” I try not to let the fat shaming get to me, but at times like this, when I’m pushed out of my comfort zone I find myself wanting to run home and cry to my mother about the bullies. I’ve been called a plethora of horrible things since opening a social media account.
“Don’t you dare talk like that. You are beautiful inside and out. Hundreds of thousands of followers tell you that every day. Carter contacted you directly. Himself. So he clearly knows who you are or he never would have bothered.” The elevator door pings open and I’m faced with a hallway filled with people and camera equipment. And Carter. He’s standing against the wall while some woman rubs lotion all over his naked chest.
Naked.
Chest.
Gulp.
Holy shit, I’m looking directly at Carter Reed!
He’s even better looking in real life. Dark hair, green eyes, golden skin and muscles so defined, I could slot a piece of paper between them. “Oh my god,” I gasp, finally understanding the term weak at the knees.
Carter’s eyes lift from the lotion lady in front of him then lock with mine dead on. My stomach flips. My heart jolts. I’m in love.
He’s so beautiful.
I want his babies.
I want his cock.
“Marsha Foster.” A grin creeps across his full lips as he drinks me in with those fascinating green eyes.
I stand there frozen, openly ogling, unable to response.
Georgia leans in close and whispers in my ear. “Say something.”
“Ahh.”
The elevator doors beep and shifts back and forth in an angry procession, wanting me to get my ass out of the way. I jump forward with a yelp, afraid they’re about to close on me. I collide with a solid wall of man.
“I’ll admit I was hoping you’d fall for me as soon as you saw me, but I didn’t expect it to be quite so literal.” Carter’s green orbs of beauty twinkle down at me with mirth as I clutch his giant arms and flap my mouth about as I wonder what the hell I’m supposed to say back. Something smart. Something funny. Something!
But nothing comes out. I’m just staring, clutching and pretending I'm a goldfish.
He’s going to think I’m insane.
With a small chuckle, he guides me so I’m standing on my own again, my cheeks flaming bright red as he turns and walks away and I’m just here with my hands held up like I’m still hanging on to him.
“You can breathe now,” Georgia whispers, stifling a giggle as I take in a great gasp of air and turn away, feeling crazed and unbalanced.
“I’m not made to be around famous people,” I gasp.
She giggles. “You’re a famous person.”
“Insta-famous,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
“And he’s book cover famous. Also, a difference. The way I see it, you two are geeking out on each other. He’s barely taken his eyes off you since those elevator doors opened, and the speed he traveled down this hall just to catch you—that was some epic shit. He wants him a little marshmallow.”
“Don’t be crazy.” I brush her off as I take another deep breath. “This is just business. He’s just being nice. It happens all the time. Hot guys never want me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t sell myself so short,” she says, craning her neck to see over my shoulder. “He’s staring at your ass right now.”
“He is not!” My eyes pop.
She twists her mouth down and shrugs. “See for yourself if you don’t believe me.”
Flicking my gaze over my shoulder, I catch him doing exactly what Georgia said. He’s staring at my ass. And on top of that, he catches me catching him. And he’s not even the slightest bit embarrassed about it. He grins. Then he winks.
“I need some new panties. These are ruined,” I stage whisper at Georgia who giggles before she lifts her chin to let me know someone wants my attention.
“Hi there,” a small brunette woman with pink lips and perfectly messy beach waves says. “You must be Marsha. I’m Tiff, the stylist for the shoot today.” She holds out her hand and I take it, feeling like my hand is so huge compared to hers. Half her arm disappears.
“Nice to meet you.”
She smiles. “Likewise. If you’d like to follow me, I’ve got everything set up for you in the room. We make the boys get ready in the hallway, so the girls get the fancy stuff.” She gives me a wink that makes me smile in return, and I decide I like her.
Carter
“Ready to woo your queen?” Saffron Spark smiles as she nudges me with her shoulder.
“They can photo shop hard ons out, right?” I smirk.
Saffron laughs. She’s a tiny little thing, barely five foot five which makes her look like a Smurf next to my six three. She’s wearing casual jeans and a pale pink button-up shirt that’s open enough to show the white Tee she has on underneath. Her blonde hair is tied in a messy ponytail on the top of her head, dark-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, framing kind brown eyes. She well into her forties, but has that girlish quality about her that makes me forget she’s a whole teenager older than me.
Being a romance author, she loves all things love related. The fact I asked her to team me up with Marsha specifically made her cotton on to the fact there was an attraction—although some might call it an obsession—there. Naturally, I spilled my guts, and now Saffron is desperate to know how this ‘love at first Instagram contact’ turns out.
“You might want to tape it to your hip or something so you don’t scare the poor girl off. She looked petrified coming off that elevator. Although it was adorable the way you caught her when she tripped. I’m totally putting that in the book.”
“Something tells me you’ll be putting all of this in a book.”
“You got me there. I’ll add my embellishments, but you’ve definitely inspired me. I’m rooting for this to all work out.”
I give her a smile, glancing at the door my gorgeous Marshmallow just disappeared through. I think about how good and how right it felt to hold on to her, how perfect her skin felt against my palms, how amazing she smelled, and I feel certain that that woman is my home. “It’ll work out,” I say with certainty. In my thirty-three years, I’ve never reacted to a woman the way I react to Marsha. There is something intrinsically different about her, something that calls me to her and lets me know I need her in my life. This has to work out. There’s no other way this can go.
Marsha
“He’s super nice too,” Tiff says as she opens the curling iron and lets my hair tumble over my shoulders. “I’ve done a few of these shoots with him, and he’s not uptight or in love with himself like a lot of male models are. He’s a total gentleman, always professional, and never sleazy.”
“Oh,” I say. “That’s nice.” Although I can’t help the disappointment that blooms in my stomach. I wouldn’t mind Carter being a little sleazy with me. Well, not sleazy exactly, but forward, tantalizing. That would be something I could take home and hold on to, something to imagine on those long lonely nights when I’m painfully aware that Instagram followers don’t keep me warm and hold me when I need it. I need a man for that. But a man—the kind I’m attracted to—is difficult to find. If my ideal man was a superhero, he’d be Hulk. Not green, but big all over, and so strong that he could throw me around like a rag doll (#punyhuman) but they tend to like tiny girls. Of which I am not.
Carter is a hulk of a man. I felt tiny looking up at him when he stopped me from falling. Am I the right size for him? A girl can dream…
“Is he attached?” Georgia asks, glancing at me because she knows I’m desperate for the answer too. I know it’s silly to get my hopes up, but he’s so good looking, and I swear I felt something in the way he looked at me in that hall. He might have just been being nice, but my god, he said he hoped I’d fall for him. Please don’t have been a joke.
I want him to like me—no, want me—so bad.
“I’m not sure,” Tiff says, running her fingers through my hair to loosen the curls. “He keeps really quiet about his personal life, but I assume he’s single. He travels a lot.” She shrugs like that’s all the explanation needed, and I guess it is because travel isn’t really conducive to having a successful relationship. I’d happily travel with him…
I give myself a mental head slap. I’m getting ahead of myself. The guy made what was probably a joke and now I’m reading too far into it. Tiff said he’s a professional and never hits on any of the women he works with. I need to stop my hopeful mind from running away with its own little fantasy where this gorgeous man is my perfect mate and we fall madly in love then run off into the sunset together. It’s a nice dream. But that’s all it’ll ever be. I’m crazy to think otherwise.
Carter
I’m being totally crazy. All I can think about is claiming this woman then running off into the sunset together. Literally.
We’ve barely spoken and I’m already making plans about how we’re going to blend our lives.
I have lost my fucking mind.
Although I guess that’s expected when all my blood flow is directed straight at my cock. The damn thing won’t go down. I need her that bad.
“We’re all set.” Jeff, the photographer on the shoot, pokes his head out of the room we’re doing the shoot in.
My heart starts off at a gallop in my chest as I move toward the door. Saffron let’s out a tiny excited squeak as she follows behind, but I’m not focusing on her, or anyone else around us. The only person my senses can lock on to is Marsha. And she’s a sight to behold.
“Wow,” is all I can say as I move across the room to her. They have her in this silky looking corset, emerald green with black lace around the edges, black silk panties with black suspenders and stockings. I’m fucking dead. If I dare lower my eyes to where her tits are spilling out in creamy waves, I’m gonna come in my pants and embarrass myself. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks.” She speaks in a gasp as she runs her hand over the bodice. “I can hardly breathe, but I love it. I have no idea how I’m supposed to get out of it later. But for now, I feel like Dita Von Teese.”
“Maybe I can help you out it when we’re through,” I say, not giving a fuck if I’m coming off as too forward. This woman needs to understand here and now that she is mine. I claim her. My body and my mind agree she’s everything I want and need. And I’m not a man who jumps into bed with the first attractive woman he sees. I’m particular with whom I bed, and recently, I’ve noticed myself searching for something more than a simple attraction. I’m searching for a woman who ignites something inside me. I’m positive that woman is standing in front of me.
The rest will work itself out. I’ve made my decision. Marsha Foster belongs to me.
Marsha
Did I just hear what I think I heard?
“You want to…what?” Surely he didn’t say he wanted to help me get undressed. That’s just…that’s not what happens to girls like me. We covet these guys. We don’t get them to want us. He’s teasing me. I laugh and roll my eyes. “You had me going for a second there,” I say, pointing my finger up at him. Up at his strong and broad shoulders, so defined they look carved by the hands of a master sculptor. Up at his gorgeous face, teasing smile, light-brown hair that I’m dying to tug on while I squeeze his head between my thighs—wouldn’t that be something? I think I’ll imagine that while BOB and I (BOB=Battery Operated Boyfriend) work out some frustrations later tonight.
