Free Softail Curves (A Big Girls & Bad Boys Erotic Romance by D. H. Cameron

 
    “Oh my lord, you have to be kidding,” Becky said and I followed her gaze. It was Saturday night and Becky and I were out drinking and hoping to meet Mr. Right, or at least Mr. Right Now. So far, we were striking out and it looked as if that trend would continue as I located the guy Becky had spotted heading our way. Was this guy for real?
    As Mr. American Chopper approached, I saw Becky roll her eyes. He looked like he just walked off the set of Easy Rider, wearing an American flag bandana that held his shaggy blonde hair out of his eyes. The cliché didn’t stop there, however. He wore a black t-shirt with a half-naked girl on a chopper emblazoned on the front, blue jeans under leather chaps and scuffed leather boots. A heavy chain draped from his fat leather belt to his back pocket, keeping his wallet safe I suppose. Tattoos, mostly of motorcycles, skulls and naked women, covered his arms. However, it was his eyes that caught my attention.
    Sure, he was a walking stereotype but his blue eyes told me there was more to this guy than his look might suggest. For a moment, I wondered if he was a real biker or an orthodontist playing dress up for the weekend but something told me this guy was the real deal. He sauntered up to our table, looked Becky up and down then turned to me. His eyes swept up and down my curvy body hungrily. Apparently, deciding I was his preferred target, he turned his back to Becky.
    “What’s your name?” he asked. I glanced at Becky and she was scowling at this guy, obviously not happy at being ignored even though I was sure she would have shut him down in any case.
    “Shauna,” I said dismissively. He looked me over again and I suddenly felt self-conscience. I was out hoping to attract the opposite sex and dressed for it. My sleeveless white dress left my ample cleavage and thighs exposed. The dress flattered my round, curvy body but I still didn’t like it when a guy looked too closely. And this guy was all but undressing me with his eyes.
    “My brothers call me Dutch but you can call me daddy,” he said. I wanted to laugh but he was completely serious and the edge to his voice told me he meant it. Behind him, Becky laughed.
    “Oh my lord! Really?” she said but Dutch only ignored her. He was making me uncomfortable but not in a scary way. It was the way my body reacted to his words that frightened me. My breathing quickened, I felt hot suddenly and my pussy tingled. This guy wasn’t even close to being my type but my body begged to differ.
    “I’m not really interested, Dutch,” I said gently, hoping he would take the hint and leave. I should have known better.
    “Yes, you are. I can see it. I can smell it on you. I’ll be over there when you figure that out,” he said and walked away. I watched him go, his tight ass, wrapped in that old denim, begging me to dig my nails into his flesh. I shook my head and looked at Becky.
    “What a creep!” she said and cringed dramatically. I nodded in agreement. I guess he was creepy. However, if he was, why was I so turned on? Why was I suddenly imagining him pounding me senseless as his hands dug into my lush curves? I shook the image from my head and decided, yes, he was a creep. I almost believed it too.
    “Did you see how he raped us with his eyes?” I said trying to convince Becky I was as disgusted as she was, or was I trying to convince myself?
    “No kidding. I need a shower,” Becky joked and I laughed. I slammed the rest of my white wine to calm myself and asked Becky if she wanted another. I already knew the answer. I stood and grabbed her empty glass before she even answered. “Of course,” she told me.
    “I’ll go get us refills, you watch the table,” I told Becky. The club was crowded and tables were at a premium. This wasn’t a biker bar and I wondered what Dutch and his friends were doing here. They