Free Craving For Curves #1 (BBW Erotic Romance) by Evelyn Rosado Page A

into reality.
    "I-I'm Cassie, Mr. Caramel...I mean, I'm Cassie." Jesus, lord. I wish the earth would open up and swallow me whole right about now. There goes that smile of his again. Wow, he was really enjoying me making a fool out of myself.
    "The name is Braxton." We shook hands. I felt a jolt of electricity surge through my veins. His touch was magnetizing. I didn’t want to let go. I held on a second too long - I hope he didn’t notice. From that point, he had me. His hand was a perfect fit in mine. It felt right - too right. It felt ethereal, like past spirits meeting again. "But Mr. Caramel does sound kind of nice."
    I nodded in agreement. It was all I could do from the embarrassment.
    "Hey man, that was a fantastic set. Helluva set. Amazing!" a gentleman said, patting Mr. Caramel on the back.
    "So y ou're a musician?" I said, quickly diverting the spotlight away from me and my shame.
    "Yes, we just finished our set."
    Ugh - a musician. My grandmother always warned me about musicians. She said they're one women men - and that one ain't you - their first love is music. I never followed much of my grams advice - she was big on the bourbon. That quip stuck with me though. But he didn't look like the typical musician that came through this lounge. They were usually balding and boozing. Mr. Caramel was none of the above. He had the demeanor of a rock star. His figure resembled a boxer's or a mix martial artist's; chiseled to perfection. Threatening enough to make men respect him and make a woman safe in his arms. It looked like he spent just as much time on his body as he did perfecting notes on his instrument. I would love to blow a note or two on his trombone.
    "My band is called Conjure . I play the trumpet," he said. His eyes began lingering on my thighs more than my eyes.  “We're a quartet."
    I imagined him placing the brass mouthpiece on his soft lips and injecting moist breath from his lungs into the trumpet pi pes and creating melodic tales that could seduce even the most apathetic and callous woman.
    "Do you like jazz?" he asked, taking a small sip of beer.
    "Not really, I'm more of a pop fan," I said. My tongue felt like it had third degree burns. Maybe he should have called the fire department. But the thought of Mr. Caramel drizzling his fingertips on my body, made my tongue's singing an afterthought.
    "So why are you here at a jazz lounge? You seem like a regular here."
    "The mac & cheese is amazing. I come here all the time for it. Maybe a bit too much," I said tapping my voluptuous thighs. He smiled, moving a seat closer to me. Uh-oh. Here comes trouble. “You sure don’t look like the typical jazz musician?” I asked, putting the spotlight back on him.
    “Humor me, what does they typical jazz musician look like?”
    “Well, from what I’ve seen a lot of them are out of shape, have severe alcohol problems with and beat their women.”
    He held his head down in laughter and shame. “Wow, that’s the typical jazz artist? Cassie, you need to stop watching those old black and white movies that come on late at night.”
    “You’re still not making me believer though. You look like you should be trying out for a football team rather than blowing a trumpet.”
    “I love lifting weights and staying in shape. My body is my temple. And I treat it as such. That is, except for tonight. I’m going to enjoy this beer.” I’d worship his temple anytime.
    “I keep telling myself I need to lose weight, but this gets in the way.” I pointed down at the gigantic bowl of mac and cheese.
    “Well, y ou get regular checkups right?”
    “Of course, all my blood work comes back great. No health issues.”
    “Then whatever you do, don’t lose those curves. I bet your boyfriend wants you to lose weight.”
    “I don’t have a boyfriend.” I couldn’t hide my blushing. My face was turning fire engine red.
    “Mmmm. Is that right?” He smirked and took a long sip of his whiskey.
    " But, I would like to lose the