Page 5 of B.D.E: Falling Hard For A BBW

Ghost

I woke up slow as the weight of my body started dragging me back to consciousness.

The nagging pain shot up my side, but I ignored it, focusing instead on the scent of cinnamon and vanilla in the air.

I blinked a couple of times, trying to clear the haze, and slowly the room came into focus.

I could feel the stitches in my side, sloppy ones at that but at least somebody actually gave a fuck enough not to let me bleed out.

The smell in the room and the warm feeling, alone, let me know that it belonged to somebody who actually lived here.

A shelf stacked with books sat crooked in the corner, with papers shoved between them like she couldn’t decide what to read next.

There was a futon folded up against the wall, and the bed I was laid up in had a quilt with little flowers stitched in. Some real soft shit.

I turned my head and noticed her standing in the doorway looking nervous.

That same nervous energy she had last night when she witnessed me bleeding out on her floor.

She was wearing big ass glasses, wild curls all over her head and a pair of soft ass, pretty eyes.

She was the kind of woman that had no fucking idea how fine she was, and that shit made her even finer.

Thick and curvy like she was poured into that body just be fucked out of it, and soft in all the places I liked to grip and bite.

Her hips filled out those loose lounge pants like they were stitched into her skin and those lips…

they were plush and bare, screaming to be sucked.

I could tell she was trying her hardest not to stare too hard at me but was failing miserably.

I shifted in the bed, clenching my jaw as the pain flared up my side.

She gasped. “Your awake.”

Her voice was sweet, nervous even. Like she didn’t know what to say to a nigga like me. I gave her a slow once-over, dragging my eyes from her pretty face to the way her shirt clung to the swell of her body.

“Specs,” I rasped.

She blinked, taken off guard. “That’s not my name.”

“I ain’t ask you that.”

A flicker of attitude crossed her face, fast. Like she regretted it as soon as it showed but I’d already seen the shit.

She was innocent but not stupid. She stepped into the room, careful, like she was approaching a caged animal.

Her fingers fidgeted in front of her as she continued watching me like she was trying to find her words.

“You… need anything?” she finally asked.

My dick twitched under the blanket. She noticed it and her eyes widened like she’d just seen a monster stir.

Bingo.

She was flustered—her body was still as her lips parted, and her face turned red.

She couldn’t even hide the way her eyes darted down again, like she didn’t trust what she just saw.

That small interaction spoke volumes to me.

She was shy. Sweet and na?ve as hell, hence why she was housing a stranger in her crib, not knowing that I was a stone-cold killer.

I could see something else in her just by her demeanor too, something rare.

Specs were untouched. A fucking virgin. A rare gem that was unseen in days like these, but here she was.

I decided that now wasn’t the time to address it, but best believe, I would soon.

As bad as I wanted to move, I couldn’t. Not just from the pain, but from something else.

Something I hadn’t felt in a long time, yet I was feeling it for the second time since laying eyes on her.

She made my instincts pause and in my line of work, that shit was dangerous.

I leaned my head back, groaning low. Just enough to let her know that I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders, but I was still watching…

still thinking. That shit played back behind my eyes like a stuttered reel for the hundredth time.

Shit was supposed to be in and out. That was my motto…

my promise to every job. But something was off from the moment I scoped it out.

The timing was wrong. The energy was off.

The meetup that was supposed to be happening seemed to be nonexistent.

In fact, there was presence in the warehouse, but no fucking movement and I should’ve walked away the second I noticed that shit, but I stayed.

I stayed and the muthafuckas caught me slippin’.

Only one muthafucka knew the full scope of the job. Gideon. I’d been loyal to him for years. He molded me and trained me like a pit bull, feeding me violence and silence. He turned a street ghost into a weapon. But even dogs bite the hand that feeds when they sense betrayal.

Would he really though?

I opened my eyes and looked at her again. Specs. She stood there still, with her arms folded now, trying not to show how much she wanted answers.

“You patched me up?” I asked in a low tone.

She nodded. “You did tell me not to call the cops so…”

Smart girl. I like that.

I felt sleep crawling back up my spine as my body started shutting down again. I tried to fight it, but I was losing like a muthafucka.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

She opened her mouth, hesitantly. “Ivy.”

I let her name settle on my tongue, but didn’t say shit back, I just watched her.

“I like Specs better,” I mutter as my eyes slowly started to close.

She huffed, half-offended but I knew her lil ass probably liked it. I caught the way her brows pinch like she was about to say something else, but by the time the words left her lips, I was gone again. Sinking back into the dark.