Page 6 of B.D.E: Falling Hard For A BBW

Ivy

I didn’t open the bookstore yesterday. How could I, when there was a fine ass dangerous and strange man bleeding and laid out in my bed upstairs, and all I could think about was the way his dick pressed against the front of his pants like it was trying to make an introduction.

My body had no right reacting the way it did.

I should’ve been focused on bandaging him up, keeping him alive.

But instead, my gaze got stuck down there like my eyes had a mind of their own, and I couldn't stop thinking about it now. It was thick ; even half-dead, the man was hard as hell. I’d visioned a few from my favorite smutty books, but it was different when it was real and right in front of me.

My mouth had gone dry, and my thighs had pressed together so tight that I swear I could feel the throb from my own pulse between them.

Then he started to drift again, and I snapped out of it, scolding myself for being turned on by a man who looked like he’d just walked out of a shootout.

And now… now I had to pretend to be normal.

I had to open Stacked Shelves and act like I hadn’t spent the night tiptoeing back and forth from the kitchen to my bedroom like some kind of undercover nurse with a crush on her unconscious patient.

The sun had barely risen when I tied my apron on and stood behind the bakery counter, wrist-deep in cinnamon roll dough.

The motions always calmed me. This was the part of my routine I never skipped; rolling out the dough just like my mama taught me.

I even hummed the same song she used to hum every Saturday morning when she needed peace.

“Sweet Thing” by Chaka Khan. It always settled something in my chest. Like it gave me something soft to hold onto in a world that felt like it was getting harder to recognize since my parents left this world.

Still, my mind kept drifting back to the stranger I was now housing.

Who was he?

He hadn’t told me his name. Only warned me not to call the cops or an ambulance, like he knew what would happen if I did.

He had a lethal but calm presence. The kind of energy that made my instincts scream danger but my body hum with heat.

Every time I thought about the way he looked at me before he passed out, my stomach flipped.

And that mouth of his, and those lips. Mhmm.

Even barely conscious, he had the nerve to call me Specs .

Like it was already a nickname that belonged to me. Like he was already claiming me as his.

I shook my head and kept kneading, focused on getting the batch right. I let the low hum of the music and the scent of brown sugar rising in the warm air take me to my comfort. Then I felt him. The heat of his body radiating behind me as I kept my hands stilled in the dough.

“ Specs, ” he called out in his rough voice, that sound low and dark, immediately sending chills up my spine. “You look so fucking innocent with those glasses on… but I know what’s under them. I can’t wait to break you in.”

Ijumpedand turned so fast I nearly knocked the rolling pin off the counter.

He stood there, leaning against the frame of the open doorway, shirtless, bandaged, and still bleeding in spots, but somehow…

powerful. More alive than any man had a right to be in his condition.

His braids were messy, eyes low-lidded like he hadn’t slept properly in days, but that stare… that stare , pinned me in place.

“You—you shouldn’t be up,” I stammered, heart racing like I just ran a marathon. “You’re not supposed to—how did you even?”

His gaze dragged down my body slow, like he was memorizing every curve and inch of me.

I glanced down, remembering that I was just in a tank top and sleeping shorts with no bra on, so my nipples were visible through the thin fabric.

Heat rushed up my neck as he smirked at me. I realized that he’d seen everything.

“I’m good,” he muttered. “For now.”

I swallowed hard and looked away, trying to focus on the counter, or anything other than him but theway he looked at me; I couldn’t even think straight, and the worse part was, I was wet, again.

Just from the way he said my fake little nickname.

Just from the fact that he was looking at me like I was his dessert. My panties were completely drenched.

“You need anything?” I asked, trying to mask my shaky breath.

“And again…that’s not my name.” I added a second later, because I had to get control back somehow, a shred of it at least.

“And again… I didn’t ask.” He said, cocking his head slightly, that smirk turning damn near arrogant.

His body swayed slightly, like the weight of standing was finally catching up to him. I moved toward him, not too close, but close enough to see his bandages were starting to spot red.

“You’re still bleeding,” I said.

He didn’t answer. Just looked at me with a kind of intensity I’d never been on the receiving end of before. It was like he saw looking straight through me. Then his knees buckled slightly, and I reached out to steady him.

“Okay, no more standing,” I said firmly. “Come on, you can lie down in the reading nook until the shop opens. Just... don’t bleed on my first editions.”

He chuckled, but the sound was tired and strained.

He followed me slowly, step by step as I guided him to the oversized leather chair in the corner of the book café where people liked to curl up and read.

He sank into it like his body was finally giving out.

I covered him with a blanket, watching the way his chest rose and fell, shallow and slow.

He was already fading. I should’ve been scared, deep down, I was.

But there was something else beneath the fear; something I didn’t understand yet.

Something that made me stay right there beside him, just in case he needed anything. Even if he never told me his name.

After a few minutes, I noticed that he was completely out and as much as I wanted to sit right beside him and stare at his beautiful face as he slept, I knew I had to finish prepping for the café to open at 9am sharp.

I walked back to the kitchen and got to work, dumping more cinnamon into the batter I’d made like I could bake this feeling away, but I couldn’t.

This man was invading my thoughts and had me so flustered, I didn’t know what to do with myself.

I tried once to deal with feelings like this when I was deep into my erotica books.

My best friend, Tori had given me that ridiculous rose toy for my birthday last year, talking about it would change my life.

It almost ended it! I was five seconds in before I thought I was having a heart attack.

My legs were locked up, I completely stopped breathing, and I swore for a second the ancestors were calling me home.

When I caught my breath and sanity, I threw that thing in the back of my dresser and vowed to never touch it again.

Romance books were safer and that’s what I’d been sticking to lately.

With him here, those same flutters I’d felt in my stomach that eased between my thighs would surface every time I was near me.

I didn’t know why though because this man was dangerous, I could sense it.

Nothing about him felt safe. Nothing about the way my heart raced when I was in his presence felt normal.

Still, it was in me to check on him… to help him.

Maybe it was because I’d been raised by parents who didn’t just love; they nurtured too.

My mama was the type to bring soup and medicine to a sick neighbor without being asked, and my daddy never even allowed my mom and I to walk on the outside of the sidewalk.

That kind of care was all I ever known, so when I saw him bleeding on my floor, I didn’t see an intruder breaking in or a man holding a gun that could possibly kill me.

All I saw was someone who needed help. Someone that no one had helped before and that’s what haunted me.

By the time I finished icing the last batch of cinnamon rolls, the clock on the wall said 7:42 a.m. I still had a little over an hour before the shop opened, so I wiped my hands off and walked over to check on him.

He was still laying there in the oversized chair with his head tilted back, his lips parted slightly as his chest rose and fell.

He looked less like a stranger to me now, less like a threat.

I kneeled next to him, seeing that the bruises on his ribs were dark and the bandages that I wrapped were clean in some spots but soaked in others.

There was dried blood on his skin, around the edges of the bandage.

I hesitated at my first thought to offer to help him get cleaned up.

“Specs, why the fuck you breathing so close to my face? You tryna kiss a nigga?” He asked with his eyes still closed, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I cleared my throat, embarrassed that he’d caught me staring at him, but I didn’t know how being that his eyes had been closed this entire time.

Specs, say something! Not me calling myself Specs…

“Umm—I was going to ask you if you wanted to shower? I could help you… if you need it.”

Something in me wanted to help him and nurturing was just my default.

He opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow like he wasn’t expecting me to say that.

“Specs, you telling me I stink or some shit?”

“Wha—no! I was just saying that you needed to get your wounds cleaned and I could put new bandages… you know what, neve?—”

“Specs, chill, I was just bullshitting you. I ain’t really use to nobody touching me and shit, but I could use some help with a shower since a nigga still sore as fuck,” he chuckled.

“Alright, well come on. Let me help you up so we can get you clean before I have to come back down and open up.”