Page 1 of CurVy 13

CHAPTER 1

DONNIE

Rain pelts down, creating a curtain of water around my parked SUV. It’s white noise, a perpetual sound that relaxes me into the dark depths of the vehicle.

I hit play again.

Her post has seventy-six thousand views—I account for at least a few hundred of them.

I like watching her.

And it is her.

Valentina Relli. The girl on my brother’s jury who happened to be sighted by a fan walking into the courthouse this morning. Then leaving at four; a full day’s work.

I wasn’t sure it was her, but after finding her P.O. Box on her TikTok account, paying the depot a visit with a lot of money and a bribe hard to deny, the receptionist handed over her mail with a new address plate.

The rest is history.

She left court a few hours ago, but she’s still not home, so until I see her car pull into the house across the street from where I am parked, I’ll watch her posts.

She is entertaining.

Too damn sexy.

I sigh roughly when she bounces in place, singing a Taylor Swift song and showing off her bookcase. I have already noted the window behind her, a narrow sliding window that she leaves cracked open slightly.

Her black #curvyandbooked tank top hides nothing, not because she’s trying to be seductive, but because her ample curves stretch the fabric, highlighting her best parts.

She’s all woman.

Our Curvy 13.

Long, lush blonde hair that waves down over the full mounds of her chest, the tips dangling an inch from the lower bow, like nipple tassels.

She’s not a natural blonde; the dark eyebrows that arch with animation and the lashes that fan each soft cheek are evidence of that.

Her eyes are deep brown, sultry, inset and match her brows and lashes. She is tanned, too.

One look at her, and I can tell she has no idea how beautiful she is, which is a benefit to me. I’m an arrogant arse, and I’ve never enjoyed the company of anyone like me.

Headlights suddenly filter through the dark.

I lean back into the shadowy pocket of the driver’s seat, watching the approaching car slow down, stop, and idle outside her house.

Through their window, I can make out her face, her expression sharp with displeasure, her mouth frantically moving.

She’s pissed off.

Beside her a man cast in shadows retaliates, thumping the dashboard and steering wheel like a two-hundred-pound child having a temper tantrum.

She kicks open the passenger door, her foot reaching for the ground, when he grabs her arm. I pause, feeling my impatience heat my muscles.

Calm.

She’ll be mine to play with soon enough.

She wrestles with his hold, putting up a hell of a fight that only sets that heat to a boil, knowing I’ll be rolling around with that body, pinning it down, feeling it resist…