BIKER PRESIDENT'S CURVY SECRET OBSESSION

I sit in the back of the yellow taxi and look out the wet window at the busy city streets, watching the heavy rain blur the bright neon signs of the passing stores. I wipe my sweaty palms on my purse and take a deep, shaky breath because even though the leather seat of the cab feels cold against my legs, I am incredibly nervous and excited. Today is Mark’s twenty-ninth birthday, and after three long years together, I am finally ready to give him my virginity. I waited a long time because I was scared of being vulnerable since I grew up in the St. Jude Orphanage without anyone to trust, but Mark was always patient with me and never pushed me to do anything I did not want to do. I want to reward his patience with a perfect, romantic night, so I reach into my purse to execute my plan and dial his number. It rings twice before he picks up the line. "Hey, baby," Mark says, his voice sounding smooth and relaxed. "Hey," I reply, forcing myself to sound sad and stressed. "I have some bad news because my boss just walked into my office and dropped a massive pile of files on my desk. He wants me to stay for three more hours to finish sorting the new client accounts, so I am going to be very late for your birthday dinner." Mark sighs loudly through the speaker. "Oh, Chiara, that is a real shame because I was looking forward to seeing you." "I am so sorry, Mark. I feel terrible." "It is okay, babe," Mark says, his tone shifting to sound a little too cheerful. "Work is work and you have to keep the boss happy if you want that promotion, so I will just relax here at the penthouse and order some takeout. Just call me when you finally leave the office." "I will," I say. "I love you." "Love you too," he replies, and then he hangs up the phone. I smile and put my phone back into my purse, happy that he fell for the lie. He thinks I am stuck at work for the next three hours, but I am actually pulling up to his building right now to surprise him. I want to walk in, drop my coat, and show him the expensive red lingerie I bought because I want to see the shock and desire on his face when he realizes I am here just for him. The taxi stops at the curb, so I hand the driver a twenty-dollar bill and step out into the cold rain. I pull my coat tight over my crimson dress and hurry through the revolving glass doors into the warm marble lobby. It smells like expensive vanilla air freshener and fresh lilies, and I adjust the strap of my heavy leather overnight bag on my shoulder before walking over to the private elevator banks. The security guard sitting at the front mahogany desk looks up and nods at me. "Good evening, Ms. Brooks, you can head right up since Mr. Hayes is home." "Thank you," I say, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button for the top floor. As the metal doors slide shut, I look at my reflection in the polished steel panels and smooth my hands over my hips. I know I am curvy and plump, and Mark often reminds me to watch my calories by buying me expensive gym memberships and fitness trackers. He always tells me he just wants me to be healthy, and while his comments often make me feel bad about my body, I push those thoughts away tonight. I feel beautiful, and I am ready for the next step in our relationship. The elevator rises, making my stomach flutter until the doors chime and slide open directly into Mark’s penthouse foyer. I step out onto the thick gray carpet, noticing that the apartment is massive and quiet, with the rain hitting the floor-to-ceiling windows in a steady rhythm. I take off my wet shoes and set them neatly by the door so I do not ruin his pristine hardwood floors, and then I walk into the open-concept kitchen. Mark's heavy leather briefcase sits on the marble island and his expensive suit jacket is draped over a bar stool, proving he is definitely home. I pour myself a glass of cold water from the stainless steel fridge because my hands shake a little bit from the nerves, and I drink the water before setting the glass down in the sink. I wonder where he is, thinking maybe he is asleep in the bedroom or watching television in the den, so I pick up my overnight bag and walk down the long hallway. The thick carpet muffles the sound of my bare feet as I walk past the guest bathroom and the home office. Mark's large wooden desk is covered in financial reports because he works very hard for his billionaire father, Arthur Hayes, and I poured all my energy into being a good partner by cooking his meals and keeping him company while he works late. I reach the end of the hall where the carpet stops and the floor turns into dark hardwood. The heavy oak door of the primary bedroom is cracked open just a few inches, allowing warm yellow light to spill out from the bedside lamps and stretch across the floorboards. I stop right outside the door when I hear a faint, low moan coming from inside the room. I pause to listen, and another sound echoes out into the quiet hallway, starting as a sharp gasp and ending with the loud rustle of bedsheets. My cheeks turn warm because Mark is obviously not asleep, and he must be taking care of himself while he waits for me to get off work. The thought makes me blush, but it also makes me smile since it proves he really does want me. I grip the handle of my overnight bag and step closer to the wood, realizing I have the perfect opportunity to surprise him. I put a teasing smile on my lips and lean forward to peek through the narrow gap in the door, but my smile dies instantly. The breath leaves my lungs and my chest goes tight, leaving me unable to blink or move my legs. Mark is on his knees in the center of the large bedroom rug, but he is not alone. His best friend, Owen, stands right behind him, and their clothes are scattered across the hardwood floor. My brain struggles to process the image because Owen is the man who introduced me to Mark three years ago. Owen was the funny, supportive best friend who came to our dinner dates and helped us pick out furniture, yet now his hands are gripping Mark's bare shoulders. I press my hand hard over my mouth to stop myself from making a sound as my stomach churns and my throat burns. I want to run away, but my muscles refuse to move, leaving me frozen in the hallway to stare through the crack in the door. Owen tilts his head back and lets out a rough groan. "God, I am glad that fat b***h is not here." The cruel words hit me right in the chest and I stop breathing. "She always smells like food," Owen continues, laughing a bit as he pushes his hips forward. "It drives me crazy when she tags along to our dinners." Mark laughs breathlessly, and he does not get mad or defend me or tell his best friend to stop insulting the woman he asked to marry. "She is the perfect cover, babe," Mark says. "f*****g clueless." "You really think she does not suspect anything?" Owen asks. "She has no idea," Mark replies, his voice full of dark amusement. "My dad would cut off my trust fund today if he knew about us because he wants me to marry a quiet, plain girl and give him grandchildren. Chiara just smiles and nods, and she is desperate for a family, so she thinks I am actually going to marry her." I stare at the side of Mark's face as he smiles at Owen with the exact same smile he gives me when he buys me flowers, and I realize this is the same man who told me he loved me over the phone an hour ago. Every single date we went on and every single gift he bought me feels like a dirty lie. Every time he suggested I skip dessert or sign up for a gym class under the disguise of caring about my health, he was making me feel bad about my body on purpose so I would stay insecure and never question him. It was a calculated scam from the beginning, and he never loved me or found me attractive, because he just needed a naive, lonely orphan to hide his real life from his strict father. My vision goes blurry with hot tears, and my chest aches so badly I feel dizzy. My hands go numb, and the strength leaves my fingers, causing the heavy leather spa bag to slip from my grasp. It hits the hardwood floor with a deafening thud that echoes down the quiet hallway. The movement inside the bedroom stops instantly, and both men freeze before whipping their heads toward the cracked door. I stand paralyzed in the hallway as Mark's face turns pale and he scrambles to his feet, grabbing a discarded shirt from the floor to hold against his chest. "Chiara?" Mark calls out, his voice shaking with pure panic. "Chiara, are you out there? Wait! Do not run!"