CONTENTS
Claiming Her Sweet Curves
NEWSLETTER
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
NEWSLETTER
A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS
BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS
LAIRDS & LADIES
RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD
IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS
About the Author
CLAIMING HER SWEET CURVES
AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE
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A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 171
FLORA FERRARI
Copyright © 2020 by Flora Ferrari
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.
CLAIMING HER SWEET CURVES
Tony
Libby Brockman's got all the sweet treats I could ever want in her father's bakery, but this Italian Mafia enforcer only has eyes for the younger woman behind the counter. My best friend's daughter's taken my breath away, and I'm going to do everything I can to make her mine.
Libby
Tony's always been good to my Dad and I can't help it that I've fallen for him. My Dad's best friend was never supposed to look at me twice, but somehow he can't stop staring. Will this virgin get the older man of her dreams and break away from the bakery for good, or will Dad decide he still knows best after all?
*Claiming Her Sweet Curves is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.
NEWSLETTER
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CHAPTER ONE
Tony
I'm in the Brockman Bakery every chance I get because of her. I’ve never had a sweet tooth but she hits every single one of my cravings and I can't get enough. The perfect figure of the full bodied woman behind the counter keeps me up at night imagining every inch of her sweet body up against mine, and when I wake up in the morning, the only thing I can do is drag myself right in here to get my fix.
She's built just right for a man like me, and every time I see her ass sway, I want to grab hold of her and make sure she knows it. I want to bury my face in her breasts and worship every curve of her until she knows that she was made to be adored.
Every morning there's a line around the block for the fresh bagels and every other delicacy in here, just as soon as they open up, but that's not the reason I'm here. I take it upon myself to monitor the behavior of the line up. I'm not so naive as to think that just because most of the customer-base is made up of senior citizens that there's no dodgy element at play here.
After all, her father's been under my protection for years. Just my family's reputation is enough to keep trouble at bay, but with Libby here every day now, I have to make sure.
I drink my coffee, and have my breakfast perched on the hard barstool up by the little table ledge in the window. Only I'm not looking out the window. I never am. Just like usual, my chair is turned in to face the counter and I can't take my eyes off her.
She looks up at me, meeting my eyes with her large baby blues and I take a slow sip of my coffee, forcing myself to stay perched on the hard wooden bar stool in the window. It's some kind of penance. I'm biding my time, but what I really want is to take her out from behind that counter and strip that clean white coverall right off her to better access her Rubenesque body that she spends too long every day hiding away and show her exactly what kind of loving this six foot five Italian hunk of a man is capable of.
She is the only woman in the world, or might as well be. The only one I can't stop thinking about. Libby Brockman makes me forget how to breathe right, but I don't need air when she's in the room. I don't need anything at all, except an uninterrupted view for as long as I can get before the start of my day.
Her cheeks flush under the intensity of my stare, but I can't tear my eyes away even if I'm making her uncomfortable. She's a vanilla cream bomboloni, fresh and plump and appetizing, ready for me to rip right into and devour and I know her soft warmth is exactly what I need in my life. I'll show her that I'm what she needs in hers.
She is the woman I've been waiting for all this time. The only one I was ever meant to be with. And one of these days I'm going to take her apart piece by piece and devour her just like one of the sweet treats sitting in the counter in front of her.
She bites her lip as she looks away, back to the customer she's supposed to be serving, but it's too late for me, I'm already as hard as the bread on the floury shelf behind her will be when it's a day old. And I want the asshole ordering three dozen bagels one by one away from her as quickly as possible. My grip on my paper cup tightens enough to dent it with the effort of holding myself back.
She's mine. She has to know that. I don't care about what her father thinks, or that she's twenty years younger than me. I'll show her that we're meant to be together, that she doesn't have to take this kind of shit from anybody. With me by
