Take Me: BBW Virgin Bad Boy Romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Author's Note

  Take Me

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Want You Back (Preview)

  Thank You

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2018 by Lulu Pratt

  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 products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Author’s Note

  Take Me is a full-length 60,000+ word novel. Please note it ends at 93%.

  Thank you for reading this. I hope you enjoy Take Me.

  I’ve also included a preview of my book, Want You Back, for your enjoyment.

  Happy reading,

  Lulu xoxo

  Take Me

  She thinks I’m an arrogant jerk but my Irish charm will work its magic.

  When I first saw Poppy I was instantly hard.

  I accidentally walked in on her changing, her big beautiful body clad in nothing but a white bra and panties.

  As the world’s top lingerie photographer I’m used to being surrounded by half naked models but none of them make my body react the way hers does.

  Turns out she’s never been touched which makes me want her even more.

  She says she hates me, despises me even but the magazine is forcing us to work closely together in a tropical island paradise.

  This will be fun. I like a challenge.

  *** A steamy STANDALONE contemporary romance with a smoking hot hero. No cliffhanger, no cheating and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.***

  Chapter 1

  POPPY

  “HEY, LOVELIES! How’s your day? Is it wonderful? I hope you’re all breathing in the sunshine and breathing out love.”

  I stared into the lens of my video camera and gave it my big, signature wink. My sister, sitting on a rolling chair by my side, snorted quietly at the little theatrics, though she’d seen it many times before. I yanked the leg of her chair, pulling her into frame.

  “Okay, everyone,” I told the camera. “Ya’ll know my big sis, April. Say hi, April!”

  She smiled politely and waved to our imaginary audience. “Hi, folks.”

  I spread out the synthetic hair brushes and cruelty-free make-up in front of me, letting my eyes wander over the various bits and bobs, formulating a vision in my head. April glanced at the mountain of tools and products, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

  “You’re not gonna go crazy, right?” she asked, a hopeful note in her voice.

  I shook my head. “Me? Never.” To the camera, I continued, “If you clicked this video, you know by now that I’m doing an all-natural makeover for April, just in time for Easter. She’s the coolest pastor you’ll ever meet, and I wanna make sure she looks her best for our little town’s congregation. Anything you wanna add, April?”

  She shrugged. Ever since we were little, she’d let me experiment with her face, using it as a testing board for all my make-up adventures. At the time, I’d thought that’s what big sisters were supposed to do, just sit there and let you mess around with their eyebrows, but now that it’s my profession, I know she was actually being incredibly gracious and generous with her time, especially since she hates make-up.

  “Uh, nothing to add,” she replied. “My wife loves it when I come home with a full face, so she’ll be mighty happy about this video.”

  I smiled, and nodded eagerly. “She’s the best. And hey, if she ever wants to do a vlog with me, I’d love to make her over.”

  I’d offered this a few times now, but I think Cindy, April’s wife, liked to watch from a distance. She was a bit camera shy, whereas me and my whole blood family were outgoing in the extreme.

  “So,” I said to April, letting my fingers dance over an eyeshadow palette. “I’m thinking something summery, simple, not too outlandish. The kinda face you’d wear to meet your partner’s parents for the first time. How’s that sound?”

  “Perfect. Don’t wanna scare the old church ladies with a con-ture,” she said, mispronouncing the word. “They’d just about shit their britches.”

  “Language, April,” I scolded, my cheeks pinkening. “I’ll have to bleep that out later.”

  She rolled her big blue eyes, the only part of her face that even vaguely resembled my own, and pushed back the cuffs of her white linen shirt. “How is it that I, a Southern pastor, am less uptight than you?”

  “That’s not true–”

  “‘Course it is,” she replied. “You won’t even have sex before–”

  “Okay, that’s definitely getting cut,” I muttered, turning off my camera and pivoting to face April. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back in my chair. Because of my plump arms and tiny hands, my parents always said that when I kicked a fit like this, I looked like one of those baby dolls, all blonde ringlets and petulance.

  “Sorry, sorry,” April apologized. “I’m not trying to be an ass – a meany, Poppy, but seriously…”

  “Seriously what?” I huffed.

  “You know what.” Her sharp brown brows – so wasted on someone in the ministry – shot up.

  I knew what, but didn’t care to have the conversation again. We’d been round and round on it in circles for years, well before April became a pastor and was still just in seminary. It first started when I was, what, maybe sixteen? And she was twenty-four, and I thought she was just ragging on me in the way older girls do, but now that I was twenty-three, I was beginning to wonder if maybe she was serious.

  “I’m serious,” April said, reading my thoughts. Though we were eight years apart, we had a twin-like telepathy. Didn’t help that my face was a wide-open book. “You’re getting bound up in all these old rules that mean nothing.”

  “They mean something to me,” I sighed, falling back on my old line.

  “Poppy, it’s all well and good to be a Christian, but don’t you let that stop you from living a big ol’ life. Some of what gets preached… it’s outdated. You know that.”

  April gave me a meaningful look, and I knew what she was getting at. In churches around the country, my gay sister, who was a powerful, godly pastor, wouldn’t be allowed to preach. Our town was a bit more progressive, being only about fifty miles from Atlanta, but still – even a decade back, they would’ve shunned someone like April.

  “You know I think the church’s stance on homosexuality is wrong,” I told her, truly meaning it.

  “I know you do, I know I do,” she said. “But if you can agree that Christianity got that wrong, can’t we have gotten other s
tuff wrong, too? Like, for instance, the whole sex-before-marriage thing.”

  I flopped back in my chair, shielding her face from my eyes with the back of my hand, though I was careful not to smudge my glittery eyeliner.

  She pushed her case. “Come on, Poppy, hear me out. You’re twenty-three, and you haven’t – I feel like you’ve stopped yourself from doing so many things. And you deserve to live the fullest life, honey, the absolute fullest.”

  “I haven’t stopped myself from doing anything.”

  “What about Jason?” she asked. “Or Tommy, or Dan, or–”

  “Okay, okay,” I responded. “I get the point.”

  “You’ve let so many men walk out of your life, not because you didn’t want to have sex with them, but because you didn’t think you were allowed to.”

  “A man who loved me would wait.” This was what I’d been taught in Sunday school, and I thought it still remained true.

  April sighed, and I could see worry on her face. “That’s not fair, Poppy. You can’t ask someone you love to forego all forms of physical connection for years, until you hit twenty-five–”

  “Twenty-six,” I cut in.

  “Whatever, whatever your ‘marrying age’ is. It’s not fair to ask somebody to live less so you can deprive yourself of a thing you want too.”

  I began fiddling with the halo light set up across from my desk, not wanting to meet April’s eyes. “You don’t know that.”

  “I’m your sister. I totally know that. Plus,” she said, pointing upward, “I’ve got a direct line with the man upstairs, and He says to ease up a little, to have some fun.”

  “There’s just no time for relationships,” I whined. “At least, no time to find somebody I’m serious enough about that I would maybe, maybe consider… doing that. I’ve got to put up at least three make-up vlogs a week, plus maintain all my socials, network with advertisers, sort out location shoots. There are barely hours left in the day to do my charity work.”

  April laughed. “I’ve devoted my life to charity and you spend almost as much time as I do giving back.”

  “But I could do more.” There it was, that pestering feeling of guilt – I knew how lucky I was, to have everything I did, and every moment I didn’t spend doing good works for others made me feel inadequate.

  See, at twenty-three, I had over three million followers on my YouTube channel, where I talked about all things natural beauty-related. I’d found a way to make my fairly narcissistic career – painting my face day in and day out – a positive action by tying the channel to animal welfare, which was one of my great passions. I used exclusively cruelty-free products and gave a portion of my proceeds from every sponsorship deal back to global organizations or any of my local animal shelters.

  So, yeah, I was doing good. But was it enough good?

  “Men will come along,” I sighed, needled by that ever-present pressure to ‘have it all.’ “There are plenty of guys out there.”

  April grinned. “Well, I don’t know how young women meet men.” Her smile dissolved and she continued, “But I know it’s getting hard. And you won’t meet any sitting by yourself all day and working all night.”

  The vise grip of my ‘timeline’ tightened around my throat, making it hard to breathe. I had three years to find a guy and marry him. Then we could begin having kids. I wanted at least three, and by the time we decided to close up shop, we’d still be fairly young, young enough to have the energy to chase all our little rascals around and both work full-time jobs. Even if my husband had money, I would never give up my “influencer” career. I loved it too much.

  April took one look at my face, and knew I was spinning out.

  “Okay,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  “You know how anxious it makes me.”

  “Yeah. It’s only cuz I’m your big sister and I worry about you.”

  I shook my shoulders out, excising my nerves. I managed a smile, and said, “Thank you. I know you mean well.”

  She smiled, her pink lips spreading apart to reveal endearingly crooked teeth. “I do,” she affirmed. “Now, how about we finish this video?”

  I clapped my hands together, delighted that she was still cooperative in spite of my whining. Plus, I needed one last vlog before I flew off to New York City tomorrow. If April had left me high and dry, I would’ve been scrambling into the wee hours with a product review, how-to, Q&A or subscription box unboxing.

  “Okay,” I began, sifting through my things to find a pale foundation. I had to buy specialty items for videos I did with April, who was far paler than my ever-tan booty. “Does this match? Hold out your arm.”

  She obliged, brandishing her forearm as I swatched some of the make-up on. A perfect match, of course. “Good eye,” she said admiringly.

  “Thanks,” I replied, and reached in front of me to turn the camera back on.

  “One more thing,” she said. “Before you turn it on.”

  My hand hovered above the little device, shaking just a teensy bit, and I gulped nervously, not sure I wanted to hear whatever she was about to say.

  “Take care of yourself, all right?” April pleaded. “For me, if for no one else. Because I love you, and I need you to take care of my favorite person.”

  My eyes welled up – I’m like a water fountain sometimes, I swear – and nodded, blinking desperately to keep the tears back. Oh, how I envy those girls who can just keep their composure.

  “Sure thing,” I whispered, my throat choking with emotion. I loved my sister, would ford a million Rubicons for her, climb Kilimanjaro, murder a man in cold blood. Lord forgive me!

  “Go on,” she said with a big, dopey grin. “Turn on your camera and don’t ruin your pretty make-up with all those tears. I ain’t worth it.”

  I clicked the ‘record’ button and replied, “Of course you are, April.”

  I dabbed under my eye with a tissue, coughed a little, then brightened up, putting on my ‘performance Poppy.’ “All right then, let’s get a move on. So today, I’m using my favorite BoaBuster Skin Tint in White Apple.”

  April smiled that familiar, affectionate smile of pride that was both nurturing and free of condescension, and I felt my heart swell. If she wanted me to start living a little… well… well then, I would try.

  Chapter 2

  FINN

  THE LIGHTS were low, the entire stage draped in a deep pink satin, feathers flying in the air and lace swimming before my eyes. In front of me, ten of the world’s most beautiful women danced around in their underwear, giggling and hitting one another with white pillows, their breasts jiggling with every smack.

  And I couldn’t have been more bored.

  “Lasses,” I called, my Irish brogue jumping out. They all stopped mid-pose to look at me. “Give me less slumber party, more sultry one-night stand. M’kay?”

  They continued to stare blankly, their pouty mouths all hanging open with incomprehension.

  “Less this,” I said, using my camera as a fake pillow and pretending to bash an imaginary girl over the head with it. “More this.” I pressed the camera-cum-pillow over my very imaginary breasts and bit my lip, growling as I did.

  The models swooned. I’m sure for any other man, this would’ve been extraordinarily gratifying, but it barely registered with me. I was just a photographer, trying to relay directions, not some kind of playboy endeavoring to flirt my way into their beds. Besides, I’d already taken about half of them home – all the tall brunettes – and didn’t feel particularly pressed to sleep with any other supermodels.

  “All right, keep fighting,” I announced, and the women went back to their mock pillow melee.

  This had to be my… hm… fiftieth shoot? Yeah, that sounded right, my fiftieth shoot or so for Regency Lace, the world’s leading lingerie brand, famous for their yearly fashion shows, and for launching the careers of many a model. I’d done my first shoot with them maybe two years back, and ever since I’ve worked with Regency
almost exclusively. They said I ‘brought out the right side’ of the women. That is, I turned the girls on, which is I suppose what they were looking for.

  At first it’d been exciting, being surrounded by the glitz and glamour, the fabulous parties, the endless string of yachts, but after around shoot number twenty-three, I’d realized that working with Regency left me zero time to pursue more fulfilling photography, where I could shoot something besides half-naked young women. But the money was good and consistent, which is more than I can say for most employment in the arts, so I kept my mouth shut. Who was I to complain? It was certainly a far, far cry from my impoverished childhood.

  “How about something like this?” one of the models called out, and I didn’t even need to look up from the display screen on my camera to know which one. That shrill tone, the cloying demand that underlay her words. It was Chrissy, all right. Fuck.

  With a deep, ill-repressed sigh, I glanced up from the camera, and saw that Chrissy was bent over a sofa, her posterior wiggling right in my eye line.

  “Subtle,” I muttered.

  We’d slept together last spring, just once, and she wouldn’t let it go. I’d been exceedingly polite, explaining beforehand that I was only interested in a no-strings-attached, wild, sweaty fucking kinda night. She’d nodded and agreed, said that’s what she wanted too. We’d had zero chemistry in bed, and the following morning, when she asked if we could meet again, I explained gently that I didn’t think it’d be a good idea to see one another anymore. She hadn’t stopped hounding me since. Not because we were anything worth fighting for, mind you, but just because she was the sort of girl who hated to lose.

  Pushing these thoughts of frustration and annoyance aside, I replied to Chrissy, over the thump of the music, “That’s a little much.”

  She bent further over, the thong slipping deeper into her ass crack, the lips of her vagina almost visible. “How about now?”