Protein Shake: An MFM Romance Read online

  An entire day of sexual frustration, and finally my hard, throbbing dick was granted release. Kind of like how when you haven’t eaten anything all day, and you get those first few bites of your meal, they just taste better.

  Kara Gilmore. I could eat that woman right up.

  I pull a pot out from my lower cabinets and fill it with water. As I wait for it to boil, I chop up some broccoli and set it in a bowl, ready to chuck it in when the water’s at temp.

  I walk over to my refrigerator and grab a package of chicken tenderloin, which I start cubing. I stare at my spices once it’s all cut to my preference and then decide I’m feeling an Italian-style dish tonight.

  I throw some oregano, salt, pepper, basil, and parsley onto the chicken and drizzle some olive oil onto it.

  I’m a good cook, so it’s going to be fucking delicious. I could afford a personal chef, but there’s something more rewarding about doing it myself.

  Besides, I’m starving. I probably waited too long to eat. But considering why, I’m not too bent out of shape.

  Kara satisfied a different kind of appetite.

  It’s important when you work out as much as I do to have a schedule for your nourishment. And ninety nine percent of the time, I can follow it.

  But when a tasty treat like Kara shows up in my day, I don’t mind deviating once in a while. And she made it worth it.

  I wonder if Kara ended up getting some actual food. God damn, I hope she isn’t one of those girls that just eats one meal a day. Especially after the workout we gave her.

  I grab some garlic and chop it up to go in with the chicken. I heat a pan and toss it all in together.

  As I move the chicken and garlic around in the pan, I have my other hand on my phone. Multitasking when I’m doing something so simple isn’t a problem. I’m flipping through social media, trying to figure out the best way to get people looking at the Protein Plus shakes.

  All through my feed, there’s tons of advertisements and hashtags about the upcoming Miss Sexy Universe pageant. That cock-eyed bitch Camille is everywhere. I know that winning the pageant, she’s the guaranteed spokesperson for the competition this year, but if I could stop seeing her nipples pressing through the fabric of that stupid “Shake ‘Em Ups” logo tank top, I would be able to breathe easier.

  As I scroll, I see sponsored ad after sponsored ad. I get that I follow strictly fitness related posts, but I would pay money to never see that failed protein shake pyramid scheme ever again.

  Shake ‘Em Ups. Disgusting fucking product, stupid fucking name.

  The fact that a few months after the competition last year, Shake ‘Em Ups went bankrupt should be a sign to someone―if not everyone―that their entire company is bullshit. But nope. Fuck.

  At least I got my personal vengeance out by revenge-fucking Camille. Wasn’t even difficult. I just needed to stand in her vicinity, and the bitch threw herself right at me.

  I can still remember the way she went even more cock-eyed with my cock in her mouth.

  Oh, Eric! she cooed after. Your cum is soooo yummy! Gimme more, pretty please? I’d do ANYTHING for more!

  Christ. Maybe I need a girl to enter in the Miss Sexy Universe pageant. That’d get some good exposure for Protein Plus.

  I look over to my stovetop and see that the water is finally boiling. I toss in my broccoli for a couple of minutes and set my phone down on the counter to finish the chicken.

  I pop open a jar of organic tomato sauce and pour it over the chicken and garlic, stirring it around. My broccoli looks done about the time I finish it so I strain it and shock it in some cold water over at the sink before I pour it in with the rest of the dish.

  I grab some rice I prepped from the fridge and heat it up and pour that in too.

  Voila. Dinner. I’ve got my protein, my veggies, and a starch.

  A well-balanced meal, perfect for after a long day of working out with my best friend and a hot chick.

  I throw a good portion into a bowl and grab a fork. I make my way over to my couch and sit with my food. Back to my marketing plan. We’re so far in development that I need to start advertising as soon as possible.

  As my thumb pushes Shake ‘Em Ups up and out of my view, a picture that has been reposted by a page called “Fitness Junkies” catches my eye. Not because it has anything to do with my strategy, but because I know exactly who’s in it.

  Kara. Why would Fitness Junkies have Kara on their featured posts? I’m too curious.

  Repost after repost, I trace the picture back as far as I can, which lands me to Kara’s personal account. She has over a million followers.

  What the shit?

  As I peruse her public photos, I can’t even believe it’s the same girl. The rest of her pictures are at least two years old.

  She’s still hot as hell in them, but I don’t recognize her. With that much internet fame, I feel like I’m supposed to.

  Her curves back then were as phenomenal then as they are now. Anyone would be lucky to fuck her at any size. I can fucking say that with a smile.

  But my curiosity is piqued. I scroll even further into her gallery.

  My god, this girl used to be a plus-sized model. No fucking wonder people follow the fuck out of her.

  I take a heaping spoonful of my dinner. Goddamn, that’s good. See, just like I said.

  When you’ve been starving all day, that first bite tastes so much better than it would have had you not waited for it.

  I wonder what made Kara decide to lose all of that weight. Seriously, she’d be perfect at any size. She’s got such a gorgeous face and such delectable proportions…more of her just means that there’d be more of her to love.

  She’s gorgeous now, too, of course—and with a little training, she’ll look even healthier. But the world isn’t always kind to women with curves like that, no matter how fucking stunning they are.

  It takes me a second to realize it, but I’m actually fucking worrying about this girl. I’m the kind of man who usually pumps and dumps, but Kara has me all concerned about her well-being and shit. Probably because, judging by the way she was trying to lift today before Chase and I came along, it’s obvious that someone needs to take care of this girl.

  It’s not just me being over-protective, though. I’ve never been so intrigued by someone, especially someone I just met. And now I have all of this empathy for her, and I want to get in her head.

  Huh. I genuinely want to help this girl be happy.

  And I think I have a good start to how I can do that.

  I return to my feed, littered with Miss Sexy Universe ads.

  I think Chase and I can mold her into our model. We can sponsor her with Protein Plus, enter her into the competition, and make her the face of our brand.

  She has the model strut, she has the looks, and she definitely has the right backstory to melt hearts in our name. We’ll just need to get her on board.

  And with a little convincing, I think we can have that in the bag, too. I take another heaping bite of my food and wash it down with a full glass of water.

  I pull up my text conversations and find Chase’s thread.

  I have a plan, I send him.

  He responds, not even a minute later, What else is new?

  I reply, It’s for Protein Plus. The plan is Kara.

  Kara? he asks. Shower-fuck Kara?

  Exactly. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s going to be our face in the Miss Sexy Universe pageant. And we’re going to win, hands down, I explain.

  Fucking genius, bro. When are we telling her?

  Tomorrow. Before we start our workout. I know exactly how we’ll ask..

  Sweet. Fucking awesome, he sends back.

  I can’t wait to see the look on Kara’s face when we give her our idea.

  In fact, if I have anything to say about it, she’s going to take it just fine.

  Chapter 9

  Kara

  I can’t believe how many people are still showing me support af
ter I posted that selfie yesterday. Every time I think the likes and comments might stop coming in…my phone buzzes again with a new notification. At this rate, I could use the fucking thing as a vibrator.

  It would give a whole new meaning to getting off on social media, at any rate.

  Posting pictures of a thinner me is still difficult. It makes me feel like I’m cheating the people who used to think of me as a plus-sized role model.

  But at the same time, promoting a healthier, happier me is a good thing. Everyone is comfortable at different places and sizes—and this is the size that I’m comfortable at right now. I don’t feel like that’s a bad message to send.

  Regardless, the ratio of bad and good comments that came about from my post show that the vast majority of my fans still support the shit out of me, and that’s just awesome.

  I feel like I could climb a mountain―riding this high of overwhelming support from them as my source of energy―and I’d make it to the top. No questions asked.

  I grab a wash cloth and some exfoliating scrub to clean my face before I head off to the gym. I think taking care of your skin before and after a workout is important. I can’t afford any blemishes with my recent spike in attention, and keeping my face acne-free has become pretty much effortless since I stopped eating the nutritional equivalent of garbage.

  Not to mention I’d probably focus more on that than my workout if that happened. I’d be concerned that my flaws were all that Chase and Eric would be looking at. With those two in mind, I’ll be deep cleaning my skin day and night if that’s what it takes.

  I grab a towel and blot my face after I rinse the exfoliant from it. Once I’m nice and dry, I hang the towel and make my way over to my dresser.

  I pull out my underwear drawer and find a pair of whoops, I’m accidentally sexy panties. They are low cut in the front and tastefully revealing in the back, so my shapely ass will show well through my leggings.

  I grab a couple of socks, not bothering to match them, because really, who has time for that? I find a good pair of calf-length leggings and a black sports bra. Aaaand a cut-off crop top, because why the hell not?

  For once, I don’t even have to feel uncomfortable about rocking it.

  I assemble my look and take a step back to examine myself in the mirror. I look adorable, fuckable, and totally ready to work up a sweat.

  I leave my room and walk out to my living room. I see a pretty decent-sized stack of mail sitting on my coffee table and decide I should probably look it over before Lucy swats it around.

  I have a system for sorting my mail.

  Bills are trash. I pay everything online.

  Ads are trash. I look up everything online.

  Credit card offers are trash. The APRs on anything pre-approved are terrible.

  And then I come to a hand-written letter with no return address.

  It’s a peculiar little envelope. The base color is an off white, and there’s a lace pattern embossed into the paper. I quickly flip it over and peel the adhesive away.

  I’d believe it was a mystery, but considering my history with strange, unmarked envelopes…I can take a fucking guess.

  Inside, I find a small, hand-written letter from none other than Evian Sprague, my former bitch of a boss at Gilded Lily.

  These fucking bullying tactics are getting really old. All of her letters say the same thing in different words. As usual, she’s upset that I bounced back from being at the bottom when I got fired.

  Also enclosed with the letter is a photoshopped picture of me. The selfie I posted yesterday, at that. I’m painted up to be over three hundred pounds again, and with a chocolate sauce mustache to boot.

  I wonder if she could be any more passive-aggressive and any less original. I roll my eyes as I toss her little love note into the trash with the rest of the junk.

  I give Lucy a short scratch under her chin before heading out the door. I lock the deadbolt on my way out, and head down the stairs, which is a much easier task tonight than it was yesterday. Phew.

  I start to feel my stomach churning as I get to my car. With everything that happened yesterday, I should be nervous right now.

  But I’m not. I have butterflies because I’m so fucking excited to be at the gym with Chase and Eric again.

  I didn’t exchange numbers with either of them, so I’ve had no communication at all since I left Power Plus. Flashes of our shower roll through my head as I’m driving up to the building.

  God, I’m not even at the gym yet, and I’m already sweating.

  As I get out of my car, I grab my gym bag and make my way through the doors.

  With each step, I notice I’m more and more slippery fucking wet between the legs just waiting to see the two of them.

  I need to get it together.

  These guys are hot. They’re uninhibited. They’ve got the muscles of a Greek sculpture and they’re hardly fucking shy about showing them off.

  They probably fuck women in that shower together all the fucking time. I need to stop being so fucking obsessed over them—especially since I don’t even know what this is yet.

  I feel like Pavlov’s dog, only instead of food and a bell, as soon as I enter the gym, I’m pooling in my panties. I’m not complaining whatsoever; it’s one hell of a motivator, if nothing else.

  In my line of vision as soon as I walk in are Chase and Eric. I see Chase flash me an eager, sexy smile.

  …mmm. That grin could hypnotize me into doing anything and everything for him. It’s fucking dangerous, a smile like that.

  “Well well well,” Chase speaks up. “Look who made it in today.”

  “Couldn’t stay away,” I respond. “I’m a gym addict now.”

  “I wasn’t actually expecting to see you. Neither of us were, really,” continues Chase. “We gave you a run for your money yesterday. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you decided to stay home on the couch and ice those pretty thighs of yours.”

  “My thighs aren’t all that needy of ice after all,” I tease. “Somehow, I’m not surprised to see you here, though. I have it in my head that you two just don’t ever leave.”

  “You’re not exactly wrong.”

  He’s looking even fucking hotter today. His hair is pushed back, with just the perfect amount of sweat beading across his forehead.

  “Well then, I guess I always know where I can find you,” I playfully respond, in the subtlest sultry voice I can manifest.

  I can see in the green of his eyes that he’s excited to see me again. I might be his Pavlov, because he’s salivating enough to have to swallow multiple times in our brief exchange.

  He swallows again before he says something undoubtedly clever and charming back to me, but before he can, I feel big, strong hands at my waist.

  Eric comes up behind me and lifts me right off the ground, effortlessly moving me out of the way. I yelp, and he quickly places me back to the floor, facing him.

  “Hey there, beautiful,” he says, greeting me.

  “Hello yourself, stranger,” I reply, grinning at him. He flashes me a smile, showing off those pearly white, perfectly straight teeth.

  I admire the features of his face, giving him a seductive smile as I marvel to myself about how he just lifted me like I weighed nothing at all. It’s still ingrained in my brain to assume that someone that can pick me up has superhuman strength.

  But then I realize I’m honestly a reasonable weight for anyone in here with experience to lift up like that now. For so long, no one would. No one could.

  But now I’m suddenly a feather. It’s a really good thing.

  Hell, with guns like that, he probably could have lifted me just the same at my previous weight.

  “Here for a while, hot stuff?” Eric tilts his chin up in that cocky way I’ve noticed he does. He says it like he knows that he’s the kind of guy who can easily get away with calling women shit like that: hot stuff.

  Admittedly, I blocked out my whole afternoon for this, but I wasn’t plann
ing on being here long…unless another drool-worthy opportunity presented itself, of course.

  My workout today won’t be quite so…intensive. I’m smiling, but my muscles are still so fucking sore from yesterday that I could cry attempting half of what we did on the equipment.

  What we did in the shower, however, I’d absolutely be up for all over again. My limbs might be stiff and sore, but my pussy would be more than happy to go another round. They wouldn’t have to ask me twice.

  “I don’t have much else going on today, actually. But I’m hoping to take it a little easier than before,” I explain.

  “Oh, of course. I wouldn’t expect you to go half as hard as yesterday,” says Eric. A choir of angels sings a Hallelujah in the back of my mind as he speaks. “But since you’re here…”

  “Big plans?” I ask, licking my lips like the greedy bitch I am.

  “There’s something I want to show you upstairs. If you’re interested, of course,” answers Eric. Chase is standing next to him now, his arms crossed.

  They’re both smiling at me. Their devilishly handsome looks and the sexual tension they’ve created already have my panties fucking drenched.

  “What is it?” I ask. My hip is tilted to the side and my hand is clenching my gym bag. I’m playing coy with them, but my body language is betraying me with my every fucking move.

  Fuck me, my body is broadcasting to them. Fuck me again like you did yesterday. I’m an addict now—gimme that cock, for fuck’s sake!

  “It’s a bit of a surprise,” Eric replies, playing coy right back at me. God dammit. And all his body is broadcasting back to me is that he’s fucking sexy as ever, and I need to jump his bones ASAP.

  “Is it your cock?” I ask, ditching the coy thing for a bolder approach. I stare right at his groin immediately after.

  I swear, I can see the outline of their gorgeous dicks every time I allow myself to look. God bless whoever invented men’s gym shorts.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he says as he smirks and winks at me.

  “You have no idea,” I say back.

  “We have some idea.” Chase dips his lips to my ear and whispers the words. “If you lick your lips one more fucking time, I’m going to find a better use for that tongue.”