Page 2 of Curvy Wives of Willow Creek 5-8

Without another moment's hesitation, I start running. Spring breeze flutters past, ruffling my hair and kissing my cheeks, but I'm moving too quickly to appreciate it.

The people around me blur into indistinct shapes, my focus narrowing down to my goal. My legs complain, the burn gnawing at my muscles, but I can't afford to stop. I need this job.

I've already begged Ivy for extra hours at the coffee shop; I can't impose more on her generosity. I need something else, something new and exciting. And maybe caring for a kid will bring that much-needed smile to my face.

Sweat trickles down my forehead, blending with the stray strands of hair sticking to my flushed cheeks. My chest heaves, lungs greedily sucking in the cool air, but I'm drawing closer to my destination.

"Just a bit more," I gasp to myself, sneakers slapping against the pavement.

I steal another glance at my phone, wondering if the dreaded 4:00 pm has ticked over or if I'm still in the race against time.

Turning up late for my first meeting with the parents is definitely not the best first impression, especially when they know nothing about me.

Well, not that I know much about them either. I only know they're new to town, having moved here just a week ago.

Rounding the final corner, I catch sight of the house at the end of the street. It's so close, but I can barely move.

Yet, I push myself forward, drawing ragged breaths, my clothes sticking to my sweat-slicked skin. But with each laborious step, I'm a little closer.

Finally, I reach the beautiful two-story white house and drag myself up the porch steps, each feeling like a monumental effort. Once at the top, I lean against the door for support, my aching body grateful for the brief reprieve.

Gulping in lungfuls of air, I try to steady my ragged breathing, my hand prepared to knock. I can only hope my exhausted appearance won't put off my potential employers.

I take one last deep breath, hold it, and then knock on the door three times, crisp and clear. It's the moment of truth.

Exhaustion curls in my muscles, fatigue weighing me down like a lead suit. I can practically hear my heart beating a marathon in my chest, threatening to burst from the sheer effort.

For all the tiredness, I hope the universe agrees it's all been worth it. I've never run this far, this fast, in my entire life.

No one answers my knock. I frown, confusion momentarily displacing my exhaustion. I knock on the door once more, louder this time.

Doubt starts to gnaw at me. Has this been a mix-up? Did I get the wrong house or the wrong time?

But then the door swings open, dispelling my worries.

The man who stands before me is... breathtaking. He's tall, imposing, with a serious demeanor that seems etched in the lines of his ruggedly handsome face.

His beard adds an element of rawness to his persona, and he's broad-shouldered, filling the doorway with his presence. But it's not just his appearance that steals my breath away; it’s the police uniform he's wearing, hugging his muscular form perfectly.

I can't pull my gaze away from him, the world around us blurring into insignificance. Only he exists in my line of sight, the only reality I can focus on. He takes a step forward, closing the distance between us, and suddenly we're just a heartbeat away from each other.

His breath wafts over me, carrying the faint scent of mint, brushing against my sweat-coated skin.

I stumble over an apology, "I-I'm sorry, I ran... I look like a mess... But I’m Sophie! We talked on the phone."

His concern softens his features, "I’m Damien, and maybe you should sit down before we talk. Are you okay?"

My heart flutters in my chest, the flutter masked by my ragged breaths. His caring nature hits me like a wave, washing over me and leaving me even more breathless. As I move to follow him into the house, my vision swims, black dots speckling my sight.

Everything goes black. My body feels as light as a feather, and I can vaguely register the sensation of falling before the darkness pulls me under completely.

Chapter 2 - Damien

I watch Sophie, my eyes locked onto the rhythm of her chest as it rises and falls with exertion. Sweat delicately trickles down the curve of her breasts, her shirt clinging to her as if it were a second skin.

She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, the epitome of raw, natural beauty. This is not the manufactured attraction paraded on magazine covers or splashed across TV screens. It's real, honest, and far more intoxicating.

"I-I'm sorry, I ran... I look like a mess... But I’m Sophie! We talked on the phone." She stammers, her cheeks flushed a captivating shade of pink that deepens the warmth brewing inside me.

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