“You’d better,” Eric growls against my neck.
It’s already been several days since I stopped drinking my super cum-filled Protein Plus shakes. My goal is to prove to myself that I don’t need the momentum or boost from the fucking things. Not that I don’t love it, because like…I totally still do.
I’d just rather guzzle cum from their exploding, dripping cocks instead and besides, I’m a strong, healthy and independent woman.
Exceeding limits and shattering records is basically my forte, now that I’m boosting my career and empire.
“Give me a kiss before you go?” I ask sweetly.
They lean back, waiting for me to make the move. I wrap my arms around them, and their arms encircle me right back.
They’re strong, warm and handsome and make me feel so protected and safe.
I don’t know why I have more nervous jitters than usual for the pageant today. It’s like I have an ominous feeling or something looming over my head.
As I give my men a kiss goodbye, I try to push those suspicions to the back of my mind and distract myself with the potential at hand here. My goal is to win again, no matter the costs. I’m worth it, and I’m fucking sexy enough to pull it off.
I need to get to my dressing room to prepare myself for my performance and to give myself a mental pep talk.
I cling to Eric and Chase’s hands until the very last second, until only my index finger remains linked to each of their hands.
“Bye,” I whisper as they walk away, and I fall back into the shadows behind the stage.
“Good luck, babe!” they call after me.
Walking to my dressing room, I’m feeling confident until I step inside.
Oh, god.
Oh, no.
What the fucking fuck.
All over the room, there are pictures of me at my heaviest weight, plastered all over every wall. I feel exposed, vulnerable, and damn near attacked.
Who would do this sort of thing to me? What a total fucking nightmare.
My mind feels swirly and dizzy, and my vision blurs as I stare up at the constant reminder of my plus-sized figure taunting me on the walls.
There I am, photographic proof that I was not always worthy of competing in this pageant today.
In one of the pictures, I’m sitting down, wearing a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. The memory is torture. Back then, sweats and lounge wear were the only types of clothing that would fit me.
I’ve come so far, but the pain of knowing that this wall is covered with my past ugliness is filled with venom. Somebody did this on purpose to hurt me, and I have a feeling it’s my bitchy ex-boss.
I take a deep breath, trying to shake off my feelings of contempt and remorse.
I squeeze my eyes shut and ball my hands into fists, gearing up to rip the posters and pictures off the wall.
Before I get a chance to charge over to the first picture and destroy it, ready to tear it in half, I hear cackling laughter behind me.
The other girls are looking at me, watching and giggling at my fucking shame—with Miss Australia front and center, laughing twice as hard as anyone else.
I glance down the hallway, hoping to see Chase and Eric still lingering backstage, but I can’t find them anywhere. How the hell did they disappear so quickly?
I push through the other contestants and step back inside my dressing room, trying not to have a panic attack when I feel my throat tighten and the air becomes hard to draw in to my lungs.
“Mon Dieu!” one of the other pageant contestants?a beautiful, tall and bronzed tan girl with a sash that reads Miss Sexy France?laughs as she points at one of the most unflattering pictures of myself that’s ever been taken.