Page 7 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

I'm so absorbed in my notes that I don't realize how much time has passed until I hear a knock at my door.

Sunlight streams through the windows, and I blink in surprise. It's morning already?

I throw on some clothes and open the door to find Sharon standing there, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Oh my God," she says, pushing past me into the cabin. "Oh my God, Marla. Do you have any idea who you went home with last night?"

I blink at her, confused. "Russ?"

"Rustik 'Russ' Stepanov," she says, her eyes wide. "Marla, he's one of the richest and most powerful men in the entire city."

3

MARLA

A week passes, and I can't stop thinking about Russ. Not in a romantic way, exactly, but the way his touch opened something inside me I didn't know existed.

Every time I sit down to write, my fingers remember the feel of his skin and the way his muscles moved beneath my palms.

My body remembers the pleasure he coaxed from me and how he made me feel desired and beautiful despite all my insecurities.

I've written more in the past seven days than I have in months.

The scenes flow naturally now, the intimate moments feeling real instead of clinical.

I understand what my characters are feeling because I've felt it myself. The research worked better than I could have imagined.

It's Friday evening again, and I'm curled up on my couch with my laptop when Sharon calls.

"So," she says without preamble. "When are you coming back to the Ivory Wolf? There's plenty more men to choose from."

I bite my lip, staring at the document on my screen. I've been thinking about it all week, wondering if I should go back.

One experience gave me so much material, but there's still so much I don't know.

Different dynamics, personalities, and approaches to intimacy.

"I don't know," I say slowly. "Maybe tonight?"

"Yes!" Sharon practically squeals. "This is perfect. You need more research, right?"

She's right. One night with Russ was incredible, but my book needs depth. If I'm going to write romance that feels authentic, I need to understand the full spectrum.

I refuse to listen to my inner voice telling me it's about more than research—-that it’s because I enjoyed it so much.

"Okay," I say, making the decision. "I'll be there in an hour."

I dress more carefully this time, choosing a deep green dress that hugs my curves and makes my eyes look brighter. I take time with my makeup and hair.

Last week I was nervous and uncertain. Tonight, I feel different. More confident and aware of my own sexuality and what I want.

The drive to the Ivory Wolf feels shorter this time, and when I walk through the doors, I don't feel the same anxiety.

Sharon greets me with a hug and a knowing smile before disappearing to take care of her tables.

I order a drink at the bar and let my gaze wander across the room. The atmosphere is the same as last week, sophisticated but edged with danger.

Men in expensive suits conduct quiet conversations in shadowed corners. The music pulses through the space, sensual and inviting.