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  Kai

  Book 1 of The War & Piece Chronicles

  by

  Cory Cyr

  Kai (Book 1 War & Piece Chronicles) Copyright © 2019 CORY CYR

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Published by: ©Cory Cyr 2019

  Cover design by: Robin Harper 2019 © Wicked by Design

  Front Cover Photograph: Samuel Ramirez

  Cover Model: Nic Palladino

  Back Cover/Photography: ©Deposit Photo

  Edited by: Cassie McCown

  Formatting: Sharon Kay

  Copyright 2019 by Cory Cyr

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  A Note from the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Other Books by Cory Cyr

  Dedication

  To my favorite Aussie, Kathy Atwell

  and Marnie Jay, my favorite Kiwi.

  A Note from the Author

  Since this is my first book in which the female character is a “big” girl, I decided I should pen this note. By age nine, I was on my first prescription diet pill, and I’d dieted my way up to over three hundred pounds by my mid-twenties. I have worn the shoes of a BIG girl. I’ve survived years of mockery, cruel insults, and blistering commentary about my weight from everyone. The story you are about to read is loosely based on actual events. Much of the dialogue and Tegan’s feelings are taken from my memories of my old life. Though I am no longer that girl, I respect those who have to deal daily with such pain and suffering in living up to everyone else’s expectations. No matter what, you have value and deserve a life filled with love. Just remember you are never alone.

  Chapter One

  Tegan

  I loved licking.

  Swirling.

  Sucking.

  The flavor settled in my mouth. My lips smacked as my tongue flicked out to savor that one last drop.

  I was sure I could orgasm while whipping my tongue over and under.

  My belly swelled with warmness as my breasts tightened.

  Creamy goodness erupted along the roof of my mouth as I swallowed.

  The texture.

  The taste.

  I almost choked as the sweetness ran down my throat.

  “Help me, Jesus,” I whispered.

  That was incredible, I thought, wiping my mouth clean.

  I looked down at my waistline with disappointment. I’d probably gained five pounds from that pint of low-fat vanilla cherry ice cream. Four servings per container. What a fucking joke. Who could eat a measly one-fourth? No one. That was who.

  I was disgusted with myself. As great as it tasted one minute ago, it probably wasn’t worth the calories.

  Whatever! I’d better stuff myself senseless before Ronnie forced me on the plane. Next stop, the fat farm? No, she never said that. Her claim was it was a fitness club for the rich and famous. More like the super wealthy and infamous.

  I was supposed to be relaxing, getting away. In reality, my personal assistant and best friend wanted me in tip-top shape when my company went public. Couldn’t ring that fucking bell wearing a size-fourteen frock. Well, you could if you weren’t a retired porn star. Men expected me to look sensual, even after fifteen years.

  My sex toy business was global, but now we were actually going public, selling shares via the New York Stock Exchange. I mean, who didn’t love a nice dildo or a riveting vibrator? The sad truth was they did not expect the big boss of Flesh Market Industries to be BIG, at least not a size fourteen. I was no longer Tawny Temp. I’d left the gangbangs and blowjobs to get married, become an entrepreneur, to become proper.

  I’d rather chow down on Ben and Jerry’s. The truth was I wasn’t eager to get back to where I was. I had spent years trying to escape my past. I was thirty-seven now, a far cry from that hot, nubile, sexy on-screen girl. Today, I couldn’t be naked without someone upchucking, myself included. I avoided mirrors at all cost. The weight I gained even disturbed me. But obviously not enough to do anything about it.

  I’d rather forget my past. No, if that were true, I’d never have parlayed a stellar porn career into the adult novelty business.

  No matter how you sliced it, I enjoyed designing sex toys more than fucking. Especially when, in the past, that sex act included four or five cocks a day. I had settled down with one dick. And boy, was he a prick. And a jerk. And a douchebag. But I had married him anyway. I was blinded by ten inches of penis and a handsome face. Never again. I divorced his cheating ass eight years ago and said, Au revoir, baby! Once I got rid of that bloated baggage, I started my company, Flesh Market, toys for the sexual connoisseur.

  Unfortunately, along with my newfound freedom came depression. I had been screwing for tons of money for four years. Technically, I was supposed to be having sex with my husband, but instead, I got screwed and not in the happy-ending way. So I ate to fill the void. It was self-preservation. According to Ronnie, it was actually self-degradation. I’d packed on close to fifty pounds, going from a size four to fourteen. Normally, that would be acceptable because I’d read tons of magazines that said, and I quote, “size fourteen is average.” The problem was going from a hot body to supersized. Well hell, I might as well have been three hundred pounds. Sure, I had cut calories, carbs, and exercised. Hell, I dieted my way up to a two-digit size. Even at five-six, I looked pudgy. My theory was God had made me too short. If I were six feet, I’d be a rail.

  The desire was there. I had a mansion full of ready-to-eat diet meals and tons of exercise equipment. Unfortunately, my willpower was nada. Conclusion: those things would only work if they were used. FML.

  Therefore, my skinny best friend had secured me a three-month stay at VIP Fitness. Bitch, I’d rather stay home and eat bakery goods and stare at my muffin top. Ronnie was delusional if she thought I could go from a size fourteen to a four in ninety days. I’d expire from physical exertion and lack of cupcakes. I
knew what those fitness trainers were like. I’d watched weight loss TV shows while eating French fries. Those guys were mean as hell. Not only did they make you sweat, but they forced you to eat celery and drink beet juice. I’d rather die.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Quit acting like a drama queen and get on the damn plane. Don’t make me get a wheelchair, because I’m not pushing your fat butt.” Ronnie pointed to my personal jet. “FYI, I heard that the men on the Virgin Islands are extremely accommodating.”

  “Well, make sure you have a good time while I’m being starved and treadmilled to death.” I huffed as I strolled across the tarmac. “You couldn’t find a gym in the United States?”

  Ronnie rolled her eyes. “The Virgin Islands is part of the US, twat. And VIP stands for Virgin Island Personal. They have their own island, St. Willis. This is the top fitness club around. They are the best at what they do. I read all about them in Forbes. These guys made a fortune with this club, and I’m so glad you asked me how… because they are the foremost at getting rich old bags like you back into fighting—scratch that—fucking shape.”

  “Seriously, fucking? I’m not having sex with anyone—ever. And I’m not old, you bitch. Just because you’re only thirty… Carpet muncher,” I said under my breath.

  “I heard that. And don’t knock it ‘til you try it. I might even wear my shirt that says I love pussy.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” I mumbled as I slid into a supple leather seat. I loved my plane. “Can you bring me a cupcake?”

  The flight attendant nodded as she walked to the kitchen.

  “Better make that four,” I yelled.

  Ronnie choked with a laugh. “Better eat up, because once we land, it will be nothing but wheatgrass and tofu.”

  “We’ll see.” I smiled, knowing I stuffed my Fendi carry-on with candy bars, snack cakes, and donut holes.

  “I wouldn’t get too cocky. The first thing they’ll do is search your bags for contraband.”

  I feigned innocence as my eyes darted to that bag in the overhead storage. “I don’t do drugs,” I announced defiantly.

  Ronnie shook her head as she sat across from me. “Your drug of choice is sweets. They will find your stash and confiscate it.”

  “I’m paying them a fortune. They should be at my command.” I moaned as I bit into a white chocolate cupcake.

  “Sorry, but I already told them what a pain in my ass you are and that your demands mean squat. You, Tegan, are going to lose weight and become an entirely new legend.”

  I paused mid-bite, my smile sagging into a frown. “I’m never going to be Tawny again. I don’t want to. And I am so thrilled you’ve told the fitness club I’m paying for that I’m a pain in the ass.”

  All of a sudden, I was scared. Frightened to my core that this cupcake was the last delicious morsel I’d savor.

  Chapter Two

  Kai

  “You’re an asshole.”

  My shoulders shrugged nonchalantly. I’d been called worse. “Yet you keep coming back. Oh, Lilliana, I know it’s not my endearing personality, so it must be this you love so much.” I smirked, stroking my cock.

  “Fuck off,” she said angrily as she slammed the door to my office.

  I should have felt bad because, evidently, she’d found out about Ieisha. My idea was to keep them separate. I knew it would not go well for me if they found out about each other.

  I considered women like candy. Not the cheap kind, but the expensive chocolate you gave for gifts. I enjoyed variety. And I loved crème filling.

  Now I’d been exposed. I’d never claimed to be virtuous or monogamous. Being committed to a single female forever meant no opportunity for the rest of womankind to have the pleasure of my company. Besides, in our business, there were too many opportunities.

  I tied off the condom and trashed it, then pulled on my khakis, along with a tank top, and stared out my window. My office was embellished with glass, Carpathian wood, and luxurious leather. The mirror that faced the gym allowed me to survey everything downstairs. The far wall was completely glass with an impressive view.

  St. Willis was breathtaking. I’d missed living in the Virgin Islands for the years my dad had exiled me to Alaska. I’d returned a few years ago with a decent amount of money and a business plan.

  In the time since, my idea became VIP Fitness, the premiere health club for anyone who could afford it. It hadn’t been easy, but I’d had plenty of help. I’d found three other wealthy partners. Jasper Kendrick and Reese Hunter worked with me here on the island, while the third, Harriet Wellington, was a silent partner. With our combined funds, we purchased a vacant, older ten-story hotel that sat on an island that had been abandoned long ago by real estate tycoons. They tended to go for the more expensive lots on St. Thomas and St. Martin. But St. Willis had been perfect. Lots of acreage with plenty of room for three infinity pools, a boot camp obstacle course, tennis courts, a well-kept golf green, and, of course, stunning beaches. All of our rooms included lap pools, Jacuzzis, saunas, as well as the normal amenities. The luxury hotel offered three chefs, four nutritionists, a psychologist, several life coaches, five massage therapists, as well as a hair salon, full juice bar, movie theatre, and several high-end boutiques. Some of the clients came to St. Willis for an opulent getaway versus getting fit.

  The plus was our location was forty minutes from St. Thomas. St. Willis offered seclusion and security, as well as luxury. There was no getting off this island unless you signed out and requested transport to the mainland by boat. We used our water vehicles for pickups and departures, as well as emergencies, although we did have a full-service medical center with a doctor and two nurses.

  We converted the underground parking of the hotel into a lavish fitness center. We had a space of over ten thousand feet, filling it with top-of-the-line exercise equipment and classes for spinning, Pilates, yoga, and aerobics ten hours each day. We had private fitness rooms for the prominent figures here who wanted strict seclusion. Regular clients arriving for a healthy retreat were left to their own devices. Our weight loss check-ins enjoyed daily meal planning and hours of exercise six days a week. With the proper regimen, our clients became the embodiment of health. Of course, once they left, it was up to them to continue the lifestyle.

  We owned equal parts of the business, dividing sixty percent three ways. The silent partner owned the other forty because she had provided the bulk of the financing. We’d never met Harriet in person, but spoke with her via conference calls.

  VIP had been up and running for only eight months, yet it was booked twelve months in advance.

  For years, I had dreamed of having my own gym. If the client was high profile, then I was their personal trainer. Everyday wealthy patrons or return visitors were taken care of by Reese and several other hired instructors. Jasper arrived as a trainer but quickly became the face of VIP Fitness. He stepped away from the gym and began handling the daily business and finance side of our company. Born and raised in London, he was the typical stuffy Brit when it came to the actual business part. But underneath his Armani suits was a tattooed bad boy, ravenous for sex. We not only shared a business, but we shared our women on occasion.

  Even though we owned a company together, the three of us were extremely different. I loved living in the hotel—in the penthouse, of course. Jasper had a large home about a mile away, and Reese had a bungalow built almost at the shoreline because he surfed early in the mornings before coming to work. However, regardless of our contrasting personalities, we appeared to enjoy the same kind of girl.

  Occasionally, Reese and I would share a woman. No male-on-male contact, just both of us pleasuring our conquest for the night. But evenings with Jasper were different. It was more of a raw adventure. The man thirsted for double penetration. It made me laugh because he really was an ass man, literally. While I took care of the pussy, he took care of the anal. I hated admitting it, but it was truly the most erotic thing to feel him while my dick was inside the woman.
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  I padded over to the mini bar, my bare feet digging into the plush carpet. After grabbing a bottle of water, I walked back to my panoramic view. A very high-profile guest was arriving tonight, and I was attempting to disguise my excitement. I enjoyed older porn, and I had watched Tawny Temp for years. To me, it had more depth, if that was possible, than the new stuff. I’d read she quit the business years ago and started some sex toy company. According to the file on my desk, she was closing in on forty and overweight. What a way to deflate my image of her.

  Nevertheless, it was my job to get her lean and mean. The reality was I was still excited to meet her. I’d never have gotten through those cold, dark nights in Alaska without watching Tawny Temp perform sex acts and enthusiastic blowjobs with multiple men.

  I adjusted my dick. I was getting a hard-on just from thinking about her past. Tegan Scott was no longer that porn star. She hadn’t been active as Tawny Temp for years. And knowing she was coming here meant she was all kinds of fucked up—physically. Regardless of how she used to look, now she was thirty-seven and plus-size, which did zero for me. However, even banging a previous porn star was appealing to me. Who knew? After I got the weight off her, she might become her old self again. Besides, I could just get a blowjob. There was no need to actually fuck her.

  I’d already been warned by her personal assistant that Tegan would be resistant to our food, exercise, and trainers in general. I chuckled as I finished my water. I’d had tough clients before, so I was prepared for anything this hefty porn star would throw at me.

  “Tosser.”

  I turned when I heard the British insult, knowing the voice belonged to Jasper.

  “What the fuck is going on today? It’s not even lunch yet, and I’ve been called an asshole twice. I have to admit it does sound more regal with a British accent.”