Thick Thighs Save Lives Novels & Stories

It didn't help that I had practically no muscle either. With an amused smile, Deshawn went to the other side of Taron and shared some of the weight. I watched him carefully as he breathed heavily to hold his friend up. From the veins that popped out from his temples, you could've sworn Taron weighed more than a car. Considering that just this morning a pillow flew straight through his stomach, he handled his friend well.

She sat in the very comfortable oversized chair and sat her bag on the floor as he sat down and placed a brochure on the desk. “My wife struggled with her weight for years. After our youngest, Pinky, it got worse and her doctor kept pushing her to go to the gym or something. Every one that she went to, she felt uncomfortable surrounded by gym rats and toothpicks. Shortly before her death, we discovered that she had thyroid cancer. I opened this gym for people who are like her.” “I completely understand how she felt.” Helen admitted.

"Now I'm about to get my driver's license, using the very hand Dr. Cole saved. Dr. Cole, thank you. My whole family believes in you." The scene cut again. A middle-aged man in a factory uniform, his skin weathered dark by the sun. "My son broke four ribs. No other hospital would even take him." His voice caught, and he could barely get the words out. "It was Dr. Cole. He and his team spent three days and three nights working out a plan, and he pulled off the surgery. What he saved wasn't just my son's life, it was three generations of this family. Anyone who says a bad word about Dr. Cole will have to answer to me first."

It made every curve of my body stand out—my small waist, the swell of my hips, and the way my breasts heaved with every panicked breath. My long hair had been pulled back into a tight, high ponytail, leaving my face and neck completely exposed to the hungry eyes of the crowd. ​"Look at those legs," a voice croaked from the shadows of the warehouse. "Clean, unblemished Earth-stock. She’ll breed true for at least five cycles." ​A hand reached through the bars—a pale, clammy hand belonging to a Craven merchant. His fingers dug into my inner thigh, dragging upward toward my heat. I jumped back, a sob catching in my throat, but there was nowhere to go.