But he doesn’t pull them down. No, he wants permission. Again. Because this isn’t about him. It’s about me. My heart pounds beneath my ribcage as I let my leg that was propped on his shoulder drop to the ground. With my soft nod, he tugs my shorts down my legs. Inch after inch. Until I’m left bare.
Which is both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
My anxiety spikes as I wait for the moment he’ll find more of the angry, red scars that dance along my inner thighs. Because this is the moment I’ve been dreading. The moment where I’ll find out if I’m still beautiful or if I’ll always be the broken girl who was abused.
Flinging my shorts over his shoulder, he sprinkles open-mouthed kisses along my calves, inching up to my knees before reaching my inner thighs. Then he stops. Like a caress, I can feel him take in the evidence from my past. With my breath held hostage, I wait.
Please don’t ruin this moment, I silently beg. Please still want me.
His muscles are rigid, and his eyes darken for a split second, transforming from warm milk chocolate to freaking obsidian.
Shit.
Still frozen, still holding my breath, and still waiting to see his next move, I study him carefully while trying to refrain from building the barrier around my heart any higher. But it’s hard to be vulnerable with someone. And I feel so damn vulnerable. Especially when the truth is so simple. The ball is a hundred percent in his court.
Then he looks up at me again and holds my gaze while delivering a kiss to each and every one of my scars as if he could take away the pain that accompanied them. His tongue traces the last one before he finally reaches his destination. Separating my folds with his thumbs, he dives right in like a starving man. I arch my back and dig my fingers into his hair, holding him in place as I rub myself against his mouth while chanting obscenities under my breath. The crescendo builds until my incoherent mumbling turns into a loud moan that makes me blush. Sucking me into his mouth, he pushes me over the edge.
My entire body is a trembling mess before my muscles melt into the blue mat beneath me. As I catch my breath, he crawls over me, then slips his tongue into my mouth and delivers a final, toe-curling kiss that leaves me panting for more.
“D,” I whisper, reaching for the waistline of his basketball shorts. He gently pushes my hand away and presses another kiss to my sweaty forehead. This one is softer. Sweeter.
“I think that’s enough for one day.”
“But––”
“Let’s get you showered. Then I’ll order some food, and we can watch another movie.”
He pushes himself to his feet and gives me the perfect view of his very apparent, very hard erection through the thin material of his shorts. My eyes widen as I take in the massive size that could tear me in two.
There’s no way that’s going to fit.
With a smirk, he offers his hand to help me up and mutters, “It’s not polite to stare.”
“I can help––”
“I know you can. But today was about you. Come on.”
As I lace my fingers through his, it finally hits me. Intimacy is more than sex and getting off. It doesn’t have to be selfish. It’s about the connection you build with someone. And I’m terrified with how quickly he’s managed to form one with me.
15
Diece
With my arm around her shoulders, and our bellies full of Mexican food, I look down at an amused Q as she watches a Golden retriever devour a wedding cake on the screen.
“Anne-Marie is gonna be pissed when she catches him,” Q announces when she feels me watching her.
“Yeah. What’s she gonna take to the mayor’s wedding? If she shows up empty-handed, she’ll lose the big gala event and won’t have enough money to pay for her father’s surgery.”
She grins up at me. “Exactly. Ya know, you’re kinda cute when you get invested in Hallmark movies.”
“I don’t give a shit about the movie, Blue, but I do like to see you smile.”
“That seems to be happening a lot when I’m around you.”
Pulling her closer, I drag my finger along her bare arm. “We gonna talk about those cuts?”
Like a clam, she closes up instantly and turns back to the movie on the screen, though I doubt she sees a damn thing.
“Not much to talk about,” she deflects.
“Bullshit. Did he