Dead Pretty - Samantha Towle Page 0,67

laugh.

I’m not laughing a moment later when he puts his mouth on mine and kisses me.

The feel of his lips on mine … it is electric. Every molecule of my being pays attention when Jack touches me.

When he’s with me like this, I feel like there is no more me. Just us. I drown in him, and I like it more than I can say.

I slide my hands up into his hair. Fingers sifting through the silky, wavy strands.

Something feels different about this moment. I don’t have the words to explain it.

Just … his kiss is softer, gentler. Searching.

I’m not wholly sure what it is he’s seeking from within me, but I am here for it.

I’m here for him. With him.

There is nowhere else I would ever want to be.

He exhales, and it tickles my lips.

Then, the kiss turns deep. Endless.

Each sweep of his mouth over mine runs together, creating a never-ending kiss.

I squirm restlessly in his lap, needing more contact.

He makes no move to give it to me.

His hands slide up my back, into my hair, fingers tangling into the strands, while his tongue continues stroking mine.

Then, his fingers move to my neck, tracing a line down to my shoulders.

I want his hands on my breasts. But they just stay there, teasing circles on the skin of my shoulders.

I don’t know where Jack is going to take this moment. But I’m more than ready and willing to go wherever he wants.

A finger slides under the strap of my tank and moves lower.

Yes.

But instead of dragging the cup down to free my breast, like he normally would, his finger just trails a path over the swell of my breast.

It’s the sweetest form of torture.

His mouth leaves mine and kisses a path across my jaw to my ear. Teeth grazing the lobe, his breath hot and flirting with my skin, he whispers, “I’m crazy about you, Audrey.”

His words … his touch … make me shiver.

His mouth moves down my neck. I tip my head back, giving him access.

The hint of tongue on my skin, and I’m ready to combust.

But still, he hasn’t put a hand on my breast or down my pants.

My important bits are screaming for attention.

“Jack,” I moan. I shift myself forward, closer to his hard cock, needing to press myself against it.

When I make contact, my eyes close, and I see stars behind my lids.

Jack’s mouth finds mine again. He moans as his tongue sweeps inside my mouth.

His hand palms my lower back, and I start to slowly ride him through the thin material of our sleep clothes.

“Audrey,” he whispers my name, and it sounds like a prayer.

One I’m more than happy to answer.

“I want to see you.”

Does he mean … he wants to see all of me? Or see me how he usually sees me?

Part of me is afraid to ask.

But a part of me is also tired of hiding who I am.

I want Jack. I want him to know me.

But if I take my shirt off … if I show him the scars … will it change the way he looks at me? The way he wants me?

If Jack had scars like I do, would it change the way I wanted him?

No. Of course it wouldn’t.

So, why do I think it will change the way he looks at me?

Because I’m afraid.

Fear.

It controls every aspect of my life.

I don’t want to be afraid anymore.

Especially not with Jack.

Breaking our kiss, I slide off Jack’s lap and stand in front of him.

I don’t know where this sudden bout of confidence has come from, but I don’t want to lose it.

I hook my fingers into the waistband of my shorts and pull them down.

Jack’s eyes are fixed on me. I love the way he looks at me. Like I’m the only thing in the world he sees.

But will he still look at me the same when he sees my scars?

Stop. Don’t think that way.

Jack is silent. Watching me.

I’m scared. My insides are quaking.

I’m about to reveal the worst thing about me.

I might not be vocalizing it. Telling him my past. What happened to me. Where these scars came from.

But I will be telling him that something happened to me.

I’ll be making myself vulnerable to him.

And it’s absolutely fucking terrifying.

My hands are shaking as they reach for the hem of my tank top.

I see the change in Jack’s expression when he realizes what I’m about to do.

But his expression isn’t one of curiosity. It’s admiration. Because he knows exactly how hard