“Why?” I ask, my cheeks reddening. “This is embarrassing.”
He grins. “What’s embarrassing? These sexy thighs? Your perfect tits?” He holds them in his palms like he’s weighing them. “This makes my dick hard just thinking about them.”
My shoulders fall, releasing a bit of tension.
“This curve right here …” He runs his hands down my sides. “For fuck’s sake, Megan. This is every man’s dream.”
“Well, thank you,” I say, face flushed.
“How do you not know this?”
“It’s hard to turn thirty and not have a reason to have cellulite and a round stomach, you know? Well,youdon’t know, but it is.”
He snorts. “You mean the fact that you’re healthy? You eat? You enjoy food? Why do you need an excuse for that?”
I can’t believe I’m sitting naked on top of Chase Marshall having this conversation, but here we are.Could my life be any weirder?
“It’s hard, Chase. Every magazine, every online picture, every?—”
“Are photoshopped.” He smiles. “Every fucking one of them. And even if they’re not, you’re not competing with those women. Hell, you’re not competing with anyone. Don’t have a fucked-up beauty scale because let me tell you …”
He runs his hands over my stomach. I start to pull away as he touches the most self-conscious part of my body. But the look in his eyes keeps me from it.
The longer he touches it, the more comfortable it becomes. The stretch marks and added weight to my belly feel seen—like the need to keep it hidden is futile. And the way that makes me feel wholly accepted is like nothing I ever imagined.
“Let me tell you,” he says again, “that I’m one lucky motherfucker getting to touch you like this. That you would allow me the privilege. And anyone touching you should feel that way, or you should tell them to fuck off.”
The longer I live with his words, the more I believe them.The more comfortableIbecome.
“Okay,” I say, grinning. “I’ll remember to tell the next guy that.”
He lifts a brow. I don’t know what that means, but it makes me laugh.
“I’m not laughing,” he says, lifting me.
He pauses, and I nod. Then he positions his cock against my opening, and I slide down slowly, sinking onto him.
Oh. My. Fuck.
I’m full—so incredibly full, and the fullness threatens to burst me wide open.
“Give me a minute to acclimate,” I whisper, rolling my hips gently.
Without the condom, he’s even harder. The friction between us is a total turn-on. Every move is more electric. Each tilt of the hips is sharper. Every contraction of muscles feels like an energy exchange from one body to the other, and there’s something so intimate, so hot about it that I moan.
“Holy shit,” he says, groaning and fighting not to thrust into me. “Your body is so hot. You’re burning up.”
“I’m on the edge already.”
He chuckles. “Good, because I can’t last long inside you like this.”
“I’m going to try to move,” I say, holding my breath.
Hissing as I rock against him, the thought of his body inside mine is a mindfuck. No condom. No barrier. Just him and me.
“Slow down,” he says, squeezing my hips. “Let me enjoy you.”
He holds my gaze as I ride him slowly. The reverence and the sweetness in his features, coupled with the desire written all over his face, is something I’ll never forget. Every future sexual encounter will be compared to this.
