He took his time peeling her T-shirt over her head. Her skin was so pale and perfect. Her belly button was pierced. And her waist tucked in tightly before flaring at her hips.
Woman.
In every sense of the word.
He slid a finger beneath the strap of her bra and used his thumb to trace the delicate lace at the edge of the cup that covered her bruised breast.
He was determined to replace her pain with pleasure. Determined to make her forget any heavy hand that had ever touched her.
“You’re so goddamned beautiful.” His words were barely above a whisper.
She shook her head. “My boobs are too small.”
“Fuck that.” He snapped the front clasp of her bra open, quick and sure, then tossed it aside.
When she moved to cover herself, he caught her wrists and pinned them at her sides. “Let me look.”
And look, he did.
Truth was, he could have stared at her small, plump breasts—those perfect molasses-colored peaks—for the rest of his natural life and still not gotten his fill.
Too small? In what world?
They fit her lean form perfectly. Two gorgeous, round globes rising above her ribs. Smooth. Firm. Mouthwatering.
“Flawless,” he hissed and used both hands to prove it.
Cupping her gently, he flicked his thumbs across her nipples and watched them pucker and pinch. Her body was so responsive. And seeing her react to his touch was all it took to have a hot drop of precum beading on the tip of his cock.
“God, Hew.” She sucked in a ragged breath. “That feels good.”
“That’s the name of the game, sweetheart. Makin’ ya feel good.”
He could’ve spent a week worshiping her breasts. Could’ve made a home there, happy as a clam. But he had another plan in mind for this first time. An undertaking he hoped would give her everything she needed, everything she wanted, while resurrecting none of her old ghosts.
His fingers slipped down to the button of her jeans.
“Yes,” she whispered, and he quickly decided that was his favorite word. Especially when she said it.
He worked slowly, not just to avoid spooking her but because…hell, this was like Christmas morning. Half the pleasure was in the unwrapping.
Goddamn teasing toes, he thought when she stepped out of the pool of jeans and panties he’d left at her feet.
After straightening, he allowed himself the honor of seeing her.
All of her.
All her delicate curves. All her pale, perfect skin. The little triangle of hair at the top of her sex. The small mole on her right hip and the tiny scar on her left thigh.
Her breath caught when he touched it.
“Caught it on a nail on the dock of our neighborhood swimming hole,” she whispered. “I was eight.”
“Mmm,” he hummed, stepping into her space. Not stopping until they were skin to skin.
Her breasts brushed his chest, nipples dragging in the most delicious way. Her cool belly cradled the hot, aching length of him. And when he slid his thigh between hers…
Christ.
