Standing here with her now, I feel the familiar ache of wishing I could undo it all—to reach back through time and lay my hands over every moment where she felt less than.
My hands glide up to her wrists. She’s still gripping the dress so tightly. “Let me see you, baby, hmm?” I keep my voice low. “It’s just you and me.”
Gently, I pry away one of her hands and guide it to rest right above her heart. I hold it there with mine.
“Look at us, baby.” Her gaze cautiously lifts to our reflection in the mirror. “Feel that? You’re okay. I’ve got you.” My thumb strokes the place where her breath is caught high in her throat.
My other hand finds hers and eases her fingers open, one by one. The dress slips free, pooling at her feet.
She’s left standing in white lace, all lush curves and endless expanse of pearlescent skin, gleaming under the low light. The sight is nothing short of arresting.
But she goes stiff, instinctively folding in on herself. I hate that she’s learned to fear her own reflection, to anticipate criticism where there is only beauty. If she could see herself through my eyes, she’d know the truth of it: she remains breathtaking in every version of herself she’s ever been.
“You’re gorgeous.” I tell her.
She lets her head fall back and reaches up to cup the back of my neck. “You already know what I think about you.”
My gaze lifts to the mirror, and I take in the image of the two of us: a flush rising along Olivia’s chest, her curves soft and generous beneath my hands, and myself towering behind her, all hard lines and breadth.
We are opposites in composition—she, warm and lush, me, angular and carved by discipline —yet together, our silhouettes form something visually irresistible to me, something that feels like art come to life.
I marvel, quietly, at how she fits perfectly beneath my chin, how her softness completes me, and I think I have never seen anything more gorgeous than the way our bodies complement one another in this frame.
I brush my lips against the shell of her ear. “We look good together.”
She doesn’t deny it, but she doesn’t agree either.
Her green eyes flick away from the mirror, her mouth tightening with that familiar doubt that always cuts deeper than it should. The way she turns from her own reflection tells me everything—she doesn’t believe I see beauty when I look at her. The realization settles heavy in my chest and with it comes resolve—I won’t let her step away from this moment without knowing exactly what she is to me.
My hands slide up from her waist with intent, fingers slipping beneath the edge of her bra to ease the delicate lace downward until her breasts spring free. Her breath catches, a sharp intake that betrays vulnerability more than desire.
She tries to turn away, shoulders angling as though she can slip out of her own reflection, but I guide her gaze back, keeping her with me.
I palm each tit, kneading gently and drawing pleased little whimpers from Olivia. I spread my fingers wide over her breasts, gaze fixed on the mirror where her erect pink nipples peek out from between them.
As her arousal grows under my touch, milk begins to gather from her beaded peaks. It has happened several times before, but tonight, she’s suddenly self-conscious. She tries to turn her face into my shoulder, unable to meet her own reflection.
I place one hand on her hip and the other under her chin to stop her from fleeing. “Look at me, baby.” I position her to face me. “You are a wonder. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”
I lower my head to her neck, groaning as I reach back up to palm her breast again. I feel the dampness on her skin and it almost undoes me. My cock is throbbing in my pants, aching to be buried in her hot cunt while my mouth waters to get a taste of her.
I press open-mouthed kisses from her neck down to her chest while tweaking her nipples, which sends her gasping and arching toward me. I take it as an offering and suck her tit into my mouth, circling it with my tongue. It draws a moan from her as she digs her nails into the taut muscles of my shoulders while I intoxicate myself with the taste of her sweet milk and the flavor of her skin.
When I lift my head, she’s flushed and breathing unevenly.
I undo her bra completely and once it falls away, I let my gaze trace what time and motherhood have shaped: the fullness of her breasts, the deeper curves of her hips, all the soft places that weren’t there before but somehow only make her even more irresistible to me now.
I latch my lips back on her skin and trail kisses down her torso, tugging her panties off along the way, until I’m kneeling before her. When Olivia instinctively reaches to cover her lower belly, muttering a reflexive apology, I stop her at once.
“Don’t.” I take her hands in mine, leaning in to kiss the stretch marks that bracket her hips and belly button. “Every part of you tells the story of our family. That only makes you more precious to me. If those voices get too loud,” I continue, handswarm at her hips, “come to me. Don’t turn them on yourself. Let me remind you what I see.”
Her eyes are glassy as she nods, like she’s tucking the promise somewhere safe.
Unable to resist, I rise and pull her into me, kissing her with the kind of consuming tenderness that feels like a vow all on its own. Once I’ve had my fill, I draw back and spin her around to face the mirror once more.
“This body gave me more than I ever dreamed of.” My breath is hot against her ear. “Now let me show my gratitude.”
I make quick work of removing my pants and briefs before pulling her body back flush against mine. The softness of her plush ass meets my rigid cock, grinding against me.
