“I have… stretch marks,” I point out, touching my hips and outer thighs.
“Me too,” he reminds me, showing me the area between his pecs and armpits, and then the sides of his ass.
“Yours are because you’re muscular. Mine are because I eat too much.”
“What if I told you they’re from when I was a fat kid? Would you be any less attracted to me?” I shake my head. “Then that also isn’t a valid flaw. Find an actual one, Andrea.”
“Well, I know you disagree, but I have no boobs, and—”
“Why are you so obsessed with that?” he frustratedly cuts me off.
“Because it’s called a complex, Mr. Perfect. Ninety-five percent of women have more boobs than me, and it doesn’t feel great.”
He rolls his eyes, looking much more sassy than he probably meant to. “Who the fuck cares about other women? You have pretty tits that fit in my palms perfectly, firm, round, and almost symmetrical. It shouldn’t matter if—”
“What do you mean,almostsymmetrical?” I protest, analyzing my breasts in the mirror to find what’s wrong.
“Your left tit is slightly bigger than the right one.”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Alexander?! In what world is giving me more things to hate about my boobs a good idea?”
“Again, that doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does!”
“Well, my right ball is bigger than the left one, but that never stopped you from stuffing either of them in your mouth. So why should it matter for your tits?”
His absurd argument has me laughing, immediately releasing the tension that was building up. As crazy as it is, it makes sense in a way.
“You’re going to dismantle any flaw I might find, aren’t you?” I ask once my fit of laughter is over.
“One by one. Because they aren’t flaws. They’re precious details that make you who you are.”
God, I wish I could love myself as much as he loves me.
“Do you want me to tell you what I see?” he rasps in my ear after stepping behind me. I nod, hoping that he can change how I see myself. “You’re soft everywhere, and it makes me want to touch every part of you at all times.” His fingers run up my thighs, as if appreciating thesmoothness of my skin. “Your curves are utterly feminine, and your wide hips bring out a primal instinct all men have in them, deeply rooted in our DNA.” His hands graze up my hips and grab onto the flesh there, fingers digging into it. “I like that I have something to hold on to when I’m fucking you, and I’m not scared I’ll break you in half. You’re desirable and sensuous, and the way your perfect ass jiggles when I take you from the back is hypnotizing.” When he comes forward, pressing his hips onto my behind, I can feel the hardened shape there, and it makes me let out a sensuous sigh. “Have you ever seen Cabanel’s Birth of Venus?”
“Uh, I don’t think so. He’s a painter or something, right?”
“A French one. My parents took me to Paris when I was thirteen, to show me around like a circus freak. They took me to a fundraising event at the Musée d’Orsay, and I wandered off into the galleries at some point. That’s when I saw Cabanel’s Venus for the first time—naked, lush, and unashamed. My sexual awakening happened right there, over a nineteenth-century painting.”
One of Lex’s hands has now traveled between my legs, rolling over my clit in slow, lazy circles.
“She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, sprawled for all to see with her soft skin and provocative posture. Her curves are still imprinted in my mind, with her small, perky breasts, wide hips, generous ass, thick thighs…”
His second hand joins the first one to thrust two fingers inside me, making me moan as I lean back into his hold.
“She haunted me for years until I slowly forgot about her. Society is pushing its own agenda, tall, fit, thin…”
Two thick fingers pump inside me with the same languid pace as he teases my clit. I can barely focus on his words, too distracted by the frustrating pleasure he brings.
“Then, one day, I brought this woman back to my place. She had the same maddening body, so womanly and perfect that I could have fucked her for days,” he explains. That catches my attention, and I frown at him in the mirror. Is he really telling me about another woman while fingering me?
“I didn’t get to, though, because she disappeared in the middle of the night,” he continues with a small smirk. “Then I had to put up with seeing her at work every day, so eager to fuck her again that my cock would ache with a single look from her.”
“Fuck, Lex,” I moan, understanding he means me.
I arch into him when his rhythm picks up, the pleasure building up so fast inside me that it makes me dizzy.
