“So receptive,” Roman purred.
I blinked down at him, my breath catching. Lust burned in his dark eyes, hot and unmistakable.
A small whimper escaped me as I bowed toward him, chasing the warmth of his mouth.
His lips trailed downward, leaving a slow path of warmth in the wake of his soft kisses from my chest to my stomach. Each one sent another shiver through me as anticipation twisted tighter.
When his thumbs hooked into the waistband of my bottoms, I went rigid.
I desperately wanted him to remove them, but a sudden terror gripped me at the thought of what he might see.
Roman seemed to sense my hesitation immediately. He stilled and lifted his head, his gaze searching my face.
I looked away.
His hand firmly caught my chin and guided my face back toward him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle and laced with concern.
This was Roman. He had already earned my trust. Nothing bad would happen with him.
As the weight of my fears pressed down on me, I fought them. I could do this. I wanted this.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I nodded.
He dipped his head closer. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
Cautiously, his hands returned to my waistband. Slow and deliberate, he slid the fabric down, inch by inch. His fingers brushed along my hips as he worked them lower, and I inhaled sharply when my bare thighs were exposed.
I had more scars there—uneven reminders of a night that changed everything. The instinct to shrink away hit me, but Roman didn’t falter.
His expression didn’t change as he continued to lower the fabric until it slipped past my knees and finally reached my ankles. Then he tossed the clothing aside without another thought and settled between my legs.
His eyes roamed over me.
I was suddenly very aware of how bare I was, wearing nothing but my panties and the thin fabric of my open shirt.
Heat rushed to my face as I pressed my thighs together without thinking.
Roman growled in disapproval. “No more hiding, Palmer.” He grabbed my knees and pulled them apart, spreading them wide. “I get to see all of you now.”
His fingers traced over the scars along my calves. The touch was unhurried, almost reverent.
“I get to worship this body,” he continued, his voice raw with emotion, “until you never want to hide the most stunning, resilient parts of yourself.”
I closed my eyes, taking his words in.
Beautiful.
Stunning.
Resilient.
They were never words I’d attributed to myself. Not once, in all the years I’d spent hiding and making myself small, did I ever consider that I was anything but a burden. Doing everything I could to get any scrap of care or love, even back before the fire ever touched me.
But I took them from him now, accepted them like a gift. I let the words nestle inside my soul and patch up holes from wounds that had long been festering.
