"I trust you."
"Nothing I do will hurt, Morgan.I'm not into that kind of thing."
"Me either."
"Didn't think so."He presses my wrists into the pillow."Can you keep your hands here?"
"I…I think so?Maybe?I'll try."
I feel his thighs grip my waist as he sits astride me, and I can't help myself—I want to touch him, explore his muscles, his heat.No sooner have I grasped his thighs than he's got my hands in his grip again.
"Naughty girl."
The playful scold sends a thrill shuddering through me.I fight against his grip, and I can feel myself grinning and laughing as he easily contains me despite my best efforts.I feel safe and at ease, because I know he won't hurt me no matter what, so I feel free to give him everything I've got.So, I fight him.
Hard.
It becomes a wrestling match, one which I obviously lose—willingly.I'm left panting and gasping and laughing beneath him and still he has my wrists easily pinned.And then something silky circles my wrists, tying them together—a necktie.
"Noah?"I ask.
His weight leaves me, and my arms are tugged up over my head, stretched out.A moment later, his body is angled against mine, partially on me, and I tug my hands—he's tied me to something.The knot is loose and the tie cool and silky, and I can tell that I can easily slip out of it if I wanted.I don't want to.I want to trust him.I want to give him this—a depth of trust I've never given anyone.Ever.Not even close.
I use my feet to find him—touch denim."You're wearing too many clothes, Noah," I whisper."Give me your skin, please.Please."
Rustling, and then I feel soft warm skin against my thighs."Better?"
"Yes."
I can't see.My hands are bound.I'm helpless…mostly.I still have my legs, which are my most powerful muscle group by far.But I don't really want to escape, do I?I want to be here.I want this.It's fucking hot as hell, and I'm all in.
Scared out of my mind that I'll fall back into Super Over Thinker Mode ™ and ruin everything…but I'm trying desperately to stay in the moment, to focus on Noah, on his touch, on the next instant.
His mouth skates over my chest, and he suckles a nipple, the other.Kisses the circumference of my breasts, each in turn.And then his lips dot quick soft kisses to my diaphragm.To the bunched ugliness of my belly.
I squirm."Noah.You know how I feel about that spot."
"Yup."He kisses me there again."I feel otherwise."
"It's ugly."
"No part of you is ugly."
"Feels ugly.Looks ugly."
He kisses."Does that feel ugly?"
"N-no," I admit.
Another kiss, an inch to the left."And that?"
“No," I whisper.
His fingers trail and trace over my stomach, circling from diaphragm to waistband, left side to right.His lips follow his fingers kissing, kissing.
“This womb created life," he growls.
“It’s not flat.It's never been flat."
