I barely register it at first, when he opens the fly of my jeans.It's a subtle movement, his hands working at my belly, and then a slight loosening of pressure at my stomach.But then I feel his eyes on me and I open mine, realizing that my jeans are undone.
Panic bubbles in my chest, iron tightening around my lungs.
I dressed for him.My best, most flattering jeans.The sweater that complements my skin and gives the impression of cleavage.Boots with enough of a heel to lift my ass.No bra.And…a thong.A red one.A skimpy one.A thong I bought in a fit of self-care madness, thinking it'd make me feel…I don't know what, exactly.I wore it once for precisely an hour, and then took it off and hid it in the back of my underwear drawer.I put it on, wanting to feel sexy for once.Hoping I'd be brave enough to let this happen, should things progress to this point.
But now that I'm here, the thought of letting Noah peel my skin-tight jeans off, letting him see me all but nude, wearing nothing but a scrap of red lace that leaves my ass cheeks hanging out and barely covers my puss?
I used to be confident and bold, once upon a time.I used to be the aggressor in the bedroom, more often than not.In the early days when things were good with us, at least once a week I'd gussy myself up in lace and silk and present myself to Kevin when he got home from work, begging him to take me on the kitchen counter.
Now I can barely manage to stand here and let Noah undo my damned jeans.
Where is my courage?
Where is the libido that used to leave every man I ever loved or thought I loved begging for a break?
I'm not a badass biker chick anymore, or an elite figure skater with visible abs and toned arms.I'm a frumpy single mom with a bunchy, wrinkled belly, cellulite and stretch marks on my thighs and hips, a fat ass, no libido, no confidence, and no clue what the fuck I'm even doing here.
"Noah…" I whisper, feeling my body turn inward, curling in defensively."I…I can't—"
He reaches up and puts his thumb to my chin, dips my face down so I'm looking at him.“Hey.If you need to stop, it's okay.I'll never push you."
I make fists and press them into my eyes, hating the swell of emotion and insecurity for ruining the most pleasure I've felt in almost two decades.
"I'm scared," I admit."But I don't want to stop."
"No?"
"I'm sorry I'm such a mess."
"Please, Morgan, don't apologize.I don't want to rush you or push you into something you're not ready for."
"You aren't."I stroke his head, fingers trailing through his silky soft blond hair."I mean, I'm not ready, but I doubt I ever truly will be."
"I know that feeling."
With my hands in his hair, his eyes on mine, he presses a kiss to my diaphragm.My gut clenches and my heart flutters and my breath catches.
"Noah?"It's a questioning breath.Another kiss, lower.I cover my ugly stomach with both hands."Don't.Not…not there."
Gently but firmly, Noah moves my hands away, guides them to his shoulders.He doesn't say a word, but then, he doesn't have to.His eyes remain fixed on mine, and he moves slowly, inclining toward me.
He kisses my stomach.
A tear leaks.
Another kiss.Here, there.Kisses, kisses, all over my belly, each one tender and soft and delicate—loving.Affectionate.
"You're beautiful," he whispers."Everywhere."
I can only whimper, wrought and wracked by waves of powerful emotion—wonder, awe, arousal, skepticism, anger at Kevin for making me feel this way, anger at myself for being so weak and insecure, validation that this handsome, virile, kind, powerful, successful man wants me, cares about me.
He's not done.I caress his hair, his temples, his nape, his broad shoulders, biting my lip and watching as he kisses my belly.With each touch of his lips, I somehow feel marginally less ugly, there.But his kisses don't stop at my belly.They drift to my left hip, his lips stuttering and pausing along the band of my panties.My jeans hang open, showing the red lace of my thong in a wide V.
He kisses along the waistband to my right hip…and then left again, and then right, and each time he goes from one side to the other, my jeans somehow end up lower and lower.
"Noah?"
“You can tell me to stop."
