“Nothing, I just want my sweater back. Can you hand it to me? Please.” I hold my hand out but he doesn’t move.
My vision blurs. Dammit. I shouldn’t care. It’s not like I want to impress him. What he thinks of my body shouldn’t matter. But it does. I don’t let people see me like this. I cover up. I wear baggier clothes. I hide the changes having a baby has made to my body. I don’t want his scrutiny. His disgust.
“Hey—” His voice softens. “Talk to me. What just happened? We were good and then it’s like a switch went off as soon as I…” His brows pull together. “You want your sweater?” he asks, as if that isn’t exactly what I’ve been asking for this entire time.
“Yes. Now, please.”
He picks it up from the ground but doesn’t hand it to me. I huff out an exasperated breath. “Emilio. Give it to me.” I’m still covering my stomach or I’d reach for it myself.
“Why?”
“Because I want it back.” I snap. I shouldn’t have to explain this to him.
His eyes roam over my body.
I clench my teeth, bracing myself for the look of revulsion I’m sure will come once he realizes what I’m hiding.
He steps closer and I all but lunge for my sweater, but he shifts to the side, keeping it just out of reach. “I want to see you.”
The first tear falls. “No. And we shouldn’t be—“
He doesn’t give me the chance to finish. His lips crash into mine and my mouth opens on a moan. His tongue flicks out, sending tendrils of desire straight to my core. His hands loosen the hold I have on myself as he guides my arms around his neck, pressing our bodies impossibly close so my stomach is flush against his.
He abandons my lips to trail kisses along my neck, sucking and nipping at my skin gently. Shockwaves ripple through me when his hand cups my center, his palm pressing firmly against my clit through the fabric of my jeans.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he tells me. I wish I could believe him but—
His tongue drags back up my jaw and to my mouth before he pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. “You are beautiful. This body is perfection. Do you understand me?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “But—”
He shakes his head. “No buts. You’re perfect. Don’t ever hide from me.” He kisses me again. “I want to see all of you. Every inch so I can worship your body the way I’ve been dreaming about.”
His words undo me and I force myself to relax. If he’s repulsed by my body, I’ll find out soon enough.
My stomach is soft. My stretch marks visible. That won’t ever go away. And if it’s going to be a deal breaker, I may as well find out now before putting my heart on the line.
His palm slides down my side, over my hip and to the button on my jeans. He pops them open as I pull at the material of his shirt, tugging it off and exposing his broad chest and muscular abs. My eyes catch on the tattoo that spreads across his chest. A gothic woman’s portrait, her hair flying all around her as ravens tug on the strands.
I trace the intricate ink. It wasn’t there when we first met. It’s amazing. “Is this new?” I ask and there’s a note of wonder in my voice. It looks so lifelike, the woman almost familiar.
“Got it on my eighteenth birthday earlier this year,” he tells me.
“She’s—”
“You.”
I jerk my hand away from the tattoo. “What?”
He smirks. “I knew what I wanted, and I needed a description for the girl, so when I got the ink, I described you.”
My eyes widen. “Why would you do that?”
A shrug. “Because you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen—you still are,” he adds with a savage smile. “Being with you that night was a memory I didn’t want to forget. Even if you ghosted me after the fact.”
My chest squeezes. “Emilio, I—“
He places a finger against my lips to stop me. “We have history. We have a kid. I want to see where this goes. Where we can go. Don’t you?”
