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My eyes took in her cross-legged position.
“Why’d you have the surgery?” I asked.
I’d gotten the gist of her half explanations here and there, but I couldn’t see this woman sitting before me as being so overweight that she would need that type of surgery.
“I had a major hormone imbalance when I was a child. Bad enough that I was on medication for it. When I got into my teens, I was so overweight that I could barely walk without getting out of breath.” She shook her head as she flipped her phone and opened it. Her fingers went flying over the keyboard. “I was teased relentlessly about it. Over and over and over again until my confidence in myself was so low that I considered suicide at the age of fifteen.”
My belly clenched.
“It was that bad?” I rasped.
She nodded, then turned the phone around for me to see.
It was of a race car. A woman—very heavy—was crawling out of it in one picture. The next she was on the ground.
It was then, as I saw the pained look on the girl’s—not a woman—face that I realized the heavyset person was her.
She was on the large side.
“Wow,” I said as I looked at her now. “You’ve lost a ton of weight.”
“A hundred and fifty pounds,” she nodded. “I was at three hundred pounds when I had the surgery. All of that but fifty pounds was off within the first year post-op. The last fifty has come off since I’ve dedicated myself to being a healthier person. But saying that, I still struggle. Although I don’t have any hormonal imbalances anymore, I do have genetics that leans toward the heavier side.”
I looked at the picture again. “I have a friend that had this done. He was one of my Army buddies. He had to have the skin removed.”
Turner stood up and lifted her shirt.
“I had a breast augmentation, a tummy tuck, skin removed over almost every inch of my body except for my feet.” She pointed out her surgery lines as she talked. Two underneath her breasts. One at her bikini line. One at her hip. Another one at her inner thigh. Arms. Upper back.
Holy shit.
“Wow,” I said, shaking my head. “I never would’ve even known had you not shown me.”
She nodded her head. “I’ve never actually shown anybody.”
My smile was fierce. “You like me.”
She scoffed. “I don’t like you. You’re annoying.”
I sat back and chuckled, then set the nearly finished beer down on the coffee table.
“Come here,” I ordered, holding out my hands to her.
She lowered her shirt and headed in my direction, crawling into my lap and wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Is it bad that I want to fuck you right now?” I asked, digging my cock into her crease.
She shifted restlessly.
“You weren’t disgusted?” she asked hesitantly.
I shifted again, this time really letting her feel the length of my cock against her.
“Does it feel like I was disgusted?” I asked.
She turned her face so that it was in the crook of my neck, and then pressed a kiss to it.
“You’re not like any man that I’ve ever met,” she whispered.
I skimmed my hands up underneath her overly large t-shirt, all the way up until I encountered her bra. Once I reached the latch, I adeptly removed it until her breasts popped free of their confines.
She shivered in my arms and pressed farther into me.
“I’m not like any man you’ve ever met,” I agreed. “I’m entirely different. I’m unique. And I’m also not a boy making fun of a girl. I’m a man that finds his woman highly attractive.”
Her breathing hitched.
“You really mean that?” she asked.
I rolled suddenly until she was lying down lengthwise on the sofa, me hovering over her, my face only inches away from her own.
It was the way her breathing had hitched that had my heart turning over in my chest.
She’d really been put through the wringer.
She hadn’t told me but one single story of her torture when she was younger, but somehow, I knew that she was scarred.
So scarred that she likely pushed everyone away from her before she allowed them to ever get close enough to hurt her.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” I informed her, pushing her shirt up her belly as I said that. “You’re a little prickly on the outside,” I teased as I pressed my mouth against hers once more. “But once you get past that, you’re kind of like a teddy bear.”
She rolled her eyes and I used her attempted disinterest to move down her body to the first scar that I could see. The one bisecting her abdomen.
“These are beautiful,” I informed her. “Because they’re a part of who you are.”
Her hands went to my shoulders, then to my cheeks, as she clenched her fingers in my beard.
I allowed the small pinch as I traveled my mouth up the length of her belly, following the line until it split off two ways under her breast.
