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“Right now,” I finish.
She nods.
“Okay,” I say. “So where do you want to go? Anywhere, Millie, anywhere you damn want.”
“Anywhere?” she giggles, shaking her head. “I think you might be pushing the limits of that word.”
“Nope,” I smirk. “For you, I’d drive to the North Pole and hijack Santa’s sleigh if that’s what it took, and then I’d bend you over it and strip you naked, keeping you nice and warm with my hands all over those thick gorgeous legs.”
“Thick,” she repeats, her tone unreadable. It reminds me of the ways she spoke when I gifted her with the chocolates.
“Thick,” I snarl passionately, placing my hand on her juicy-as-fuck thigh and slide it up her leg because even if she’s not ready for my engorged manhood, she’s not going to stop me getting a feel of her delicious flesh.
“Do you think we can go for a walk?” she moans, putting her hand atop mine as if she’s fighting between letting me slide up all the way and stopping me.
“Here? Now?”
“Do you mind?”
I climb from the car and walk around, warmth firing in my chest when she laughs at the ostentatious way I open the door for her, as though I’m her personal valet.
“Your wish is my command,” I say, acting sillier than I have since…
Shit, since I was a kid, probably.
“What a gentleman,” she teases.
But we both know that’s the biggest joke of all.
I’m the furthest goddamn thing from a gentleman.Chapter FourteenMillieWe walk for a minute or so in quiet, the only noise the light wind around us, rustling the trees, the branches swaying. The snow has stopped and a comfortable peace has fallen over the forest as we walk, without destination, the air pricking my cheeks coolly.
“Maybe I didn’t think this whole go-for-a-walk thing through,” I murmur, shivering as the wind tickles the back of my neck.
Markus takes off his jacket, which he had the foresight to go back for before we started in earnest. He drapes it over my shoulders and then leans down, kissing the top of my head softly, a different tingle altogether moving over me now.
Back in the car, I wanted to let his hand slide further up my thigh, press between my legs, let my lust unleash, and not live so perpetually in my head all the time.
After what happened last night and in the parking lot, sinking sinfully into Markus would make it all go away.
But the word thick kept stabbing into my mind.
“What’s wrong, Millie?” he says, brushing his lips down my face, close to my ear.
“Apart from the obvious?” I sass.
“Something happened in the car,” he murmurs. “Did I say something?”
I lean back – his arms around me, solid oak holding me up – and search his face for any sign that he’s playing me.
He called me thick. Did he mean it as a good thing?
“Look at me,” I murmur.
He smirks slightly, eyes skirting up and down my body.
“Okay, I’m looking.”
“What do you see?”
“Is this a trick?”
“No … well, maybe.”
“I see my woman,” he growls, sliding his hands down to my hips, grabbing possessively. “I see the answer to a question I never asked, not once, never even thought to ask.”
“Okay, fine,” I murmur, blushing fiercely. “But I’m guessing you’d agree I’m not conventionally attractive, right?”
He narrows his eyes, eyebrows furrowing.
“Millie, you’re the most attractive woman I’ve ever seen.”
I spin away from him, letting out a strangled breath, all the craziness of the past few days – the past few years – coming out.
“Millie, what is it?”
I wheel on him, a voice within telling me that I’m being self-centered, that there are bigger things going on right now than my self-image. But it’s always there, whispering at the edge of everything I do.
“I’m fat, Markus,” I spit.
His mouth opens and he stares at me, shaking his head slowly.
“You better be fucking joking,” he snarls.
“W-what?” I whimper.
“I said,” he growls, “that you better be fucking joking. What insane bullshit is this? No, Millie, you’re not stick thin. You don’t have a six-pack. You’re not built like a ballerina. No, you’re not like the models on the billboards and the actresses on TV. No, okay, you’re none of that. But to call yourself fat, to label those mind-fucking curves like that—to discredit yourself like that, to not realize how downright beautiful you are …”
He turns away, fists clenched, body trembling.
I watch, heart hammering in my chest like it’s going to choke me.
He’s so convincing.
An unfair thought—a reflex. He’s convincing because he’s being honest and sincere, I tell myself.
I approach slowly, hand outstretched, his suit jacket weighing down on me with security.
“You’ve got curves,” he says quietly, glancing over at me, his eyes drinking me in. “You’re full figured. You look like a lady who’s not afraid of a meal and that’s so damn attractive. I’ve never liked this craze we have these days, these … I don’t know what you’d call them, unobtainable ideals? Shit, I’m no philosopher. You’re not fat. Your figure drives me fucking feral. The point is, Millie, that there’s no woman in this world I find sexier than you. Surely you know that by now.”
