I murmur her name, a plea and a stall, “Layla…”
She lifts her hands to my face, forcing my gaze to meet hers. Her voice softens into something that strips me bare. “I want to see you. All of you.”
Fuck. No one has ever asked me that.
For a beat, fear claws at my ribs.
She must sense the hesitation, because she rests her forehead against mine and whispers, “I’m not going anywhere.”
I nod, trusting her.
Together, we reach for the hems of our shirts. Cotton slides over our skin as the fabric falls to the floor in two careless piles.
We stare, admiring each other’s bare skin.
Her eyes sweep over the scars etched across my neck, chest, arms, ribs, and side—raised, jagged reminders of everything I lost.
I brace for pity, expecting her to be disgusted and walk away.
She extends her hand as her fingertip traces a long scar near my collarbone, leaning in and pressing her lips to the beginning.
She maps me with her lips, every mark the fire left behind, giving back something I didn’t know I was missing.
“You survived this,” she says quietly against my skin. “Every inch of you is proof.”
I look away because the emotion hits quickly.
She takes my face in her hands again, grounding me with her stare. “You’re beautiful,” she whispers, so sure that it destroys every argument I’ve ever had about myself.
My touch trails up her sides again, watching goosebumps erupt across her skin, feeling each breath she takes.
I cup her jaw, guiding her mouth back to mine, kissing her unhurriedly, as if I’m finally letting myself believe her.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” I mumble against her lips. “Every part of you… I could spend a lifetime admiring.”
Her eyelashes flutter, her breath catching, and it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.
She settles completely into my lap, her bare chest pressed against mine.
The sun spills over her bare shoulders, illuminating her as if she’s meant to be seen.
I let my hands follow the lines of her, the curve of her waist, the delicate strength of her back, worshipping quietly with every touch.
“You’re art,” I tell her. “And I’m not sure I deserve to look.”
She shakes her head as her thumb grazes my cheek. “You deserve someone who sees you. I do.”
Fuck.
My fingers move up, tracing along the delicate curve of her breasts.
Her nipples pebble in the cool air, fuck me.
I lean down, taking one into my mouth, gently sucking while my tongue flicks over the tip.
She gasps, her back arching as she clutches my shoulders.
I palm both her breasts, putting my face between them,alternating sides, sucking, nipping, and soothing her nipples with licks until she’s squirming in my lap as her hips grind against the bulge in my sweats.
