Page 24 of My Veteran Biker

"Show me," he says.

"What?"

"Show me your body. Let me see what you're so worried about."

My hands are shaking when I reach for the hem of my tank top. I pull it off slowly, feeling the air conditioning hit my bare skin.

My breasts are large and soft, sitting lower than they used to. My stomach is round, pale, marked with stretch marks that catch the light.

I make myself look at him instead of looking away.

His eyes move over me slowly. Not quick, not polite. Really looking.

His jaw is tight and there's color in his face that wasn't there before.

"Stand up," he says.

I do, even though every instinct tells me to cover myself. The shorts sit low on my hips because elastic waistbands are the only kind I can wear comfortably anymore. My thighs are thick, touching from hip to knee.

Knox gets out of bed and comes to stand in front of me. His hands go to my hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there. He pulls me against him and I can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

"This is what you do to me," he says. "This body. These hips. This stomach."

His hand slides down to cup my belly, palm flat against the roundness. I freeze, every muscle going tense.

"I want my hands here," he says. "Want to feel how soft you are. Want to know what it's like to touch you without you pulling away."

"I'm not pulling away."

"You're thinking about it."

He's right. I'm standing here rigid as a board, preparing for rejection even though his body is telling me the opposite.

"I don't know how to do this," I say.

"Do what?"

"Let you see me. Let you want me. Ben never... he never looked at me like this."

Knox's hand tightens on my hip. "Ben was an idiot."

"He was a good man."

"I don't care. He was an idiot if he had you and didn't worship every inch of you."

The word worship makes something hot coil in my stomach.

Knox backs me up until my legs hit the bed and then he's pushing me down, following me, his body covering mine.

He kisses me hard, all teeth and urgency.

His hands are everywhere, mapping my body like he's trying to memorize it. When he reaches my breast his thumb circles my nipple and I arch into the touch, gasping.

"I'm going to make you feel good," he says against my mouth. "And you're going to let me."

It's not a question.

His mouth moves down my neck, my collarbone, working toward my breast.