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My chest heaves as his eyes trail down my body, the stretch marks and the not-so-flat stomach. It’s nothing like the model figures he’s used to. I despise comparing myself to them, but I can’t help it.
He’s my best fantasy, and it hurts to be his worst.
“You used to be more beautiful.” He runs his hand down my stomach. “I hate the fake you, she’s not my Green.”
And then he’s kissing down my stomach, over every stretch mark and every blemish, over every curve and part of me I don’t even like to look at myself.
His hot lips leave scorching trails in their wake like a rapid burning fire.
“Don’t change.” Kiss. “Don’t be fake.” Kiss. “Be you.” Kiss. “Be my beautiful Green.”
A sob tears from my throat with every word out of his mouth and breathed against my skin. I cover my eyes, not wanting him to see me this way.
What the hell is he doing to me?
“Look at me.” The order in his voice makes me drop my hands slowly.
He’s hovering over me again, his hands disappearing underneath my back to unclasp my bra.
The deep blue of his eyes holds me hostage as he speaks in a low, gut-wrenching tone. “Always look at me, not away from me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Even if I hate you and you hate me.”
“Okay.”
“Even if we wake up from this.”
“Okay.” My voice breaks at the end.
With a single tug, he removes the bra and lets it fall to the side. My nipples harden, tightening into tiny buds, but it’s not because of the air. It’s due to the hungry look on his lethally attractive face.
He’s not even touching them, but it’s almost as if he is.
“Your tits are so perky and small.” His strong fingers wrap around my breast. “So perfect in my hand. I knew it.”
Still cupping my breast, his thumb and forefinger grasp my nipple and tug. I cry out, my heart squeezing in my throat.
He does it again, this time twirling, then pinching hard afterwards. The friction of his bandage against my skin adds another pleasurable sensation that shoots straight between my legs, soaking my thighs.
“Do you know how much I’ve wanted to do this? How much I’ve wanted you like this and hated myself for it? How much it fucking kills me?” As he continues to torment my nipple, his mouth latches on the other one, biting and nibbling.
My back arches off the bed with the torture. It’s as if I’m being levitated. My body isn’t mine anymore as it floats in the air without any landing in the foreseeable future.
His free hand travels down between us and undoes the buttons of my denim skirt. I don’t think as I push it down.
“Stop,” he growls against my flesh. “This is my show, my rules.”
Damn him. I’m not even allowed to do anything on my first sexual experience. But then again, why am I surprised Xander is the bossy type?
If anything, I might have secretly hoped for it. I might secretly be a bit more wet by his words.
He shoves my skirt and underwear down in one merciless tug as he pushes off me and slides down my body.
The empty air makes my breasts feel abandoned, but the look in his eyes as he watches me splayed in front of him is worth it.
He reaches behind him and pulls his T-shirt over his head, revealing his sculpted abs. It’s not about being fit or muscular, it’s the charisma that he adds to it, the certain carelessness of being so deadly and mouth-watering.
