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Prescott starts to turn around, but I grab his wrist. My heart is beating a mile a minute as he turns around, surprise flashing on his face. “Jade?”
“Together,” I whisper quickly before I change my mind. “Let’s look at them together.”
Prescott shakes his head. “If you’re not ready…”
I clasp my fingers tighter around his wrist, not allowing him to pull back.
“That’s the thing. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, so I might as well get it over with.”
Prescott watches me for a long moment, so long that the water starts turning cold. Still, not once does he lower his gaze. Unclenching my fingers, I let my hand drop. Turning my back to him, I turn off the shower.
“Prescott?” I ask weakly, unable to turn to face him. If he changed his mind…
But of course, he hadn’t. Those strong arms slip around my waist and pull me to his chest. “Together.”
He turns us toward the door. The glass is still foggy, so he places his hand on it. “Last chance.”
I put my hand over his, my heart beating so loudly I could hear the echo of it in my eardrums. We stand like that for a few moments, and then I slide our joined hands over the glass, wiping away the condensation and facing the mirror.
My gaze meets Prescott’s in the reflection, neither of us looking away. God, he’s beautiful in that masculine, rough around the edges way; that’s all him.
His chin leans against my shoulder, that stubble of his tickling my skin as he presses his lips against my ear. “Look at how beautiful you are.”
“You didn’t even look at them.”
“I don’t have to see them to know how beautiful you are.”
His words… they’re my undoing.
He is my undoing.
So I look.
My gaze slides down slowly, taking in this new body I never thought I’d have to face. I suck in a sharp breath when I get to the scars. Matching twin lines are going from my sternum, parallel toward my armpits: red and rugged lines stick out against my otherwise pale skin.
Prescott’s arms tighten around me. “Shhh,” he whispers soothingly, making me realize I let out a loud sob.
“They look awful.”
I try to raise my hands to cover myself, but Prescott doesn’t let me.
“They don’t. They’re telling a story of a survivor.”
“They look like a kid took a knife to them.”
“A surgeon. And it won’t always stay like that. The wound is still pretty fresh, they’ll fade away, and you can always choose to have reconstruction after, if you want to.”
Unable to look at my reflection any longer, I turn in his arms. “Would you want me to?”
I stare at his face, looking for a sign of… I’m not even sure what. Disgust? Pity? But it’s not there.
Prescott’s thumbs slide over my cheekbones, wiping away the tears. “It’s your body, your choice. But whatever you decide, you’ll always be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
Then his lips press against mine. Soft and gentle at the beginning, but the kiss soon turns hard. His tongue presses against my lips, demanding entrance, which I happily give.
I didn’t even realize how much I needed this. His hands on my body, his mouth on mine, and this fire burning between us.
Prescott kisses me strong and hard, his tongue swirling around mine, making me moan softly.
