Chapter 27
Justin
I’m exhausted. I’m wearing a pair of pink running shorts that are too tight and too short. I look like an idiot. I’ve been arrested and spent the night, awake, in jail. But as I step out of Allie’s bathroom and almost trip over a basket of toys, I’m feeling happy.
I don’t have to wander far into the apartment to find her. She’s at her dresser, putting away clothes from a basket on the floor. The room is small, with a double bed and done in all white: walls, furniture, and bedding. Except for her vibrant paintings on the walls and the long brown-speckled curtains on the window.
“Hey,” I say softly, moving behind her.
She smirks at me in the mirror above the dresser. “Nice shorts.”
My eyelids lower.
“No, really.” She turns and runs a hand across my chest. Her fingers find the ring in my nipple. “I like them.” Her finger circles my ring as her smoky eyes wander over my body. “They don’t leave much to the imagination.”
The tiny shorts are about to get tighter. “You’re making my imagination run wild.” I jerk her toward me by the waist and lower my mouth to hers. Neither of us is slow. The kiss doesn’t build to hot. It’s instantly heated and fierce.
Desperate for the feel of her skin, my fingers seize the bottom of her shirt and lift it.
She pulls away and reaches for a curtain, drawing it closed.
The blinds had let the morning light in, but the closed curtains cast the room in shadows.
I yank the curtains open. “I want to see you.”
She yanks them shut. “Maybe I’m not ready for you to see me.”
Confused as all hell, I blurt, “What does that mean?”
“I’m a little shy?”
I tilt my head in thought as I recall our time together. “Not that much.”
She leans against the dresser, eyes downcast. “I’ve been pregnant.”
“Huh?” I shake my head in confusion, like a cartoon character, as I realize she doesn’t want me to see her in the light. “Allie, you’re smoking hot. Trust me. I’ve watched you for months now. For shit’s sake, I’ve been with you.” I open the curtains. “I’m dying to see you.”
“I’ve been pregnant,” she repeats softly, eyes still cast downward. “I have stretch marks, okay?”
I’m 100 percent out of my realm here. I can’t recall seeing any scars the last time we slept together. Though it was dark. And we were doing more touching than looking.
Her lips form a thin line and her fingers dig into the white wood at the edge of the dresser. “Trevor—he didn’t like them. He wanted to tattoo over them, but we weren’t together long enough.”
Ass. Fucking. Hole. I lean my forehead against hers. “Listen to me. You’re beautiful to me. Every single part. Any tiny flaw you have because you carried a baby is beautiful too.”
She blinks at me as if trying to believe my words.
I’d like to punch Trevor again. Twice. Allie’s never self-conscious. And she’s never been preoccupied with appearances. But this is obviously something Trevor made her feel inferior about. While she was just a teenage girl.
“You have to trust me about this,” I whisper as my fingers reach again for the bottom of her shirt.
She gives a slow and tentative nod, and lets me peel the shirt from her body.
With a plan of making this slow and sensual for both of us, I place my hands on her ribs—and she shivers as I turn her toward the mirror.
Her apprehensive gaze meets mine in the glass. My eyes sweep over her body. She’s slender but not too thin. Her pale skin is a lovely contrast to the bright ink on her arm along with the shine of the auburn curls falling below her shoulders. The soft swell of her breasts above her plain cotton bra lifts in a deep breath as I run my fingers up her arm and down the middle of her torso. There’s not a flaw in sight.
“Gorgeous,” I say, dragging my lips along her shoulder. She shivers again. I let her bra clasp loose then with a hook of my thumbs tug it off at each strap as she watches. “So gorgeous,” I repeat at the sight of her firm, high breasts.
As I cup her breasts, she falls against me with a soft sigh. Keeping one hand on her hardening nipple, I move my other hand to the button of her jeans and her gray eyes open wide. Not letting her back out, I unzip her jeans. She trembles. I push them down and they crumple to the floor at her feet.
Long waisted, with a sweet curve to her hips, she could be a swimsuit model, at least for the guy magazines. She’s much hotter than the ridiculous bone-ass-thin models in fashion magazines. Her flower-dotted panties ride low. Right above the red waistband, a faded slash curls inches below her belly button. Another faint scar is barely visible closer to her hip. Her gaze is fearful as she stares at the faint marks.
“You are so beautiful,” I groan. “And this”—my fingers trace a path along a shiny, thin puckered scar—“doesn’t take anything away from your beauty, and certainly not from how much I want you.”
When her body doesn’t release its tight line of tension, I kneel, yank her jeans free from her feet, and turn her sideways. Hands gripping her hips, I kiss and then run my tongue along each faint scar visible above the line of her panties. Releasing a sigh, her body finally relaxes and she thrusts her hands into my damp hair. My shoulders loosen. So intent on her response, I hadn’t realized the tight coil of my own body.
Finally, oh fucking finally, I slowly pull her panties off, and as soon as her feet are free, I press my lips and tongue to the place I’ve been wanting to kiss forever. She gasps and bucks, but I hold her still by the hips. When her climax hits, I watch her face in the mirror. Head back, lips parted, she’s more beautiful than I could ever explain to her.
I stand slowly, then quickly shed the pink shorts and even more quickly lead her to the bed. She still appears dazed as I lay her down. But when I reach for my wallet, miraculously—or not, since it appears Allie had made plans while I showered—on the nightstand, her hands come to my chest.
“Wait, wait. Let me touch you.”
Though I’m not sure how much longer I can wait, I lie on my side and let her hands slide over me. Her fingers trace my tattoos and the muscles on my chest. Her hands wrap around the hot length of me, and my eyes roll into the back of my head. The movement of those hands has me hissing through my teeth, “Get the fucking condom.”
Twisting toward the stand, she giggles. “Yeah, that’s what it’s for.”
I snatch it from her fingers, tear it open with my teeth, and pretty much slap it on. The curve of her mouth turns into an O as I push her onto the pillows and roll over her. Poised above, holding her face in my palms, I know it’s too early, too damn early yet, but my heart is overflowing. “I’m falling in love with you,” I say, entering her.
Her eyes widen into gray pools of shock, but as I deepen my angle, she gasps. I drink the gasp from her lips, her legs wrap around me, and we rock into mindless oblivion.