Page 80 of Bottles & Blades
They cut off mid-thigh—and what a glorious set of thighs they are.
And as he bends to pick up his socks, dumping them along with the pants into the hamper, I get another treat.
His butt.
Good Lord, his butt is amazing. Plump and round and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to take a nibble out of someone’s ass.
But I sure do with Jean-Michel’s.
He straightens and spins to face me.
Which is when I process…
He’s got scars too—several on his forearms, one on his chest, another on his right thigh—but as he stands there, letting me inspect him, I don’t see them as something ugly.
It’s gorgeous.
He’sgorgeous.
And strong. And beautiful. And kind.
“Good?” he whispers.
I nod. “So good.”
Mouth quirking, he lifts me down from the counter, brushes his lips over mine.
“Wash your face, buttercup,” he orders, knuckles trailing along my cheek before he turns and moves through the door, not pausing as he tosses the next command over his shoulder,
“Then come join me in bed.”
Twenty-Four
Jean-Michel
My tee hitsher at mid-thigh, which is already dangerous enough.
But knowing what’s under the material? The lush breasts, the pink nipples that call out for fingers and tongue, the narrow curve of her waist, the gorgeous flare of her hips…
She’s all woman, and she has no clue how goddamned sexy she is.
What a temptation she is.
My body was my enemy.
I need to hold it together, to control myself.
She shared…shit that makes me want to rage and punch my fist through the wall, shit that makes me want to scream up at whatever God purports to exist and ask why the fuck he does this shit to kids.
But sheshared.
So, I can find something to punch later, something to scream at when she can’t hear me.
Fuck knows, I did that plenty after Chrissy was kidnapped—yelled about the unfairness, punched and broke and kicked…and then thankedallthe gods she was recovered safely, even though I knew it made me a fucking hypocrite, at least when it comes to going to church.
I exhale.
Shove the past down.
