Page 80 of Dead Pretty

My hands fumble for his jeans.

Jack grabs my hands, stopping me, pinning them and me back up against the door.

He kisses my neck, his tongue sliding down along my collarbone, leaving a hot trail of desire in its wake.

He releases my hands and takes hold of my braid. Winding it around his hand, he tugs me to his mouth, kissing me briefly but firmly.

Then, he pulls the tie from the end of my hair. His fingers make quick work of freeing it.

My eyes drift shut at the feel of his hands as they move over my head, my hair loose and flowing over my shoulders.

He fingers a lock of it. “This is the first time I’ve seen your hair down.” His voice is thick, laced with desire and some other unnamed emotion. “So fucking beautiful,” he rasps softly.

I can tell that he means what he says.

I know that even if nothing sexual happened with Jack and me tonight—well, aside from the fact that I might cry with frustration—I would know that he meant what he said in this moment.

And it causes an ache in my chest.

Because he hasn’t seen me.

Not all of me.

He doesn’t know the real me.

And if he did, he wouldn’t think that I was beautiful anymore.

I have scars.

Ugly scars that I can never get rid of.

On my skin.

And inside of my soul.

I’m damaged.

Physically and mentally.

I am not beautiful. But right now, I so desperately want to be. For him more than myself.

But I’ve seen the worst side of life, and I can never come back from that.

There is no happy ending for me.

But maybe I can have just this one moment with Jack.

This single moment of peace.

Where my mind is full of only him and the way he makes me feel.

Jack pulls my sweater over my head, leaving me in my tank.

He kisses me again, wrapping his arms around my waist, bringing my body back to his.

My hips are restless, shifting. I need to feel him against me. Inside me.

His hand moves lower to my ass. Grabbing hold, he yanks me against his erection, giving me the contact I so urgently need.