Page 92 of Slapshot Baby

His lips part. His chest expands with a breath he doesn't release.

When his gaze returns to my face, his eyes are no longer flat.

They're dark. Focused. Hungry in a way that sends heat flooding between my thighs so fast I clench against it.

I lean against the doorframe because my knees have become weak.

"You're staring," I say.

"Yeah. I am." His voice is rougher, lower. "Is that what you sleep in?"

“Sometimes. Have a problem with that?”

“No problem.”

But his eyes drop to my chest again.

I cross my arms, suddenly conscious of everything. My heavier breasts. The new softness in my belly. The way this body is changing in ways I can't control and can't explain to him.

"What?" I ask, too sharp, turning away.

"You crossed your arms."

"I'm cold."

He stands, crosses the room, each step unhurried.

“Is that really it?”

“I’m getting fat,” I say in a small voice.

His hand comes up. His knuckles graze my cheek, then trail down the side of my neck slowly, like he's memorizing the path.

"You are so beautiful," he says.

I start to shake my head, but his fingers hook under my chin, tilting my face up. His brown eyes hold mine.

"Your body is incredible. Whatever you think is wrong with it, you're wrong."

My throat closes. Because he's looking at me like the swell of my stomach and the fullness of my breasts are things he desires.

If you knew why my body looks like this, you wouldn't be saying that.

One knuckle drags along my skin, following the ridge of bone to my shoulder, then down the silk-covered curve of my arm.

Goosebumps erupt in the wake of his touch.

I want to grab his hand and press it against my breast. Against the ache that's been building there all night. Instead I stand still, pulse hammering, waiting for him to close the distance.

Touch me. Want me. Prove I'm still worth wanting even though my body is turning into someone I don't recognize.

"You're holding yourself like you think I'm going to find a flaw," he says quietly.

"Maybe I think you will."

His thumb strokes across my cheekbone while his brown eyes roam my face with an attention that makes me feel stripped past the lace.

"Not possible," he says.