“I’m not perfect,” she said.
Yes you are.
“I have no idea who you’re going to compare me to when you see my body.”
I reached for her jeans and unbuttoned them. She didn’t stop me.
“I have no idea if the last girl you had in bed was a supermodel”—she gasped as I slid the zipper down, one tooth at a time—“or…or someone less than perfect, but I’m not, Cade. I have an affinity for carbs and some days I skip the gym…”
She stopped to gasp again, and I was guessing that was because I’d dragged one fingertip along the edge of her red lace panties.
“Go on.” I smiled and marked another point in my column for not stammering. Hell, yes.
“I’m just warning you in case…”
I pressed a kiss just under her belly button.
Her hands went to my hair. “Cade.”
Ah, there we go.
She’d said my name on a fluttery moan. A very good sign. I turned her so she was facing the mirror and stripped her jeans off her hips while she watched my reflection. No way would I let her think she was flawed in some way or that I’d be comparing her to anyone. Stupidest thing I’d ever heard.
I kissed the flare of one hip bone as she kicked off her flats and stepped out of the jeans. I liked that she was participating.
“Take your shirt off,” I instructed as I ran my tongue along the small of her back.
She obeyed and I took my lips off her body to watch as she crossed her arms over her waist, grasped the hem of her red shirt, and lifted. When the shirt was tossed aside, I was left staring at a red lace bra and her blond hair falling over her shoulders in long waves. My dick pounded mercilessly against my fly.
Tasha didn’t cover herself as my eyes feasted on her pink nipples, visible through the lace of her bra. Eyes on her reflection, I slipped my palms from her hips to her stomach and then north, and she winced.
“Is it bad?” she whispered and I saw real concern in her eyes.
“Fuck, no,” came my gravelly response.
She faced me, looking down at me. I sat on the edge of my bed, entranced by her body. By her.
“Tell me the truth, Cade. Am I disgusting?”
Definitely not, but I was beginning to think she was insane. I shook my head, seeing nothing but gorgeous skin tempting me in every imaginable way. I was frustrated at the words she used to describe herself. I glided a fingertip over one of her nipples through the lace of her bra. When I moved for the other, she closed her hands over my wrists.
“Please turn the lights off. I don’t want you to see.”
“Who t-told you that?” I asked. Someone. She hadn’t looked in the mirror and come up with the crazy idea that she was less than supermodel gorgeous on her own. Even as I asked, I knew. Anger vibrated my limbs.
She shook her head in answer.
I gripped her hips and speared her with a glare. “Who?”
She looked away and mumbled, “Who do you think?”
Tony.
That motherfucker.
I pulled in a shaky breath, ground my teeth together, then decided that I wouldn’t let him come between Tasha and me. Between this moment.
There was another way to prove to her she was beautiful, and it only involved the two of us.
“C-come here.” I slapped my hands on my thighs and she lowered her perfect, round ass onto my lap. I turned her so she was once again looking in the mirror, pushed her hair over one shoulder, and kissed her neck.
“I’m gonna show you”—I flicked the clasp of her bra and slid the straps down her arms, baring her breasts for both of us to see—“w-what I think of you.”