Page 54 of Strictly the Worst

And right now I’m the beast in his sights.

His lips are soft, barely there as he brushes them against mine again. His hand moves up, his thumb gentle as he strokes it against the underside of my breast, before the pad presses against my nipple.

The sensation is so strong I jump in his arms.

“What was that?” he asks.

“I just… nobody’s touched me there in a while.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, looking almost pained. “Nobody’s touched you anywhere in a while,” he says as though reminding himself of the fact. “Fuck.”

“Is that a problem?” I ask him.

“Only for my dick. It’s kind of enticing, you know?”

My brows dip. “What do you mean?”

“The thought of touching you for the first time. Of reminding you how pleasurable this can be.” His lip quirks up. “With another person.”

“What are you planning to do? Give me a presentation?” I tease. “The full PowerPoint experience.”

He starts to laugh. It’s like he realizes I need a moment to catch my breath. “I’ll start with my health status. Clean at my last checkup. You?”

I lift a brow.

“Okay, so you’re clean, too.”

“I mean, it’s been two years. And of course I had all the tests after Jared…” I trail off. What’s the protocol for mentioning your ex-husband to the guy you are pretty much throwing yourself at?

“Jared’s a fuck up. And he’s not going to be mentioned in this room again, okay?”

Ooh, he actually looks annoyed. That’s interesting.

“Works for me.” I nod solemnly.

“Good.” He smiles at me. “Want to take a bath with me, Carmichael?”

“I thought you said you were clean,” I say and he rolls his eyes at me.

“I am. But I want to see you naked and I figure wet and naked is even better.”

And that’s when I realize, that he’s going to see everything. The stretch marks on my stomach. The ones on my breasts. I’m pretty sure every muscle in my body tightens, and not with pleasure.

Yes, he’s seen me in a bikini. And yeah, I’m kind of average for my age. But holy schmoly, I’m probably the oldest woman he’s ever been with.

“Maybe we should just go to bed,” I say, my voice small.

He’s silent for a moment. I feel his gaze on my face, but I can’t bring myself to look at him.

“We don’t have to do anything, you know that, right?” he asks.

“I know.” I nod. “I just…”

“What?” There’s a frown in his voice.

“I’m scared.” There, I’ve said it. He wanted me to say how I feel. But I don’t feel any better. I feel like an idiot, because he’s almost certainly going to laugh at me.

But miracle of miracles he doesn’t. Instead, he looks almost sad when I finally gather the nerve to glance at him.

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