Page 16 of Power Struggle

Jack stands. His hands reach out, gripping my hips as he drags me forward. “I’m trying, Princess, I really fucking am,” he murmurs as I stumble into him. “I want to be a good boy for you. I want to show you how well I can obey your every command, but I can’t sit back and watch you fill your head with this shit.”

My body twitches at his words. I find his eyes and glare at him. “What are you talking about?”

His hands slide up my body, easily finding the zipper under my arm that goes down my side to my hip. He grips it slowly, ignoring the fact that I’m suddenly covered in goosebumps. “Right now,” he whispers, his voice surprisingly melodic, as though he’s afraid speaking any louder will cause me to bolt. He’s not wrong. “You’re thinking I won’t love the way your body looks when I finally have the honor of seeing you bare for the first time.”

His words stab me like a spear. I shiver again, harder this time. My eyes squeeze shut. The zipper drops an inch. The hand not gripping the tiny, cold metal finds its way to my throat. He collars it softly just below my choker while he continues to unzip the black dress.

“You’re thinking,” he begins again, “I won’t find every inch of you spectacular in every—” Another inch. And another. “Single—” Two inches. “Fucking—” He reaches my hip, and the zipper ends. “Way.”

Jack tightens his hold on my throat, tilting my head back. “Look at me, Addison.” It takes a tremendous amount of effort, but I do. I’m shocked to find him fuzzy from unshed tears. “You’re perfect.” I shake my head or try to, but his grip is borderline punishing. “You. Are. Perfect.” His voice is a rumbling growl. “Now drop the dress, Princess.”

My brows furrow, and my hands flex. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding it up. I swallow, and the ache against his fist throbs. With one deep breath, I drop the material. I couldn’t wear a bra with the strapless, plunging neckline, so I already know what he’ll see. My diamond choker. My tiny thong. My garter belt and straps. My knee highs. That’s it. There is no tummy control. No padding. No lift or tuck. Just me.

Jack sucks in a sharp breath that has my eyes squeezing shut. I feel a cool wind tickle my skin seconds before his hand lands on my thighs. My eyes spring open, shocked to find him in a crouched position, his gaze locked on my garter straps as he works to unfasten them. I stand stock still, my mouth just as frozen as my mind, as I watch Jack slowly remove my knee-highs and garter belt. When I’m left in nothing but my tiny thong that hides absolutely nothing, he pauses. Hands on my hips, thumbs in the black lace, his eyes find mine.

“As sexy as this get-up is, I want to see all of you when I tell you that you’re perfect. I want you to know without a shadow of a doubt that I see you, and I find you utterly intoxicating.”

I shiver, fighting the urge to deny his claims. To point out my flaws. To ask why he doesn’t see what I see, but it would be pointless. Body dysmorphia and severe childhood trauma. That’s why my psychiatrist diagnosed me at the age of 19. That’s why I know Jack doesn’t see what I see and never will. All I can do is hope that one day, I’ll be able to actually believe his words.

I say nothing, biting my lip to temper my breathing. Jack slowly slides my panties down my thighs, nudging my feet to step out of them. When they’re gone, he stands and takes a step back. I don’t know how long his eyes devour my body, but it feels like hours. Painful, embarrassing hours. I’ve been naked for men before. But they’re trained to be quiet and do as they’re told. To compliment me, thank me, beg me–yet, it means nothing when it’s part of a scene. It’s acting with the added benefit of pleasure. At least, that’s all it’s been for me. Until now.

Jack steps into me, resting his forehead against mine. In a move sweeter than any I’ve ever experienced before, he cradles my head, holding me to him like I’m precious. “From the first day I met you, I knew you’d bring me to my knees, and it has nothing to do with the way you look.” I whimper, and his fingers trail through my ponytail. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life, Addison Penelope Hughes, but that beauty goes far deeper than your skin and body.” He kisses my forehead softly. “You are perfection. Your monsters, broken bits and all.” I nuzzle my head into his neck, wishing like hell I could force his words to penetrate my soul and rewrite its damage.

“People only see one thing when they look at me,” I breathe, murmuring my biggest fear into the dark, safe space I’ve found myself in. “They see big boobs, a small waist, blonde hair, and long legs. They see me as a thing they can use instead of a person.”

Like my mother, profiting off of my appearance, forcing me to model, even as a young child. She sexualized me and my body before I even knew what that meant. She didn’t care how tired and sick I felt. She didn’t care that I was deprived of vital calories and childhood experiences. She just saw the money. The clout. The beauty. It’s the same thing men see when they look at me now. A hot woman meant for their pleasure, just like that man tonight.

But none of that kills me as badly as how I see myself. I think I hate the way I look so much, in part, due to the rhetoric that was spit at me from such a young age.

Work out more so you don’t look fat in the photos. Don’t eat that; you’ll get acne. You weren’t chosen for this campaign–you don’t have the right look.

Eat less.

Try harder.

Lose weight.

Look at that pudge.

Ugly. Not right. Too blonde. Too tall.

The list goes on and on. It circles through my mind daily, and it’s a constant battle. One I far too often lose, finding myself face down in a toilet purging my meals the way I wish I could purge my heartache. Yet, I feel that the reason I hate my body has more to do with the fact that I’d give literally anything not to look like this.

“You’re more than your body, Addy,” Jack says, his voice laced with vehemence. “I wish you saw what I see.”

“So do I,” I whisper.

Gripping my ponytail, he pulls my head back gently, dragging my eyes back to his. I momentarily protest losing my safe space. “Then I won’t stop until you know how perfect you are.”

I swallow thickly. “It’ll take more than a night to fix a lifetime’s worth of damage, Jack.”

His brows lift, and an adorable smile fills his face making my heart thump erratically. “Who said we just have tonight?”

I shiver, finding his words more appealing than anything I’ve ever heard before. “That was what you asked for, wasn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes, still grinning widely. It soothes my nerves to see him like this. Relaxed. Content. Close. To feel his body pressed against mine. It’s then that I realize we’re both utterly and completely naked, holding each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and unsurprisingly, it is. I’m not thinking about his hard dick…okay, well, now I am. But before this moment, I’d just been thinking about how safe I felt wrapped up in his strong arms.

“I said you need to give me one night to prove to you that this means something, but I don’t need tonight to know that.” He leans in, his lips hovering over mine. “You mean more to me than anything in this world, and I swear on my life I am never letting you slip through my fingers again. I don’t need a night of sex to prove that to myself; I’ve known it from day one.”

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