Page 54 of Finding the Pieces

What if I didn’t?my mind screams at me. What if I could learn to love my body as it is now? What if I could someday accept, and even embrace, the fact that while it’ll never look like it once did, it’s still a damn good body?

I’ve tried to will away my resentment and bitterness. I’ve tried to begrateful, like everyone says.

You should start a gratitude journal…You’ll bounce back…Your body knows what to do…At least you’re both okay now…At least you didn’t have to give birth naturally…At least…At least…At least…

I assume every comment was said with good intentions, but anything anyone said to me after Luca was born that started with the phraseat leastwas the kind of toxic positivity I had to block out to hold on to the last shred of my sanity.

I don’t want anat leastkind of life. I want themostout of every piece of it.

Including right now. With a man who loves me at my back. A man who does cute shit for me even when I don’t do anything to deserve it. A man whosacrifices. A man who loves with no regard for what it can bring him but only for what he wants to give.

What if I just let him hold me for a minute, and I spent that minute enjoying the way it felt for the man I love to keep me close instead of worrying about what my body looks and feels like?

“I love you,” he whispers into my neck. The words blanket my body with warmth and quiet my racing thoughts.

I hum, running my hands over his forearms, which are still wrapped around my waist. “And I love you.” I melt into him further.

I feel his dick hardening against my ass, and he pulls his hips back. Clearing his throat, he apologizes. “Trying to be on my best behavior here,” he says with a laugh. “Downstairs isn’t getting the message.”

I take a small step back into him, closing the space between us, his erection hitting me in the lower back. I grip him behind his neck, pulling him closer. “It’s been a long time…” I say.

Dom clears his throat as hands tighten around my waist, before he releases me and grabs the body wash off the shelf.

“Did you already wash up?” he asks.

“Not yet,” I lie, curious to see where he’s going with this.

“You’ve never been a good liar, Ellie. I can smell it on you.”

I smirk, grateful he can’t see my face.

“Humor me,” I say, looking over my shoulder to catch his heated stare.

“Can I help?” he asks, voice rough as he lathers soap into a washcloth. I nod.

Dom spends the next few minutes cleaning every inch of my body, his movements slow and languid, steady and sure. When he reaches my shoulders, he ditches the washcloth and massages my neck, working at the knots he finds deep in my muscles, before he lathers my hair with shampoo.

“Turn around,” he says, voice low.

In doing so, I realize how relaxed every muscle in my body has become. A drunk haze of blissful calm has my mind drifting, a nice break from its usual race.

When I steal a glance at Dom, his face is pulled tight in concentration as he rinses the suds from my hair, careful not to get any in my eyes. He pulls my body flush with his so that my hair is out of the water. He runs his fingers, coated with conditioner, through the ends.

As he finishes rinsing the product away, I close my eyes, enjoying the way his hands tug on the strands and the growing tension on my scalp.

I open my eyes to find his gaze locked on my lips.

“My turn?” I ask.

He smiles and nods. I wash his hair and then lather his body with soap, taking my time. Afterward, I use the handheld showerhead to rinse the suds from his skin.

While we’re both tall, I’m more soft curves and he’s more hard lines, though in the last year, he’s let himself live a little more than he used to. He’s less focused on hitting the gym and never says no when I suggest takeout because we’re both too tired to cook.

It’s moments like this that make me feel silly for worrying so much about my body and how it’s changed. Because Dom’s has, too, and there isn’t an inch of him that I don’t want to lick. He’s as sexy, if not sexier, now. I don’t want him to doubt my attraction to him for a single second.

Is that how he feels about me?

“Are you going to be okay with, uh…that whole situation?” I ask, gesturing to his erection, which hasn’t gone down at all. If anything, he’s harder.

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