Page 12 of Never Nix Up

When I go to pull her close, she freezes for a moment. “I just…”

“Yes?”

“I like my body; it’s soft and fat, and does everything I need it to. I just need you to know that. I’m not going to change.”

I don’t know who’s told her in the past that she needs to lose weight, but I want to serve them cake made with salt instead of sugar. Hazelisfat; overflowing, unapologetically fat and I have wanted her fatness in my arms for a long, long time. “If you let me undress you, I promise I will show you exactly how much I like you just as you are.”

She nods and lets out a breath that I’m not sure either of us knew she was holding.

I start with her buttons. She’s wearing a dress, as she often does, all floaty and pretty. The skirt dances around her thighs, and I’m glad that she’s wearing tights because it’s March and we’re in Sussex. It’s not exactly known for its balmy spring weather.

With each button that I undo, more skin is revealed beneath. And the fact that she’s not wearing a bra. Her breasts are perfect handfuls, and I long to lean in and kiss them, but I promised her that I’d unwrap her, and unwrap her I will.

I don’t stop at her waist, I undo all of the buttons on the dress, right down to the hem, so that she can step out of it completely. Her thighs jiggle as she does so, and fuck if I don’t want to nip at her. She’s fucking delicious.

“Tights next?” I ask, and she nods, looking away shyly. Taking her chin in my fingers, I turn her head so that she looks at me. “I love what I see, baby.”

“Yeah?” She breathes out the question, and I slip my hand behind her neck and tug gently until she kisses me.

“Yeah.”

The tights are navy, and almost as thick as her thighs. I roll them down slowly, until I’m on my knees before her. I’d worship this woman with my dying breath. She is exquisite.

Her knickers are last, and I get her to turn around for that, biting back a moan when her arse comes into view.

She has a butt dimple.

A butt dimple.

I’m officially obsessed, and I can’t help but lean forward and kiss it.

She squeals in surprise and giggles. “Finn!”

“You’re too delicious, I couldn’t help myself.”

11

Hazel

Finn touches me as if I’m the most precious thing in the world, as if I’m some delicate, porcelain doll. When she gets me to lie down on the bed, she looks awed.

I don’t quite know how to take that. The people I’ve slept with before have always been enthusiastic, but never reverent. Her reverence unnerves me. How can I possibly live up to what she’s imagining?

But the best thing about this scene is that I don’t have to perform. Finn’s made it very clear that I just follow her instructions, and that’s all that matters.

She fiddles around behind me, plumping up pillows before she takes a scarf and offers it to me. “You happy with this as a blindfold?”

I take it, the silky material flowing between my fingers.

“I figure it’s soft enough that it’ll feel nice, but it’s not so silken that it’ll come undone any time you shift position.”

“Sure, let’s go for that then.” It’s mundane, our exchange, but there’s nothing mundane about the way that Finn looks at me before she ties the scarf behind my head, cutting off the light.

The lamp in her bedroom is soft, a warm glow, but I’ve been dealing with bright lights all day and the relief I feel to not have to process them is immense. I wait.

She makes me wait.

At first, I’m a little frustrated–what’s the point in getting all naked if Finn’s not going to touch me?–but soon I feel everything start to drop away. My anxieties, my fears, everything I’ve been bottling up for so long floats away as a frisson of excitement grows. I don’t know what she’s going to do, or at least, I don’t know what she’s going to do next. Or where. Or how.

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