Page 108 of Need You to Choose Me

“Are you just going to watch or partake?”

His lips quirk up at the corners. “I’m enjoying the show a lot from here,” he tells me.

And I can see that.

He’s getting hard and my boobs aren’t even out yet.

I try taking off the bra with as much sexiness as I can, but it’s a sports bra. So God only knows how awkward it probably looks to him. If he thinks so, he doesn’t say. His eyes are too busy soaking in my bare breasts, pebbling my nipples with his keen attention.

He moves closer to me, reaching out to tweak one of them and earning a sharp gasp from my lips before I can suppress it. “These,” he says in appreciation, “are my favorite. I fucking love how they feel in my hands. And even better—”

His face dips down until his mouth is covering the opposite one. “I love the way they taste.”

I’m pretty sure I cuss.

Or praise God.

It’s an out of body experience as he flicks and pinches and sucks the sensitive nerves that have me clenching my thighs together.

“I love waking up in the morning with my hand on your tits,” he tells me, massaging them as his lips trail up to the nook of my neck. “I love falling asleep holding them too.”

When his mouth covers the other nipple, I definitely swear aloud. He chuckles, making the bud in his mouth vibrate which sends heat straight to my core. “Frankly, I love waking up toyou.”

That four-letter word is going to get to me.

“Now take off your leggings,” he commands, nipping my breast one last time before pulling back.

I swallow. “My leggings?”

“You heard me. Take them off.”

I meet his eyes, which are dark with lust. They trail down to my hands as I slip them under the waistband of my bottoms and peel them down. He helps me when I arch up to get them past my butt, ripping them away from my feet and tossing them behind him.

He stares at my nakedness, completely out and open to him. There’s no hiding that I have a lot going on. I’ve got a stomach that’s bigger than I want it to be, and thighs that chafe in the summertime. Finding the perfect pair of jeans that fit me right everywhere is annoying, and usually, nearly impossible. It’s either too tight in the waist, weird around the butt, or lands at my shins instead of my ankles.

But it’s my body.

It’s gotten me through a lot. It has healed me after I broke my wrist playing basketball in middle school and healed after I got the swine flu in high school. It has grown with me as I got older; it changed through puberty and all the different phases in my life. It’s stretched and thinned and everything in between.

I have nothing to be ashamed of.

Nothing to hate.

I’m me.

Olive Henderson.

I’m overweight. Maybe even a little obese.

I have killer boobs.

A big butt.

And one hell of a personality.

“Get out of that pretty little head of yours,” Alex tells me, crawling over to me like a lion hunting his prey. It’s oddly…sexy.

He stops over me, hovering so we’re inches apart. His hand slowly moves up my leg that, thankfully, I remembered to shave. The only good thing about not having anybody in your life is the lack of need for razors. It made wintertime much warmer.

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