Page 67 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
He started the shower and pulled me over to him.
As the candles flickered in the old-fashioned room, he stepped back and looked at me. I went to cross my arms over my breasts, but he pulled them down.
“Jessica. You are so lovely. Don’t hide from me anymore. I want to see you. I want to know every single thing about you. This body houses one of the smartest, strongest, and sweetest women I’ve ever met.”
With the back of his hand, he traced down the front of my body, starting at my collarbone, going over the swell of my breasts and my belly, and down to where my hipbone would be if I were thin. He repeated the motion with his other hand. Then he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to him tight, kissing me deep.
He looked like he wanted to say more, but all he said was, “Get in the shower.”
I stepped in, and he followed. He pulled out Dove soap, and after lathering, started washing my body. The dim half-light meant that he did most of the work by feel. But he touched every part of my body. All the surfaces. I relaxed into his touch.
When all the suds were off, and I’d returned the favor to him, the lights came back on. And he took me to his room. This time he kissed every part that his hands had been, and then, when I was ready, entered me and made my skin sing. Made every part of my body feel good to be alive. With every thrust, he ground into me, giving me pleasure, making me soar, and carefully bringing me back to Earth. And when it was time for him, he looked me in the eyes, kissed me gently, and released, collapsing onto me.
Afterward, we cleaned up, and sated, put on our pajamas and crawled into bed in his room. Schmedley climbed up after us and curled at the foot.
“So did I get all of your curves?” he asked, as he wrapped his arms around my waist.
“No.” I said. “I think you need to do that again,” and he laughed.
