Page 45 of Obliterate

All I can do is simply shrug.

I have to admit, the thought has crossed my mind.

Lying in bed at night, thinking about what a life with Ingrid would look like. And yeah, I’m not stupid. I already thought she might have gone through or is nearing menopause, and that children are not something she would want to do again. But I have come to terms with that.

“Ingrid… none of it bothers me. I don’t need to have kids to feel whole.” I shrug. “Did I ever see myself as a father? Yeah, maybe. But also, it wasn’t high on my priority list. It was only one of those things that if it happened, then it happened. I’d rather have you. And if that means I don’t have kids, then I don’t have kids. And as for thinking I can’t be attracted to you because you’ve had children…” I shake my head. “Let me show you something…” I stand and reach down for her hand. Her eyes widen, and I wave my hand at her. “Well, c’mon.”

She sighs as I hoist her off the sofa and lead her toward the bathroom.

“What are we doing?” she asks.

As I flick on the light illuminating the outer area where the giant mirror and twin sinks are located, I say nothing. Then I place her in front of me, looking in the mirror while I stand behind her. Slowly, I edge my cut down my shoulders.

Her eyes widen. “South?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not seducing you. Just go with me on this.” I place my cut on the basin and then yank my shirt over my head, leaving me bare-chested behind her. Her eyes wander my heavily tattooed body as I slowly lift her shirt over her head.

“Rome,” she warns, a little firmer this time.

“Trust me,” I urge.

She hesitates but then helps me remove her shirt, leaving her in a white lacy bra. I fight the animal inside me who wants to devour her, but that’s not what this is about. I spin her back around so she’s looking at herself in the mirror while I’m standing behind her, my left arm wrapped around her waist, my fingers trailing the lines of her stretchmarks.

Her eyes follow what I’m doing, and her muscles tense like she is uncomfortable, but I use my other hand to force her to look up at me. “You think you’re so different from me? That these stretch marks mar your skin?”

She subtly nods her head. So I lift my arms on either side of her, out wide like the letter T. She furrows her brows as if confused. “Look at my biceps, look real close… they’re hidden because of the tattoos, but do you see…” I smile. “We’re not so different, angel.”

Ingrid looks in the mirror, narrowing her eyes, and then like a lightbulb goes off, she spots my stretchmarks. She spins to face me, her fingers trailing the lines like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. “But… how?”

“In my late teens, I hit the gym hard. My muscles grew too fast, making my skin stretch, giving me stretch marks. I know it’s not the same as having a baby, but I felt self-conscious about them. They’re on my legs and back. I was so worried about looking different I covered myself in tattoos to hide them. But now I’m older, I know I didn’t need to do that. They’re a part of my journey. A part of who I am, of how I got to be the man standing before you today.”

“So you’re saying I should embrace my flaws?” she asks.

“No, angel, I’m saying they’re not flaws at all. They’re simply a part of your story. And honestly, they make you more beautiful.” I spin her around so she’s facing the mirror again to make her look at herself. “Look…reallylook. I need you to see what I see. These marks are the proof that you’re an amazing mother. Such a strong human and so fucking resilient. I’m in awe of you, Ingrid.”

She shakes her head. “You see all that in my stretchmarks?”

I move to her side and kneel beside her. Her eyes widen as I slide my hands up her hips. “These marks aresooofucking beautiful, and I need you toneverdoubt that. Never doubt how stunning you are,” I tell her, then lean in, pressing my lips to her stomach against her stretchmarks.

Her hand slides into my hair, holding me to her as a tear slides down her cheek.

“Will you still think my body is beautiful if I have to have my breasts removed?” she asks.

She feels vulnerable, and I need to step it up so she knows I don’t care what she looks like. The fact she’s a bombshell is a bonus, but I wouldn’t care if she wasn’t—it’s her, as a person, her wonderful personality, her caring nature, just her that I am attracted to.

Everything else is added extras.

I stand and wrap my arms around Ingrid, pulling her to me. Her arms instinctively slide around my neck as I stare into her eyes. This is the first time our chests have had skin-to-skin contact. Yes, her bra is still on, but the rest of our bodies are together, and fuck, it feels so damn good.

“Baby, if that happens, I’ll be there with you every step of the way. If you have to have them removed for your health, then I am all for it. I don’t need breasts to adore you. I don’t need kids to be whole. I don’t need anythingyouthink I need, Ingrid. I. Just. Need. You.”

Her bottom lip trembles as a fat tear rolls down her cheek, and I gently wipe it away. “My God, you’re sweet.”

“What the fuck! I’m fucking rough and manly and a damn biker.” I smirk. “ I am none of this sweet bullshit, thank you.”

She giggles and places a tender kiss on my cheek. “I see right through your tough-guy façade, Romeo. Thank you for showing me how much you care.”

I lean in, pressing my lips to hers briefly. “You’re welcome. Now, should we go eat?”

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