Block Shot (Hoops #2)(84)

“Almost,” I laugh and run my fingers nervously through my damp hair. “I shared all of that to say I’ve always been inhibited about my body. I’ve gotten better. Counseling and, I guess, living, maturing, becoming more confident. All of it has helped.”

I grin up at him.

“And, no, the lights don’t have to be off anymore.”

A slow smile spreads across his lips, and his eyes still glow hot but are solemn.

“I have disciplines,” I tell him. “Things I do to keep myself in a routine and consistent with my health goals. I count points. I work out. I have my apps.”

I look at him as I tug at the belt of my robe.

“At least once a day, I look at myself completely naked.”

Jared’s hooded gaze scours my body, covered nearly head to toe in white terry cloth.

“Seeing you naked every day doesn’t sound like much of a hardship,” he says, voice braided with lust. “Sounds like my fantasy, actually.”

I pause, my fingers caressing the soft fabric, my eyes caressing his face.

“The first time we made love,” I say, resuming the work of my fingers at my waist. “I made you turn the lights off.”

Jared’s glance latches onto my waist, following the simple movements of my fingers.

“This time I want you to see me.” I force the words past the anxious knot in my throat. “Not because I’m perfect—I’m still not—but because I trust you to want me just as I am.”

Jared’s hand covers mine at the belt of the robe. The other hand reaches up to cup my cheek, and his eyes lock with mine.

“I do, Ban,” he says roughly, tenderly. “I’ve seen you. I know you’ve lost weight, but I’m more impressed with how you’ve grown than by what you’ve lost. You’re more confident, more compassionate, more clever, more driven. You’re more of all the things that drew me to you in the first place.”

I blink back tears at the rightness of that. It’s not that Zo didn’t see me clearly. I know he did, and that he loved me for who I was under my skin. But I tried to feel this for him, tried to want him the way I want Jared, and I never could. I don’t know when thinking of him while I’m with Jared and thinking of Jared when I’m with Zo won’t feel disloyal to them both. Right now it does, and I clear my mind of everything but the man standing in front of me.

Ten years ago, I demanded he kill the lights before we went any further. I wrapped layers of clothing around myself then to camouflage my flaws. To hide myself. Now I’m standing under bright, unforgiving lights in the bathroom, only a thin robe between Jared and my imperfections.

And I’m not concerned about the pounds I still need to lose.

I’m not wondering if anything will jiggle when he makes love to me.

I don’t care about the last of the dimples in my thighs or if my hips are too wide.

I’m captivated by the acceptance in his eyes.

Seduced by the care in every touch, even more because I know he doesn’t always care about people, can’t tolerate everyone. But he said he likes me more than any other girl. I never imagined I’d fall for someone like Jared, so opposite of me. We both play by certain rules and are both each other’s exception.

Whatever it is that binds us and has endured even through the hostility and deception compels me to do something I’ve never done with anyone else.

Eyes never leaving his, I completely loosen the belt of the robe. I shrug my left shoulder until one panel falls away, revealing my naked breast and glimpses of my waist and thigh. Jared inhales sharply though his nose and clenches a fist at his side. I shrug my right shoulder and the robe surrenders completely, falling to the ground in a white heap of clouds at my feet.

The tiny network of stretch marks at my waist and thighs, etched in my skin from the weight I’ve gained and lost . . . he sees those.

The discrepancy between my breasts—one slightly larger than the other—he sees that, I’m sure.

The stomach that never seems quite flat enough and pokes out if I even look at bread . . . he must see that. My eyes zero in on it every morning.

I’m sure he sees all my imperfections. I want him to see them and to want me anyway.

And he does.

“Can I touch you now?” His voice is scraped raw with hunger for me. The girl with the pencil in freshman orientation. The one he didn’t see or even recall. That girl stands here showing him everything, trusts him with everything.

And feels completely seen.

I nod jerkily, breasts rising and falling with my choppy breaths.

His hands . . . God, his hands are so reverent when he strokes the curve of my jaw and then traces my face. He wanders down my neck, caressing the skin slowly like he’s savoring every inch. He’s watching the path his hands take, narrowing his eyes on my breasts cupped in his big hands. He bends and takes one nipple into the warmth of his mouth, stroking the other with his thumb.

I clutch the nearby counter, gripping it tightly and trying to stay on my feet while his mouth widens over my breast, sucking aggressively, and his other hand swipes down my side and palms my butt.

“This ass,” he breathes over the dampened tip of my breast and moves his hand between my legs, palming me and sliding three eager fingers inside me without delay. He runs his finger to my ass and strokes the sensitive aperture, surprising me, overtaking me with unexpected sensations as he freely explores my body.