“I see you.”
“Don’t look at me,” he commanded, his voice firm. “Look at yourself and tell me what you see.”
I sighed, but let my eyes fall from his to my own. They were a dull brown, no life sparkling behind them. My skin was oily, my face bland without any makeup on, and my dark blonde hair was lying almost pin-straight over my shoulders. I swallowed as I let my eyes fall further. It wasn’t that I didn’t ever look in a mirror — I saw myself in the gym mirrors and when I was anywhere in public — but I never studied myself this way. I could see that I’d lost weight, but I was still far from looking anything like Willow or Shay. I had curves. I had large breasts, thick thighs, and big hips.
“I see everything I still need to work on and everything I don’t want to see when I look in the mirror five years from now.”
Rhodes breathed heavily behind me, but he didn’t say anything. I watched his face in the mirror and saw a mixture of emotions cross it — from pain to confusion and everything in-between. Slowly, he moved to my left, staring intently at me as I still faced the mirror.
“Show me.”
The way he said those two words made me shiver. He commanded attention, he always did.
“Show you what?”
Rhodes swallowed, stepping a little closer. “Show me what you hate.”
I let out a shaky breath, my eyes roaming all the imperfections of my body. “Well, my stomach—”
“Show me,” Rhodes interrupted. “Don’t tell me.”
Swallowing, I lifted my hands from where they rested at my sides and gently touched my stomach. I knew it was smaller than just a few weeks before, but it was still thick — there was still a roll when I sat down and I had muffin tops that fell over my tiny shorts.
“Lift your arms.”
I looked at Rhodes questioningly, but the way he stared back — his eyes intense and determined — I didn’t question him out loud. I lifted my arms above my head and waited. Rhodes’ throat constricted and he seemed to be battling with what he was about to do, but before I had the chance to think more of it he grabbed the hem of my shirt and carefully pulled it up and over my head.
My heart accelerated from a slow trot to a full-throttled gallop. He was stripping me. Rhodes was stripping off my clothes.
Slowly, he bent to his knees and glanced up at me. I could never forget the way he looked kneeling below me — vulnerable, yet still so strong. He pulled his eyes from mine long enough to wrap his large hands around my waist and press his lips gently to my stomach.
And I remember it hurt that first time he touched me. Not because it was painful, but because it was everything but. It hurt from somewhere deep inside my gut that told me I would never get to have him, to keep him, or to feel the way I felt with his hands on me with anyone else for as long as I tried.
“Where else?”
His eyes were lifted to mine, and though my heart was still racing, I somehow managed to move my hand to touch the upper part of my opposite arm. Rhodes stood, grabbed my hand in his to straighten my arm, and then kissed where I had just touched.
I was catching on.
My breaths were ragged, but I moved my hand to the next area without him asking. I didn’t know if I was supposed to be looking in the mirror, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from the sight of him. He bent and moved with each new place I touched, following it with a sensual kiss.
My breath caught in my throat as I touched my inner thighs. I couldn’t believe I was doing this, that I was standing in front of a mirror practically naked with Rhodes touching me in ways I’d never imagined. He licked his lips before falling back to his knees and tucking his fingertips into the top band of my shorts. I gasped at the touch, and he inched the fabric off my hips slowly before letting them drop to the floor.
I was standing in front of Rhodes in nothing but my bra and panties, and though I felt like squirming, hiding, or running away, the weight of his gaze held me locked in place. His eyes flicked to mine and he kept them there as he leaned in to press his lips to my left thigh. I couldn’t help it, I moaned low under my breath and he gripped the back of my legs tighter as his lips moved to the other thigh.
When he looked back up at me waiting for the next direction, I swallowed. I knew it was a bold move, but I felt alive in that moment — completely unstoppable. With shaking fingertips, I reached up and just barely touched my lips.
Rhodes lifted himself from the ground, towering over me once again. I could see how I was affecting him through the thin fabric of his gym shorts and my breaths came harder. I was turning him on. It seemed impossible and yet it was true, which only fueled my confidence. “You hate your lips?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t hate my lips. In fact, they were probably what I loved most about my body. They were plump, a deep pink, and I religiously used lip balm to keep them soft. Rhodes knew we’d moved past touching what I hated about my body. I wanted him to kiss me. I didn’t know if I should want that, if I could even allow myself to want it, but I didn’t fight it in that moment. I just waited.
Rhodes bit the inside of his bottom lip, his brows pulled down low over his bright emerald eyes. They flicked to my mouth and back to my eyes several times, as if he were debating the same thoughts I had just had.
“Natalie,” he warned, but at the same time his hands moved to cradle my face between them. My lips parted and I let my eyes fall to his. I desperately wanted to taste him.
“Rhodes,” I breathed back, my hands finding his waist. I let them rest there, still waiting. Rhodes expelled a breath, shook his head just barely enough for me to notice, and then closed the space between us.
Heat is never a sign of something good. It’s an indicator that you’re burning, a symptom of an infection, a side effect of fever. But the heat I felt when Rhodes touched me — when he kissed me — was the best sensation. It was white hot and electrifying. It seared my skin and blazed through every inch of my body. It burned me. It scarred me. But I loved it.
My hands fisted in his t-shirt as he deepened the kiss. His tongue slipped inside to massage mine and I moaned into his mouth, making the erection in his shorts grow even more noticeable. Hastily, he pulled me back onto the guest bed and we fell into the soft goose down comforter, the fabric swallowing us like a cloud.
Rhodes’ hands explored my body as he kissed me. He sucked my bottom lip between his teeth before moving to my neck and across my collarbone. I was breathing so hard I was sure I’d hyperventilate. I’d never experienced a kiss so passionate, so laced with desire. His hand was rough, callused from the weight bars as he dragged it down my neck, over my breast, across my stomach and finally rested just above the hem of my panties. I squirmed beneath his touch, anxious to feel his hand just a fraction lower.
“Don’t look at me,” he commanded, his voice firm. “Look at yourself and tell me what you see.”
I sighed, but let my eyes fall from his to my own. They were a dull brown, no life sparkling behind them. My skin was oily, my face bland without any makeup on, and my dark blonde hair was lying almost pin-straight over my shoulders. I swallowed as I let my eyes fall further. It wasn’t that I didn’t ever look in a mirror — I saw myself in the gym mirrors and when I was anywhere in public — but I never studied myself this way. I could see that I’d lost weight, but I was still far from looking anything like Willow or Shay. I had curves. I had large breasts, thick thighs, and big hips.
“I see everything I still need to work on and everything I don’t want to see when I look in the mirror five years from now.”
Rhodes breathed heavily behind me, but he didn’t say anything. I watched his face in the mirror and saw a mixture of emotions cross it — from pain to confusion and everything in-between. Slowly, he moved to my left, staring intently at me as I still faced the mirror.
“Show me.”
The way he said those two words made me shiver. He commanded attention, he always did.
“Show you what?”
Rhodes swallowed, stepping a little closer. “Show me what you hate.”
I let out a shaky breath, my eyes roaming all the imperfections of my body. “Well, my stomach—”
“Show me,” Rhodes interrupted. “Don’t tell me.”
Swallowing, I lifted my hands from where they rested at my sides and gently touched my stomach. I knew it was smaller than just a few weeks before, but it was still thick — there was still a roll when I sat down and I had muffin tops that fell over my tiny shorts.
“Lift your arms.”
I looked at Rhodes questioningly, but the way he stared back — his eyes intense and determined — I didn’t question him out loud. I lifted my arms above my head and waited. Rhodes’ throat constricted and he seemed to be battling with what he was about to do, but before I had the chance to think more of it he grabbed the hem of my shirt and carefully pulled it up and over my head.
My heart accelerated from a slow trot to a full-throttled gallop. He was stripping me. Rhodes was stripping off my clothes.
Slowly, he bent to his knees and glanced up at me. I could never forget the way he looked kneeling below me — vulnerable, yet still so strong. He pulled his eyes from mine long enough to wrap his large hands around my waist and press his lips gently to my stomach.
And I remember it hurt that first time he touched me. Not because it was painful, but because it was everything but. It hurt from somewhere deep inside my gut that told me I would never get to have him, to keep him, or to feel the way I felt with his hands on me with anyone else for as long as I tried.
“Where else?”
His eyes were lifted to mine, and though my heart was still racing, I somehow managed to move my hand to touch the upper part of my opposite arm. Rhodes stood, grabbed my hand in his to straighten my arm, and then kissed where I had just touched.
I was catching on.
My breaths were ragged, but I moved my hand to the next area without him asking. I didn’t know if I was supposed to be looking in the mirror, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from the sight of him. He bent and moved with each new place I touched, following it with a sensual kiss.
My breath caught in my throat as I touched my inner thighs. I couldn’t believe I was doing this, that I was standing in front of a mirror practically naked with Rhodes touching me in ways I’d never imagined. He licked his lips before falling back to his knees and tucking his fingertips into the top band of my shorts. I gasped at the touch, and he inched the fabric off my hips slowly before letting them drop to the floor.
I was standing in front of Rhodes in nothing but my bra and panties, and though I felt like squirming, hiding, or running away, the weight of his gaze held me locked in place. His eyes flicked to mine and he kept them there as he leaned in to press his lips to my left thigh. I couldn’t help it, I moaned low under my breath and he gripped the back of my legs tighter as his lips moved to the other thigh.
When he looked back up at me waiting for the next direction, I swallowed. I knew it was a bold move, but I felt alive in that moment — completely unstoppable. With shaking fingertips, I reached up and just barely touched my lips.
Rhodes lifted himself from the ground, towering over me once again. I could see how I was affecting him through the thin fabric of his gym shorts and my breaths came harder. I was turning him on. It seemed impossible and yet it was true, which only fueled my confidence. “You hate your lips?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t hate my lips. In fact, they were probably what I loved most about my body. They were plump, a deep pink, and I religiously used lip balm to keep them soft. Rhodes knew we’d moved past touching what I hated about my body. I wanted him to kiss me. I didn’t know if I should want that, if I could even allow myself to want it, but I didn’t fight it in that moment. I just waited.
Rhodes bit the inside of his bottom lip, his brows pulled down low over his bright emerald eyes. They flicked to my mouth and back to my eyes several times, as if he were debating the same thoughts I had just had.
“Natalie,” he warned, but at the same time his hands moved to cradle my face between them. My lips parted and I let my eyes fall to his. I desperately wanted to taste him.
“Rhodes,” I breathed back, my hands finding his waist. I let them rest there, still waiting. Rhodes expelled a breath, shook his head just barely enough for me to notice, and then closed the space between us.
Heat is never a sign of something good. It’s an indicator that you’re burning, a symptom of an infection, a side effect of fever. But the heat I felt when Rhodes touched me — when he kissed me — was the best sensation. It was white hot and electrifying. It seared my skin and blazed through every inch of my body. It burned me. It scarred me. But I loved it.
My hands fisted in his t-shirt as he deepened the kiss. His tongue slipped inside to massage mine and I moaned into his mouth, making the erection in his shorts grow even more noticeable. Hastily, he pulled me back onto the guest bed and we fell into the soft goose down comforter, the fabric swallowing us like a cloud.
Rhodes’ hands explored my body as he kissed me. He sucked my bottom lip between his teeth before moving to my neck and across my collarbone. I was breathing so hard I was sure I’d hyperventilate. I’d never experienced a kiss so passionate, so laced with desire. His hand was rough, callused from the weight bars as he dragged it down my neck, over my breast, across my stomach and finally rested just above the hem of my panties. I squirmed beneath his touch, anxious to feel his hand just a fraction lower.
