Chapter 38

Clam 

I raise my arms with effort, and he peels the fabric up and away, revealing the swell of my breasts in a lacy black bra, heavy and full, the n*****s tightening. He reaches behind me and in a single practiced motion, he unhooks my bra. It falls to the floor, and there I am, half-naked in front of him. 

He kneels to ease down my jeans, his fingers hooking into the waistband and drawing them downward with deliberate care. He moves the fabric over my hips and thighs while his palms smooth along my legs to keep the motion gentle. He glances up at me from the floor. 

“Zara? Can I take your underwear off?” 

I nod, my throat too tight to speak. Gently, so carefully, he reaches out and slides the black scrap of lace down my legs. My p***y comes into view, the soft folds glistening faintly from the heat of the room, sensitive and exposed. His thumbs trace lightly along my hips, avoiding the worst of the purple marks, and his eyes fall on the massive surgical scar across my stomach. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he says, voice low and rough. “Even like this, marked up and bruised, you’re perfect.” 

Tears prickle the corners of my eyes, because I believe him. I know he’s telling me the truth, and it’s like a soothing balm spread all over my decimated, tortured ego.