Skylar #2
“You didn’t need to fix anything!” he snaps. “You were fucking perfect.” Catching himself, his voice drops. The anger in his tone is replaced by something softer. “You are perfect.”
He couldn’t be more wrong. “Look, I think we can both agree the mood is ruined. I’m gonna go.”
“Sky—”
“Stop. I’m not interested in you giving me pity sex now just so you can make yourself feel better about being a grade-A dickhead.”
“I’d be the one getting pity sex.”
Confused, I stare at him. “Huh?”
He shrugs. “You just insinuated my motive for having sex with you would be to make myself feel better. Technically, you’d be the one giving me pity sex then. Just saying.”
He’s unbelievable. “What? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“You know what else doesn’t make sense? You thinking I’d ever have sex with you for any other reason than because I want you. I might be a grade-A dickhead, but don’t insult my integrity.”
I glare at him. “You manipulative asshole.”
“Incredibly sexy asshole.” His lips curve into a smug smirk. “With incredibly high standards.” His expression turns earnest. “Standards you exceed.”
The conviction in his voice—in his eyes—leaves no room for doubt.
Ignoring the way my heart pangs, I throw up my hands. “You couldn’t have just apologized like a normal person, could you?”
“Nope.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he crooks a finger at me. “Get your ass over here.”
I hesitate as I take a step—then another—until I’m standing between his legs.
He reaches for the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head. His movements are fluid and unhurried. Steady. A stark contrast to the jumble of nerves coursing through me.
Keeping his gaze trained on me, he unties the drawstring on my pants and slides them off my hips. “Tell me what you don’t like about you.”
Where do I begin? “It’s a long list.”
Reaching behind me, he unclips my bra. “I’ve got all night.”
I tremble when he reaches for my panties next.
I feel vulnerable. Exposed. Like a mutilated corpse being pulled out of a car wreck that everyone’s stopped to gawk at.
But there’s something in his stare. Patient…grounding. It undoes me.
“The stretch marks on my stomach and hips. The cellulite on my ass and thighs. The little bulge of fat on my lower stomach. My lashes…one curls up more than the other. The way my upper arm jiggles whenever I pump my fist in the air. My stubby, sausage fingers. And let’s not forget, the huge, ugly dimple on my ass,” I prattle on as he watches me intently.
“Just…everything.” I gesture to my boobs.
“Well, except these…because a good surgeon fixed them.”
I expect him to make up some excuse and call it a night after all, because who the hell wants to deal with an insecure headcase who sounds like they’re fishing for compliments?
I open my mouth to feign a migraine and let him off the hook, but he brings my fingers to his mouth, kissing each of them one by one.
“I love your fingers. The way they fly across your phone screen whenever you’re sending me some smartass text.
I love seeing what color you paint your nails each week.
” A sly grin tugs at his mouth. “How good they feel when they’re wrapped around my cock.
” His throat bobs on a swallow. “But mostly I love them because they’re yours. ”
Rough hands slide to my hips, tracing the white lines with his calloused fingers before dipping his head and planting gentle kisses along each one.
“I love these…because you’re no longer that little girl in Tennessee who once let her demons stunt her.
You’re a beautiful, grown woman. One who gets up every day and fights like hell.
No matter what or who tries to take her down. ”
A sharp exhale leaves me when he kisses my lower stomach. “I love this…because it means you still enjoy your cobbler and chicken.”
I can’t help but snort. “Clearly a little too much.”
“Nah. No such thing.”
He spins me around. Instinctively, I bend a little hoping it will help smooth everything out, but he presses a hand to my lower back, kissing my thighs before urging me to straighten my spine.
When I do, he gives my butt cheek a little swat.
“I love this because it’s something plump to grab while I worship it like it deserves…
or slap whenever you’re being a brat.” He traces a tiny circle over my butt dimple.
“I love this because it means you aren’t airbrushed and hidden by a filter. ”
He turns me around to face him again, this time focusing on my upper arms. “I love how these feel when they’re wrapped around me. I love how soft they are.” He plants a gentle kiss on my skin. “I love the little freckles scattered across them.”
Rising to his feet, he kisses my eyelids. “Lashes are above my pay grade, but I love how yours frame those beautiful hazel eyes.”
I inwardly grimace when he sits on the bed again, putting himself eye-level with my tits. I appreciate what he’s doing—more than he’ll ever know—but I don’t want him to feel obligated to say something nice about a body part that I know for a fact he isn’t fond of. “You don’t have to—”
A sharp gasp leaves me when he draws my nipple into his mouth.
“I love how sensitive they are. They were perfect before and they’re perfect now.
” His expression is full of sincerity. “You’re right.
They don’t belong to him…they belong to you.
Which means they’re flawless. And not because of some surgeon…
but because every single part of you is perfect.
” He visibly swallows. “To me…and for me.”
A lump lodges in my throat as he fills his hands with them, teasing with gentle sucks before groaning and pulling them into his mouth. Something in me breaks wide open as he continues.
Stopping to kiss every insecurity I named again and again.
Every tender kiss feels like a silent promise he’s making. I see you. You’re safe with me. Every delicate touch feels like an apology for every cruel word I’ve ever believed about myself.
My body feels less like a battlefield I need to armor up for and more like his song…broken but beautiful.
A shaky breath escapes as I peer down at him. We’ve had sex tons of times, but this time it feels different.
Like the very first time.
“I need you inside me, Memphis.”
For once, it’s not just lust and longing fueling my request. It’s a deep hunger to merge with him.
To have him fill the void inside me.
Because only he can.
Pulling me close, he guides us into a sitting position. “Take whatever you need.”
I need him. Just him.
A whimper leaves me as I slowly take him in, stretching as he fills me to the hilt. Grabbing my face with both hands, he rests his forehead against mine. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, like he’s willing me to believe it just as much as he does.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to disagree. But when he looks at me like this—so full of adoration and devotion—I start to believe him.
Memphis pulls me close as I slowly ride him. A deep groan fills my ear before he grips my hips and flips me onto my back, taking over as he pins my arms above my head, forcing me to lock my gaze with his.
This time it’s not about possession, it’s about reverence.
His thrusts are slow and deliberate. Silently letting me know that he sees me for all that I am and all that I’m not. That he isn’t blind to my flaws, he just doesn’t see them in the same destructive, critical way that I do.
Because in his eyes, they’re a part of what makes me…me.
His Sky.
Somewhere between the rhythm of our movements and the steady beat of his heart against mine, I finally know what true freedom feels like.
In this moment, I don’t have to battle my demons.
In this moment, I don’t need to save or be saved.
In this moment, I don’t need to be fixed.
I get to just be.
Later, I’m curled against him, my eyelids growing heavy with sleep when I hear him hum the same melody from earlier.
“What’s it called?” I mumble, breathing him in.
His lips brush my hair. “Sky’s Lullaby.”
I smile as I drift off…wrapped up in a man and a song made just for me.