43. Gigi
CHAPTER 43
Gigi
“You can always say no,” Luke says gently. “But what do you say to making good use of this room? We haven’t had sex in a while.”
Luke looks embarrassed. His gaze meets mine, but if I had to guess, he thinks I’m going to reject him. If I’m being honest with myself, I also miss being close to him that way. I miss being touched. I miss his lips on mine and his hands on my body…
I feel lightheaded when I think of how my flesh would feel to him if he grabbed me. What he’d see if I undressed.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Whatever flicker of desire is now gone from his face and replaced with worry instead. “You look like I just asked you to kill someone.”
“Nothing,” I chuckle nervously. Guiltily. “It’s nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s just…” Deep breaths, Gigi. You can do this. Be honest with him. He can’t read your mind. “I look different now,” I say in a whisper. “What if you don’t like what you see anymore?”
“You can’t seriously think that.” His tone is clipped, but I know he means no harm by it. “I don’t care what you look like, I just like you . And you look amazing, by the way. So don’t believe that crap you’re telling yourself.”
My cheeks heat at his words. Do I, though? Do I look amazing? “You remember me from before…” I don’t dare continue. Before the pregnancy. Before the birth. Finishing that sentence would mean I’m not grateful for my kids.
Suddenly feeling like I might combust from shame, I stand up to go to the bathroom. Luke catches my wrist, pulling me closer so that I’m standing between his legs. Looking up, he says, “Then show me. So that I know what you look like now.” Those honey eyes watch me with tenderness, pleading with me to connect with him. “We won’t do anything you don’t want to. Promise.”
I feel the slight tremble in my hands as I pull my dress over my head. Dresses and oversized T-shirts are the only things I wear nowadays, even though I already fit into my old clothes again. They don’t feel right. Some parts are tighter and some baggier than before. It makes me feel like I can’t get my appearance right. Less put together. Less perfect.
Luke leans on his hands, silently tracking my movements. He doesn’t say a word once I’m only in my underwear. Not sure of what to do and what he wants from me, I push my lacy boy shorts down, stepping out of them when they reach my ankles. I try to cup something with both of my hands. When he realizes that it’s the C-section scar that I’m nervous about and not my sex, he gently swats my palms away.
“You look gorgeous, Gigi,” he says, looking up.
If I weren’t so self-conscious, I’d make a joke about feeling like a hooker, undressing in a hotel room in front of a man who looks like he just came back from a business meeting. But I don’t have it in me to be that witty at the moment, so, instead, I swallow the lump in my throat.
“Take off your bra.”
My body freezes. I was hoping he wouldn’t say that. Really fucking hoping. They say be careful what you wish for, and whoever they were, were right. I used to envy big-chested girls. Now that my breasts are almost always engorged, I really miss my A-cups.
“Luke, I?—”
“I want to see them, Gi,” he says, grabbing my hips. “Will you take your bra off for me?”
His words make the area between my thighs ache. I haven’t felt this kind of rush in a while. But I also feel shame. Lots of it.
You can do this, Gigi. Think of happy thoughts.
Slowly, my fingers reach for the clasp on my back. I peel the nursing bra off me, almost dying of embarrassment when the nursing pads fall down, and let it drop next to the pool of clothes on the floor.
I choose to focus on the patterns of my dress instead. I can’t look at his face. I don’t know what he’s thinking. The angry stretch marks on my hips and boobs, my scar, the slight swell on my stomach…they’re all there on display for him to see. I’m supposed to look like this twenty years from now, not when I’m twenty. Twenty-year-olds don’t fucking look like this.
Gigi, stop it. That’s not true. Girls come in all shapes and sizes.
As Luke stands up, the friction from his dress shirt against my nipples sends another jolt to my vagina. I clench my thighs together at the sensation.
“Baby, look at me.” The huskiness of his voice and the endearment that he rarely uses makes my heart beat faster. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Gigi. Do you get that?” He interlaces his fingers with mine and brings it down to his crotch, giving me a feel of his swollen dick. “You have nothing to worry about,” he rasps. “Not a single thing.”
His lips caress mine and my eyes flutter close. The little pecks turn into our tongues melting together and his hold on me becomes possessive. I sag in relief at the feeling. I let myself embrace the moment.
I almost cry from happiness, but then, I feel wetness on the material of his shirt. Luke must notice it too because he breaks the kiss. As we both look down, I feel myself shriveling. Breast milk is coming out of my nipples, dripping drop by drop. Mortified, I mumble out sounds that don’t make sense. I wish I could just change my name and disappear.
Luke stares at my face, but, again, I choose to focus on my dress that’s crumpled up on the floor. He’s not laughing. Not mocking. He sits back down on the edge of the bed and brings me closer to him. As I’m on his lap, straddling him, still unwilling to meet his gaze, he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.
“You’re leaking. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
I know he’s not lying because I feel the bulge under me. So very big and so very erect. I’m about to say something, or I’m looking for something to say to him, but my brain turns into mush when I feel his tongue on my underboob, licking the milk away. I should be ashamed of this, but my pussy has other plans. It throbs, having a beat of its own.
“Luke, what are you doing?” I finally ask.
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he puts his lips around one of my nipples, his eyes boring into mine. Once he’s sure that I’m watching, he flicks his tongue once, twice, before he laps up whatever is coming out. I squirm and moan, watching while the other one drips liquid, causing the left side of his hair to get wet.
“Touch yourself, Gi,” he rasps as he lays his forehead between my breasts.
“What?”
“Touch yourself. Finish yourself off.” He licks the bottom of his lip and then he kisses me, letting me taste the chalkiness and sweetness that coats his tongue.
As I snake an arm down my stomach and give myself release, Luke continues cleaning me up. He lays his tongue flat on my stomach, on my breast, slowly making his way up to my throat before claiming my mouth. I pull on his hair as I come apart.
Luke lets me catch my breath for a few seconds before flipping me on my back. As he unzips his dress pants and pulls them down, I notice that I’m not scared shitless anymore of him seeing me like this. Messy hair and stretch marks and saggy boobs and scar. He licked my breast milk like it was ice cream on a hot summer day, for God’s sake. I see it in his eyes how much he wants me.
I feel free, and beautiful, and wanted.
We both laugh when he takes out a condom from his wallet and puts it on. There’s a first time for everything, I guess. Luke puts my hands above my head, holding me by the wrists. As he slides into me, I welcome the feeling of fullness in my core. And as he comes undone, I whisper in his ear over and over again that I love him.