Page 161 of Love Unwritten
Her head snaps up. “What?”
“Let me get a look at them before you assume the worst.”
“Rafael.”
“Show me just how hideous they really are,” I say with a bit more grit. That word—and whatever memory is clearly attached to it—pushes her over the edge.
“Fine. You want to get a look at them?” She stands, her body rippling with anger. “Let’s see how quickly you change your mind.” She grabs the band of her pajama pants and pushes them down.
I prop my arm against the back of the couch to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing her. My fingers painfully dig into the material, and my nails threaten to rip a seam.
I don’t drop my eyes as I stare into hers and say, “You’re beautiful.”
She shudders. “You’re not even looking.”
“It won’t change the way I feel about you.”
“You’re just saying that.”
I stand and walk over to her. “Would you rather me prove it instead?”
She sucks in a breath as I slide down to my knees in front of her. I can see the scars, yes, but they are surrounded by a countless number of beautiful tattoos. A This too shall pass tattoo is written in thin cursive across one of her thighs, hardly noticeable amongst the galaxy of stars.
When I glance up, she is looking straight ahead.
I grip her legs. “Look at me.” When she finally slides those pretty hazel eyes toward me, I speak. “You may see a broken masterpiece, but I only see you.”
I lean forward and press a kiss against one of her scars. My lips brush over another one and another after that until, soon enough, I lose count of how many times I’ve kissed her thighs.
The tears she tried so hard to keep from falling betray her as I whisper sweet praises against her skin. Her body trembles when I get closer to the hem of her pajama top, which hangs past her panty line, but I don’t lift the material.
I only have so much self-control, and I have a feeling it would snap the moment I saw her most intimate place.
Based on my cock straining in my pants, I made the right choice, even if it feels like absolute torture to stay away.
Her clenched hands shake. “This isn’t a good idea.”
My lips hover over a patch of skin. “I know.”
“We should stop.”
I don’t miss the way she clenches her thighs while saying it. If I lift her top, will I find her wet for me?
I bet if I lean forward, I could probably—
“Rafa.” Ellie sounds both pained and aroused, which strokes my ego while simultaneously doing the exact opposite.
That’s my girl, always turning me into a walking, talking contradiction of mixed emotions.
Against every fiber of my being, I rise to my feet and step away. My heart protests against taking a step toward the door, but I power through and rely on my critical thinking.
Where was that critical thinking a few minutes ago when you were getting down on your knees in front of her?
“Where are you going?” Her question is laced with panic.
“If I stay any longer, I’m going to end up doing something you’ll clearly regret.” I turn back to the door.
“Who says I’ll regret it?” she asks.