Page 101 of The Off-Limits Play

“I…” She shakes her head. “Well, let’s at least get under the covers.”

She continues to avoid my gaze, her lips pinching into a thin line as she tries to wrestle the duvet out from underneath us. I don’t roll aside to help her because she’s hiding something right now, and I want to know why she’d want to keep any of this luscious body out of sight. She’s fucking gorgeous. And I want to see every inch of this smooth dark skin.

I slow her frantic movements, capturing her wrist and pulling it over her head.

Trapped in my grasp, I chase her wandering gaze until she finally looks at me.

“What?” she snaps.

I study her, hoping my silent appraisal will be enough.

But she doesn’t give.

Her lips twitch, and she huffs out her nose. “Just let me get under the?—"

“Why? Are you cold?”

Her expression pinches, so I rub my thumb along the delicate skin of her wrist.

“What are you hiding, kitten?”

“Kitten?” She scoffs.

My lips twitch, but I refuse to be distracted from this. I instinctively know that it’s important. So I brush the tip of my nose across her cheek and lightly peck her lips. “Don’t change the subject. Why do you want to hide from me?”

She lets out a shuddering breath. Another strike of lightning illuminates the sky, and I let her arms go, covering her ears with my hands as the thunder rolls through. It’s moving away, less loud and dramatic, but she still looks scared.

Although now I’m not sure if she’s more scared because I’m making her show me something or?—

Her leg.

She’ll have scars on her leg.

As the realization dawns, my lips curve into a gentle smile. “I’m not afraid of scars, Nylah.”

Her expression crumples. “These aren’t just scars.” She shakes her head. “They’re so ugly, and you just really don’t need to see them. So let’s turn off the light and go under the covers and get busy. Come on, hot stuff. I just want you to do me in the dark.”

I snicker and shake my head. “Hot stuff?” I rise to my knees, hooking my fingers into the hem of her pants. “Lame.”

She snatches the fabric before I can pull them off her hips.

“Kitten,” I softly warn.

“Hot stuff,” she warns right back.

Tipping my head, I smile at her, coaxing her fingers to relax. “Trust me. Please.”

With a thick swallow, she releases her grip, and I tug her pajama pants down. Squeezing her eyes shut, she turns her head on the pillow while I inch the fabric off her gorgeous legs and spot those gnarly surgical scars.

They’re long and jagged, some of the scars obviously from the accident as well. Her leg must have been toast, trapped in that car for hours. Pain courses through me as I lightly run my finger over the worst of the scarring.

She pulls in a shaky breath, rising to her elbows so she can look down at me. “I know they’re gross. You don’t have to be nice about it. I won’t be offended.”

I can’t help a scoffing laugh. “They’re not gross. They’re scars. And they’re part of you, which makes them automatically beautiful.”

Her lips part, her eyes glassing with tears. With a sniff, she lifts her chin and shakes her head. “Don’t say shit like that to me or you’re gonna be having sex with a blubbering mess.”

Running my hand down her leg with a soft laugh, I brush my thumb over the worst of her scarring, then lean down and lick each line and rough curve. Nibbling my way up her body, I get to that neatly maintained plume of black hair between her legs and look up at her. Wriggling my eyebrows, I lick my lips and murmur, “You taste good, kitten. Let me have some more.”

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