Page 42 of Lust & Lies
“This is better,” he said with a nod.
“For who? You or me?”
“For everyone,” he muttered.
Shaking my head, I reached in and pulled out a long, black-and-white cotton sleep shirt and some black boy shorts.
“I’ll take these.”
“Good choice,” he agreed, already turning his back to me. “I’ll be in bed while you go in the bathroom to get dressed.”
“Bathroom? Why would I go in the bathroom when I can get dressed right here?”
I let the towel fall from my body just as he glanced over his shoulder at me. There was that look I craved.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NOELLE
HELLO, SAVAGE!
When he first noticed I was naked, he moved, like he was going to rush to look away. But then, he froze, as if his body was refusing to obey his command. Finally, he gave in and looked his fill.
His gaze drifted over me slowly, and I could practically feel the heat from his stare setting my body ablaze. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t shy away. I wanted him to see me, all of me, flaws and all. The good and the broken parts of me.
My heart rate sped up when his gaze lingered on my breasts. I knew my titties were sitting right, plump, perky, and pretty. I arched my back a little, just for him. His jaw clenched, and my pussy did the same.
Then his eyes dipped lower, over my stomach, straight down to where I was already wet for him. He licked his lips, and I swear my kitty wept tears of joy. The way this man looked at me was good for my ego. It wasn’t just lust in the dark depths of his gaze.
It was hunger. Possession. Worship. All of it rolled into one dangerous look. He already told me how savage he could be with me. And the way he’d gripped my throat earlier let me know he could indeed get that way about me. That same kind of look was in his eyes right now.
I swallowed, ready to be choked a little bit. But then his eyes drifted to my side, to one of the scars from the car accident. The savagery left his gaze in an instant, replaced with something softer, something that made my chest ache.
A look of concern.
It seemed to pain him to stare at my scar. He approached me slowly. Naked, I stood completely still when he reached for me, fingers brushing the skin near the scar. I sucked in a breath at his touch. Not from pain, but from how gently he was handling me.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked, voice low.
I shook my head. “Sometimes, it feels tender, especially when I move a certain way. But no real pain.”
“Even if it did hurt, you wouldn’t tell me,” he murmured, gaze still on the scar. “I hate it when you hide your pain from me,” he whispered. “If something hurts, tell me.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” I insisted softly. “I promise. If you don’t believe me, touch it.”
His thumb traced it once. The caress was feather-light, as if he were afraid he would hurt me if he applied the smallest amount of pressure.
“See,” I told him. “I didn’t flinch at all. It doesn’t hurt. It just feels tender.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
But even after my promise, he still didn’t take his gaze away from the scar.
“Is it ugly?” I didn’t mean to ask that.
Those words slipped out before I could stop them. Maybe it was the way he was staring at it that started to make me feel self-conscious about it. I don’t know. But I instantly wished I could take those words back.
