Page 100 of Marry Lies
She’s fucking perfect.
I reach into my pants and pull my phone out, taking one step away from the shower so it doesn’t get wet. After snapping my photo, I set my phone down on the table next to the shower and help her up. Then, I begin to remove my shirt.
“What are you doing?” she asks, watching me.
Watching me with my cum dripping off her perfect tits.
“What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t clean my wife?”
The smile she gives me makes my chest ache.
I love you,I think as I step out of my pants and boxers.
It takes me a second to realize this is the first time I’ve ever been naked in front of anyone other than my brothers and the doctors after my incident.
The first time anyone has ever seen all my scars like this.
The first timeshe’sseen the warped skin on my hips and the tops of my thighs.
I go still with that realization, but Estelle’s small, warm hand takes mine, pulling me into the shower with her.
And I let her.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
THE DEFENSE
Stella
After cleaning me up and drying me off, Miles follows me to my bedroom. I give him a cheeky smile as I shed my towel, a whole body shiver going through me when he lets out a low, primal growl. I quickly change into jeans, a white tube top, a bright pink blazer, and flat sandals. My husband watches me with darkened eyes the entire time, like he’s ready to devour me at any moment.
It makes my stomach erupt with butterflies. I’ve never had anyonecraveme the way he seems to. I’ve never had anyone appreciate the cellulite on the backs of my thighs, the stomach that’s most definitely not flat, the stretch marks all over my hips and thighs. I’m a plus-size woman with curves and an arse, and while I’ve always been comfortable with the way that I look, I can’t help the small insecurities that slip in from time to time. While society is getting better about accepting all types of bodies, certain things still penetrate my tough exterior. Sample sizing, models, the fashion industry as a whole…it’s a lot to wade through.
As I run my fingers through my wet curls, I look over my shoulder at Miles.
He’s so…perfect.
And even if I’m confident enough to know that I’m beautiful, a very, very small voice sometimes breaks through the noise.
You’re too big for him.
He prefers women who are smaller.
Your curves are the exact opposite of the hard planes of his body.
It’s enough to make me second guess everything for the first time since we got married. I know he finds me attractive—I’m not worried about that.
It’s just that sometimes the intrusive thoughts, which are worse immediately after my episodes, make me feel insignificant and like I’m not enough.
After running some curl cream through my hair, I turn to face him with a bare face.
“Come here,” Miles murmurs.
My eyes dart to the white towel around his waist. The muscles that sculpt his abdomen, his arms. The veins that run down to his fingers. Walking over to him, I come to stand between his legs as my fingers trace his scars. Tilting my head slightly, I let my nails lightly drag over the puckered skin. He closes his eyes as his nostrils flare. I know this is hard for him—letting someoneseehim.
Letting someonetouchhim.
I swallow the lump in my throat when I think about the fact that he’s lettingmedo both.
