“Okay,” I say, closing the lid. “I’ll go get ready.”
Upstairs, I rifle through the wardrobe. It’s mid-May—warm, bright. A sundress? I haven’t worn one in ages. But maybe… maybe I could feel confident enough today.
The dress is creamy white, fitted at the bust, flowing to my knees from my very-much-non-existent waist. When I put it on, I groan.
I look fat.
Eli’s voice whispers through my memory:Next time you call yourself fat, it better be followed by ‘and sexy as hell.’
I just… don’t see it.
“You’re taking up too much space, Emily.”Gia’s phantom words dig into me like a sharp needle.“You shouldn’t wear something like that. It’s embarrassing.”
I remember Eli’s words about the traffickers.Six pounds per square inch of skin.How much would I be worth on their market? Am I more valuable because there’s more of me to harvest? Or less, because my excess skin is a failure?
Twisting in the mirror, all I catch is the sag of my arms, bingo wings waving mockingly, the stretch marks glowing pale across my breasts, my calves looking like tree trunks, and—
The door creaks open. I brace for the critique.
“You look incredible.”
Eli’s voice slices clean through the spiral.
I blink hard, fighting the stupid sting of tears.
His eyes meet mine in the full-length mirror from where he stands in the doorway. How can he say I look incredible? He’s fit and healthy, muscles stretching the fabric of his T-shirt. He doesn’t have cellulite on his thighs or ass. He doesn’t have a stomach that hangs so far forward he can’t see his own vagina without bending into weird angles or physically lifting—
Okay, maybe I’m projecting with that one.
Eli strides towards me with quiet grace until his presence is directly behind me. Heat radiates from his front where it’s almost touching my back.
My hands tremble at my sides. “I don’t like it.”
“What don’t you like about it?”
I swallow, still fighting back tears of self-pity. “My arms.”
Eli runs his hand up my arm, starting from my fingers, all the way up to my shoulder. Goosebumps pebble on my skin despite the warm air. “What’s wrong with your arms?”
“They’re too big.”
Eli’s head shakes. “Agree to disagree. What else?”
“My breasts.”
Eli groans, his head tipping back. “You mean your tits that I want to knead and suck on like my life depends on it?”
My breath stammers. “You… You do?”
He flashes his teeth at me. “More than I want air.”
“I don’t like my legs either.”
Eli moves around me, blocking my view, then drops down to his knees in front of me. “You have no idea how much I’ve imagined having these very legs wrapped around my waist while I fuck you so hard you can’t think straight.” He pressed one finger gently to my calf, then runs it up, just as he did my arm. When he reaches the hem of my dress, he pauses, eyes searching mine. I nod. His hand slips upward. Then his other hand is joining it, the two of them flattening against the skin at the back of my thighs.
I can’t breathe.
Then his hands are on my ass and I’m trembling—with fear, with self-doubt, with desire.