One Day to Fall by Therese Beharrie

Author:Therese Beharrie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-05-23T18:20:52+00:00

Chapter Twelve

She was opening her mouth to him before their lips had fully touched. Surrendering the first percentage because she was sure it would be the toughest.

She wasn’t sure why she was worried. It was like they’d kissed a million times before, though this was only the fourth time. But that didn’t matter. Not as their tongues tangled, fighting a duel where they’d both emerge the winner. Especially as his hands tightened at her waist, gripping the flesh there.

She waited for the towel to fall off as it always did. Though it usually annoyed her, now it offered an excuse to reveal herself when pulling it off seemed too...active. In the end, it didn’t matter. Parker took the ends of the towel at her front and parted them as if he were opening a gift.

She was never self-conscious in front of men, largely out of pure will. It had always felt like she was conceding power to them. She had been born into a society that did that anyway, and zero part of her wanted to play along. So it wasn’t Parker seeing her body that was the problem; it was his expression that bothered her.

His face brightened as his eyes swept over her body. There was a kind of awe there she’d only seen on television. Usually, the person was looking at something materialistic, like a car, or a piece of jewellery. Seeing it in reality now, while he looked at her, made her want to shuffle her feet. Or punch him in the face.

‘How is it possible that you’re so beautiful?’

‘It’s my witchy abilities,’ she answered, though her voice was breathy and didn’t at all belong to her. ‘I’m very powerful. I can make you see perfection if I want to.’

‘Are you doing it now?’

‘Do you see any imperfections?’

His eyes went dark, and for a moment, Sophia worried she’d said the wrong thing. The moment extended when his gaze lowered down her body again, somehow more intense than before.

‘You have stretch marks,’ he said softly. ‘On your breasts.’ He traced the light brown lines. ‘On your hips.’ He traced the lines there. ‘There are these little dimples here, too.’ His hands spread, taking the roundness of her hips in his palms.

He squeezed, and her breath, with its already tenuous occupation of her lungs, rushed through her lips. She sucked air in again, quietly, then forced herself to speak.

‘Those dimples are called cellulite.’

‘I know.’ He kissed both hips. ‘They’re great for holding on to.’

‘And kissing,’ she said breathily.

‘And kissing,’ he repeated with a smile. ‘You have a scar on your knee.’ He knelt before her, pressing his lips to the white mark. ‘What happened?’

‘I fell. When I was seven. Zoey was trying to catch me on the tar outside.’

‘Did she?’

‘No,’ she said with a smile. ‘I got up and ran away immediately. Only dealt with the wound hours later.’

‘Your parents couldn’t have been impressed.’

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘But let’s not think about my parents now, shall we?’

He chuckled, running his hands down her calves, then back up as he stood.

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