Page 61 of Badd B*tch

That rock of her hips burned away another layer of my hesitation. I kissed her slowly and deeply, taking my time exploring her mouth with my tongue, opening my own and letting her do the same. With a low hum of arousal, I flattened my hands against her belly, hesitated, and then cupped her breasts over her bra.

She hummed in response, arching her spine. "Jax. Yes."

"Yes, what, baby?"

She flinched at the term of endearment, her arms rising like vertical bars between our bodies, her fingers fluttering nervously under her chin. And then she pulled away, straightened her spine, and moved her arms away, her body language opening, softening, inviting. "Keep going."

"Tell me what you want me to do," I commanded.

She froze for a moment, tensed, and then the tension ebbed in yet another visible moment of decision. "Take my bra off," she breathed. "Please."

I snuck my fingers under the strap at her back, my eyes fixed on her face as I pushed the undergarment up. Her breath came in short, nervous sips, but I saw no demurral in her gaze, only nervousness and need.

When the strap's journey up her back halted, I slid my fingers around under her arms, flattened my hands under the swell of her breasts. My pulse was frantic and loud, and my hands shook.

There was a tense, fraught instant as the strap caught at her breasts, and then it snapped up past them like a loosed rubber band. Holding her gaze until the last possible moment, I lifted the bra over her head and set it aside with her shirt.

Her hands instinctively flew up to cup her breasts, and her eyes were wide and her breathing shallow and rapid.

"Hey, it's okay," I murmured, covering her hands with mine. "We can stop. This shouldn't be frightening, sweetheart." I snagged the sports bra and covered her chest with it. "Here."

"No." She shook her head slowly, crossing one arm over her breasts and pushing the bra away with the other. "I'm nervous, not scared." A pause. "I am feeling a teensy bit self-conscious, though."

"About what?"

She rolled a shoulder. "The obvious. I'm a small woman, Jax. I don't exactly have the biggest boobs."

"I ain't no size queen," I said, grinning, but then let the humor dissolve so she could see the honesty in me. "You think I care?"

"All men care about bigger boobs."

"Untrue." I caressed her back, holding her gaze. "Yours are perfect."

"You haven't even seen them yet."

"Don't have to. They're part of you, therefore perfect."

"I lied just now. I am scared." A pause. "I'm scared you won't like what you see once I'm naked. I know from experience not every guy finds the shredded look sexy." She strummed her visible abs with her palm.

"I do."

She searched me. "I'm sorry I’m dragging this out. You're amazingly patient."

"I don't want you to be afraid," I said. "I want…I want you to be comfortable with me. I want you to feel safe with me.”

"Jax—"

"You're not dragging anything out. You're showing me the pace you're comfortable with. And if that pace means stopping now, then that's okay. All I care about is you."

She whimpered at this, a soft, quiet, breathy sound, emotional and thick. "Jax. God."

I cradled her wrists in my hands, held her gaze. "You're fucking sexy as hell, Tea. Do you believe that?"

She bit her lower lip. "I can tell you do," she said, "and that's what matters to me." She leaned in, kissed me. "Knowing you think that, knowing you want me…it gives me courage. It reminds me that…" a shaky breath. "That I'm a woman, that I have desires. I'd almost forgotten what that feels like—to want and be wanted."

"You're wanted," I whispered.

She took my hands in hers and placed them onto her breasts. "So are you," she breathed.