Fat Girl (49 page)

He kisses me through the lace butterfly and then pulling the material aside, he kisses me under it. The pleasure is thick and humid. Heedless. I can feel myself slipping into that dark vortex, whisked away to that sensual world where my thoughts and fears take flight…where there’s only Mick and what he’s doing to me. I’m lost to his lips, to his tongue, and to the chafing of his whiskered jaw against my inner thighs.

The sensations tangle too fast to separate one from the other. All are keen and brilliant. Ensnaring his messy waves with my fingers, I ride his mouth to hasten my climax. But Mick doesn’t let me come that way. He dislodges my hands and abruptly spins me around.

I gasp when his teeth gently sink into my fleshy behind, taking love bites that he soothes with hot wet flicks of his tongue. And then one of his hands is flirting with the crease. I try not to picture what I must look like from his close vantage point and concentrate on the sensuous touch of his fingers sliding slowly up the length of satin string, teasing forbidden flesh. It’s illicit and erotic. A thrill rockets through me when he grabs the thin strip and rips it apart.

And then two fingers are inside my throbbing sex before he adds a third, stretching, readying me for what I know is going to be a hard ride.

I moan low and deep as he slides his mouth across the swells of my hips and bottom and licks at the dip in my back. “Every inch of you is beautiful, Dee,” he whispers. Rising, he trails a moist trek up my spine to my nape, where he noses my hair to the side. His lips taste my neck and vibrate against my skin. “I’m dying for you.”

He removes his fingers and I whimper from the loss. He reaches for my hands and stretches them out on the granite in front of me.

“Spread your legs.”

His foot nudges my feet apart and I widen my stance. Not being able to see him heightens my other senses, making everything sharper. Soft cotton and rough denim press against my naked body. I hear the rasp of a metal zipper and his moaning, soughing breaths. Smell the scent of arousal. Feel the brush of his knuckles as he positions himself to shove into me where we stand.

I cry out from the pleasurable burn, and my knees almost buckle.

“I’ve got you, baby.” He curves one hand around to my breasts, alternately stroking over each budded nipple as he strokes into me. Smooth and controlled—his short, shallow plunges massage the swollen tissues.

“I can feel how close you are,” he breathes against my neck. “You get so tight around my dick. So hot and creamy.” He pinches my nipple. “Are you ready to come for me, baby?”

“Yes,” I moan.
Past ready.

He takes one of my hands in his and moves them between my legs. Then using the pads of our joined fingers he rubs them over my tender C-spot he’d incited so well with his tongue. Together, we make sexy circles, and I control the pressure, giving me just what I need to trip my sexual land mine.

Gasping his name, fiery spasms radiate outward, sweeping across my flesh, shaking me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

Mick pulls out and drags me to the floor, where he whips off his shirt and cushions my knees. “I’m going to fuck you hard now.”

“Do it,” I say, eager for more.

He’s merciless when he drives back into me, introducing that brutal bit of force that would have knocked me flat if he weren’t gripping me. His fingers cut into my hips, his heavy testicles slap the curves of my bottom, and the wide head of his penis hammers up high into my depths, again and again.

But even rough and unleashed, there’s still a reverence to the way he takes me. It’s as if deriving pleasure from my body is as essential to him as his next breath. Lowering myself onto my elbows, I push my behind higher, without shame or self-consciousness. “Harder, Mick.”

Moving with a speed that doesn’t permit words, he bangs the hell out of me. His piercing thrusts produce a pleasure-pain that makes me delirious. Drowning in the ferocious rhythm, I push my hips back into his, wanting release but wishing it would never end.

He slides his hand down to the slippery heartbeat of my arousal and presses his mouth against my ear. “I love you, Dee.”

Feeling our absolute connection, everything inside me tightens, and on a tattered moan, I milk him hard for a second time.

“Ah, baby.” Mick wraps his arms around my waist, his hips pumping as he pounds out his satisfaction and spills into me.

Both of us sweaty and sticky, Mick scoops me up off the floor and carries me to the bathroom. I halfheartedly argue that I’m too heavy, but he won’t relent. He removes my torn thong, promising to buy me another. Then, shedding his clothes, he turns on the tap and steps us under the warm spray. I haven’t showered with a man before. But when a gorgeously naked Mick is soaping you up with his large, slippery hands, no woman in her right mind would do anything except let him.

DRYING DEE OFF, I RUN the towel over her dark hair, which falls in wet, velvety ribbons around her shoulders and move my way down her golden body, flushed from the steamy water and the steamier sex.

If she thought I’d care about her marks or whatever else she views as imperfect, Dee couldn’t be more wrong. Stripped of her sexy undies and all her defenses, I wanted nothing more than to take her as I had earlier in my mind. Only the reality was so much better, holding me by the heart and nearly cutting off my breath. I should have been drained after coming as though my life depended on it. But inspired by her sleek, wet curves, I teased her with the pulsating spray and then finished it off with a long, slow fuck against the wet tiles.

“Between the kitchen and the shower, I can check a couple more fantasies off my list.”

“How many do you have?” she asks, pulling the towel around her and knotting it between her breasts.

“Plenty.” I hurry a towel over me and walk comfortably naked into the bedroom. I search in my bag for a pair of boxer briefs and glance over my shoulder to gauge her reaction. “Does that disturb you?”

“No.” Her mouth smiles but the smile falls short of her eyes. “What woman doesn’t want to be fantasized about? It’s just difficult for me to envision.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, stepping into my underwear. Turning, I pull her into my arms.

Her hands go to my back and her cheek to my chest. “I love everything we just did and how desirable you make me feel. But I’ve never liked my body.”

That I already know. “When did it start?”

“You want all my secrets, Mick?” Her response is light but I hear the angst in her tone.

“You know all of mine,” I say with a kiss to the crown of her head. “It seems only fair that I know all of yours.”

“You might look at me differently.”

“Nothing you tell me could ever change the way I feel. You trusted me with your body, Dee. Now trust me with the rest.”

“It’s not easy to talk about,” she says and slips away from my embrace to curl up on the window seat, tucking her legs beneath her and pulling a fringed pillow onto her lap.

Giving her the space she seems to need, I turn on a lamp to break up the darkness in the room and sit on the edge of the bed, across from her.

The soft radiance of light reflects the natural streaks of auburn in her sable curls. She inhales deeply and slowly releases her breath. I wait while her fingers nervously pluck at the beaded fringe.

“I was always a chubby child,” she says in a quiet, faraway voice. “I ate to pacify myself through my mother’s bouts of depression and more so to comfort the panic whenever I was sent away. My mom was oblivious and called it baby fat. Told me I’d grow out of it. But I didn’t. I gained more weight with puberty and went on my first diet when I was ten.”

I think of what Gabi and Maria were doing at that age, playing, laughing, and having fun. Not dealing with an absentee father, a depressed mother, or dieting. “You were just a kid.”

“I was a kid that my gym teacher called fat as if I were disgusting,” she says without looking at me, her words carrying a bitter sadness. “He was the first of many.”

“I wish I’d been there.” My words vibrate with anger, and I fist the sheets at my side.

“My white knight.” She laughs but it’s mirthless. “I’ll never forget how you went after J. T. and his friends after you heard what they’d said to me in the cafeteria. If only I had been able to fight back myself. But I was too embarrassed to ever say anything. My self-esteem being what it was, I thought they were right. Fat to me was something unattractive, unlovable, and unwanted. I’d flip through fashion magazines and pick out a model and pretend that was me. I just knew if I looked that beautiful, someone would love me.”

“You are beautiful and lovable, Dee.”

“But I didn’t feel that way.” She hugs the pillow to her chest. “By eleven, I had fallen into the pattern of overeating and then either starving myself or making myself throw up. I had this love–hate relationship with food. Although my compulsion was destroying me, it was also my friend. She helped me through every difficulty in my life. She was my comfort, the only constant I could depend on. And even when she made my weight yo-yo up and down and made me hate myself, I still depended on her.

“Over the years, I tried to end that friendship many times. In my heart, I knew the dependency was the reason I was miserable. But she had such a hold on me that letting her go seemed impossible. Then I hit rock bottom two years ago.” She pauses for a strengthening breath, still not making eye contact, either blocking her emotions from me or maybe afraid to see mine.

“I got so sick I had to be hospitalized for severe dehydration. This was before I started my practice. Collapsing at work in front of my colleagues and being hooked up to IVs was my catalyst. I realized that I was slowly but surely killing myself. If not literally, then figuratively. The self-loathing and the self-destruction were killing my spirit. I was this shell of a woman who could function on the surface and build a career, but I had no life. My every waking moment was spent thinking about eating or not eating. And I avoided the mirror because I hated what I saw there.”

Now I understand the sparse amount of food in her house. And what it must have cost Dee to let me strip her down in the sunlight.

“I was released from the hospital after a few days. I feared that if I didn’t get help, I’d go back to that
friendship
because it was the only thing I knew. I’d tried therapy before and despised getting into all my childhood crap. But I was referred to a behaviorist, Dr. Roland. She’s been my savior. We started out with weekly sessions. Now I see her once a month. We don’t talk about my past as much as we talk about what triggers me to overeat, so that I can find better ways to cope with my stress. The goal is to stop operating at extremes. It’s gotten much better, but I still struggle with the balance. I hadn’t gone on a full-out binge in twenty-one months until last Saturday night.”

My mind travels back a week, and my chest coils with guilt. “After I told you about Cayo’s death?”

“That’s not your fault, Mick,” she rushes to assure me. “I have to learn how to deal with the disappointments and stressors and anything life throws my way in more constructive ways. I’m still learning.”