Part of me is afraid to ask.
But a part of me is also tired of hiding who I am.
I want Jack. I want him to know me.
But if I take my shirt off … if I show him the scars … will it change the way he looks at me? The way he wants me?
If Jack had scars like I do, would it change the way I wanted him?
No. Of course it wouldn’t.
So, why do I think it will change the way he looks at me?
Because I’m afraid.
Fear.
It controls every aspect of my life.
I don’t want to be afraid anymore.
Especially not with Jack.
Breaking our kiss, I slide off Jack’s lap and stand in front of him.
I don’t know where this sudden bout of confidence has come from, but I don’t want to lose it.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of my shorts and pull them down.
Jack’s eyes are fixed on me. I love the way he looks at me. Like I’m the only thing in the world he sees.
But will he still look at me the same when he sees my scars?
Stop. Don’t think that way.
Jack is silent. Watching me.
I’m scared. My insides are quaking.
I’m about to reveal the worst thing about me.
I might not be vocalizing it. Telling him my past. What happened to me. Where these scars came from.
But I will be telling him that something happened to me.
I’ll be making myself vulnerable to him.
And it’s absolutely fucking terrifying.
My hands are shaking as they reach for the hem of my tank top.
I see the change in Jack’s expression when he realizes what I’m about to do.
But his expression isn’t one of curiosity. It’s admiration. Because he knows exactly how hard this is for me.
And that gives me the last boost of confidence I need to lift my top up and over my head, exposing my ugly, physical flaw to him.
My eyes are closed. I’m afraid to open them. Afraid of what I’ll see when I look at Jack.
“Audrey.” His deep, soft voice reverberates over my skin.
Taking a strengthening breath, I open my eyes.
Jack is standing now.
His eyes on mine.
I’m naked … completely defenseless in front of him.
My heart is beating fast. My body vibrating with nerves.
I feel raw. Like someone took a grater to my insides.
Jack’s hand lifts to my face, cupping my cheek.
I stare up into his eyes. Those eyes I just can’t seem to ever look away from.
“You are beautiful, Audrey.” His voice is raspy. “You are always beautiful.”
In this moment, it feels as if a dark cloud lifts off me. A barrier gone between us.
And nothing matters but Jack and me.
Not my past. The scars on my skin.
Nothing.
Just him and me.
I reach up on my toes and press my lips to his.
The kiss turns molten in seconds.
Jack picks me up, and my arms and legs go around his hard body.
He carries me back to bed.
Laying me down, he stays with me. On top of me. Still kissing me.
My hands push down his pajama pants, getting them down his legs. Jack helps get them off, kicking them aside.
Then, there is nothing between us.
No more fabric barriers.
Jack breaks the kiss. Pressing his forehead to mine, he stares into my eyes.
There are no words spoken between us. There doesn’t need to be. We’re saying everything there is to say with our eyes.
Yes, I want you. I want this.
The first push of Jack inside me feels so different to all the other times yet so incredibly familiar.
When he is fully inside of me, his lips seek mine.
He kisses me gently, sweetly. He’s deep inside of me. Unmoving. And I have never felt closer to him than I do right now.
“Beautiful,” he whispers, his mouth moving down my neck. “So fucking beautiful, Audrey. I can’t get enough of you. Nothing will ever be enough.”
His lips find my nipple, and he sucks it into his mouth.
Desire shoots through my core.
“Fuck me, Jack. Please.”
His eyes lift to mine.
He slowly pulls out of me and then pushes back inside, equally as leisurely.
It is exquisite torture.
And it feels an awful lot like making love.
Jack’s pace stays that way, unhurried. His hands hold mine above my head, his mouth on mine, as he screws me with his cock.
I’m a writhing, needy mess beneath him.
My orgasm comes quickly and without warning, taking me by surprise.
My hands grip his, my cry of pleasure swallowed by his mouth.
Then, Jack’s moaning my name against my lips, and I feel him start to come too.
When we’re both finished coming down from our highs, Jack kisses me again. A loving kiss.
Still inside me, he lays his head down on the pillow, burying his face in my neck.
And we fall asleep just like that—with Jack buried deep inside of me in all the ways that matter.
I blink.
There was a knock at the door.
God, I totally zoned out then. This is what I get for watching pointless television while Jack is in the shower and I’m waiting for our dinner to be delivered.
I give Eleven’s fur a ruffle before I get up from the sofa and go to answer the door.
I pause before opening it. It might not be my apartment, but there is always that wariness inside of me.
Especially with Mike’s and Sarah’s recent murders and the murders of those other women and no suspect in sight, according to the press.
Does my mind go to Tobias when I think about these recent killings?
Yes.
Am I still worrying about a copycat?
Yes-ish.
Tobias never killed a man when he went on his rampage.
But then maybe that’s because he was never interrupted by one, like Sarah’s killer was.
Or maybe Tobias has killed a man before, and people just don’t know it.
Scrapping those thoughts before I get lost in them, I lift onto my tiptoes and peer through the peephole.
It’s a young, dark-haired guy with a pizza box in hand.
I open the door, smiling at him.
“Hey, that’ll be fifteen dollars.”
He hands
