"Undress for me."

"What? No."

Nope. Nope. Definitely not.

"Come on. I've been fantasizing about it for weeks now."

Edward settled back into my pillows. He'd lost his shirt—I didn't know or care where, and with him all sprawled out like that, I was getting my eyeful. The smooth, broad strokes of muscle, the long lean lines of his legs, the strip of elastic at his waist.

"I want to watch you undress," he said again.

"That's all you want, huh?"

"Not nearly. But let's start there."

"If you're looking for a long show, you're about to be disappointed."

I pulled my dress up over my head and dropped it on the floor, job done, feeling awkward and unsure. Letting him eyefuck me for a moment in nothing but my underwear, wondering what the hell he was even seeing.

My mom boobs and my stretch marks and the last bit of baby belly I couldn't seem to escape.

He didn't say a thing—just held out his curled fingers, beckoning me. I crawled over him, settling on his stomach, his eyes and hands everywhere. Such an intent look on his face, steady hands and that unwavering secret smile.

"You're pretty fucking hot for an old lady," he teased, pinching me hard way up high on my thigh. I squealed, scooting right down over his lap, right on top of the bulge in his pants, and holy mother, I was so done for.

"Do that again," he exhaled, pushing me down over him, pulling me back, slow and steady and oh-so-fucking-good. I rocked against him as he ran a thumb along the scar that traversed my abdomen, still red and rigid all these years later.

"Jacy?"

"She got stuck. She has an enormous head." The strange numb pressure of his thumb there had my hands bracing themselves on his chest and a wave of goosebumps washing over me, prickly and warm. "It was scary."

"I'll bet. You've got a bigger scar than I do." He grinned, some of the boy returning to his face for a moment, and he pushed me off, shuffling out of his pants. He pointed to a scar on his thigh; thick, but short.

I tried really hard to wrench my gaze off the dark blue boxer briefs, his erection, to look at his leg.

"Your femur? That's almost hard to do."

"It can be done."

I gulped, staring at his leg. "Did it happen while you were skateboarding?"

"No. Snowboard. Took me a full year to get back on a board. Still haven't been back on the mountain."

"Sounds bad." I traced the scar with my finger.

"You know what they say about dudes with scars, right?"

"What?"

"They fall for women with bigger scars."

AN

Hadley fixes my words and tells me 'they'll kill you if you end it there,' when I try to claim that I'm finished writing.

Better send her your love, kids - she just saved you from an abrupt, totally typical Bee ending.

Thank you for reading.

HB