Her next words barely come out. “My stomach is gross. There’s always this pudge that hangs over.” When her hand moves over the area, I gently push it aside. I plant an array of kisses all over her belly, feeling her shiver under my mouth. “I love your stomach.” “It’s not flat,” she cuts in. “Do you think I care if it’s flat?” I beat her to the answer by kitten-licking her piercing, and I move my hands down to stop her legs from trembling. “You have a soft belly. That’s all it is. You need to eat. You should be consuming at least two thousand calories every day. I don’t care where those
...more
