“Jane.” He looks at me with a level of seriousness that steals my breath. “I love your stretch marks.” He says as plainly and definitively as he said I love your breasts earlier. I smile. “I love your lips,” I tell him. “They are quite soft and kissable.” Light reaches his eyes. “I love your freckles.” “I love your ears.” They’re prominent when he tucks his hair behind them. They frame his face very well. He leans in closer, our mouths a breath apart. “I love your thighs.” His hands dip down between them. His lips on mine. Our tongues caress in a frenzied, hot kiss. I only part to breath out,
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