Heavy Issues (29 page)

“I never wanted to look at reality, so I dodged all the fittings, my attempts to lose weight more radical by the day and as unsuccessful. As the time was approaching for the final fitting, I tried to talk my way out of going to the wedding, but Lisa wouldn’t hear of it and I couldn’t figure out a dignified way out of it. At the end I had to capitulate and endure the humiliation of recognizing the dress didn’t fit. It couldn’t even be modified, and it had to be redone entirely. It was so horrible; the pitying looks, the condemning silences. To this day I can’t go into a bridal shop without getting sick to my stomach. A week before the event, the dress was ready, a huge orange sign in my closet, showing me how inadequate I was. Mocking me. Guess what? By the day of the wedding, I’d gained eight pounds. It was a miracle I could take half a breath after zipping the dress, which on the other bridesmaids, who by the way all looked like they came from the land of the fairies, was gorgeous. On me it looked like a big joke.”

“Baby, you were overweight, and the dress looked tight on you, but you were beautiful nevertheless.”

“I was fucking miserable,” she retorted.

“I know, babe. It was in your eyes.” She was smiling in the picture, but that smile hadn’t reached her eyes. In fact, she’d looked so sad and defeated it broke his heart.

“I was so mortified,” she continued. “So ashamed I’d have given anything to disappear into tiny, little pieces. I spent much of the reception in hiding. I can’t even tell you who attended. I don’t even remember who I spoke to; I just remember I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole. And the buffet. I always remember the food, because that’s where I went for hiding and comfort. And that two-hundred-pound body embodies all that, all that shame, all that anger. I hated my body. I still do.”

How could she hate her body? “Why, Christy?”

“Because I’m embarrassed about it. I always have been, and I always will be. There are a lot of addicts, a lot of people out of control, but unless you see them actively engaging in their addiction, you wouldn’t know. For overeaters it’s different. My body was like a neon sign, betraying me, telling everyone I had a problem. That I was defective, that I couldn’t control my baser instincts. My lack of manageability was on my body for everyone to see and judge. It still is, Cole. All the marks, all the ways I deformed my body are still there, less visible but still there. It’s demeaning. I just wanted to be like everyone else, but I wasn’t.

“Being fat is not only a vice, but something to be ashamed of, a huge character defect. A moral weakness. Hell, gluttony is a cardinal sin. According to the
Divine Comedy
, there’s a specific place in hell for us, in the third circle. Talk about stigma, huh? It’s so fucking insulting and degrading, with that three-headed dog warding us, because God forbid we’d escape punishment. My inability to cope with a normal life is embedded in my body. I should get it operated on.”

“What do you mean, operated on? Operate on what?”

“This,” she said, grabbing her upper arms and pulling at them. “Get rid of all these marks, of all these signals that I’m deficient.”

“Enough. You’re coming with me,” he said as he took her by the hand and headed to his home. He’d had enough. This body image issue had to be addressed. Now. Because when it came to how she saw herself, she was blind to the reality. After several spankings she’d begun to, albeit grudgingly, thank him when he complimented her, so he thought they had made some progress, but obviously she’d just been humoring him.

Once in his place, he took her to his bedroom, closed the drapes, turned on all the lights, and dragged her in front of the full-body mirror. He’d been adding mirrors to his home, hoping Christy would begin seeing herself as she was. No chance. It seemed like she needed the shock therapy.

“Strip.”

She looked bewildered. “What?”

“Take your clothes off. I want you to look at yourself.”

She was already shaking her head and stepping away from the mirror. “I know how I look.”

Cole stopped her retreat. “No, you don’t, not even close.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He crossed his arms over his chest. He was not going to budge on the issue.

She pressed her lips into a tight line but after a long second began fumbling with her clothes.

“You know, this would go much easier if you take your clothes off too.”

He shook his head. Getting into flirtatious mode wouldn’t get her anywhere this time. If she was aroused, she had no problems with nudity. But that was because she was turned on and her need outweighed her hang-ups, or her common sense, as she’d put it several times. That was not acceptable anymore. She was going to do this without sex fogging her mind.

She must have realized he wouldn’t give up, for she didn’t insist and resumed undressing.

“Look at yourself,” he ordered as she finally stood naked.

“I know how I look,” she said, her downcast eyes filled with shame.

“No, you don’t,” he countered, lifting her chin and forcing her to look at the mirror. He knew stripping in front of him was hard on her. Putting herself under his scrutiny and risking rejection was painful. What she didn’t seem to understand was that he would never reject her. Ever. “Look at yourself. You are beautiful.” She opened her mouth, but he stopped her. “Yes, you don’t have the body of a twenty-two-year-old girl. But you don’t need to. You’re thirty-four, babe, and you’re gorgeous. Hell, I’m hard all the time when you’re around.”

She reached for him, palming him through the jeans. No way. He wasn’t going to let her distract him. “Not yet, sweetheart. We have to clear up some things first. Keep looking at yourself. You are not fat.”

“I’m not particularly skinny either.”

He sighed and came closer to her, stopping right behind her and placing his hands on her hips. “Listen to me, baby. Men like to have somewhere to grab. We don’t enjoy making love to a bag of bones; we need curves and hollows to grab on to. Women’s beauty ideal is not only skewed, but has nothing to do with ours. You may think we want some catwalk skeleton, but men are very partial to curves and tits and asses and soft, welcoming thighs.” She let out a shaky smile. “Marilyn Monroe was a size 12, sweetheart, not a size 4.”

Her eyebrows furrowed in surprise. “How do you know Marilyn Monroe’s size?”

He shrugged. “Aunt Maggie forces us to play Trivial Pursuit every Sunday, remember? I have lots of useless factoids in my head I don’t seem to be able to get rid of.” Although now he was damn glad for it.

“Here’s a factoid for you: Angelina Jolie is considered the sexiest woman alive. I doubt she’s a size 12.”

“If you think I consider Jolie the sexiest woman alive, you’re talking to the wrong man, babe.”

Cole caressed her arms, then moved to her breasts, her stomach. Light brushes, enjoying how she got goose bumps and her nipples hardened and a faint blush spread over her face and chest.

“My body is covered in marks, Cole.”

Big deal. “Mine too, sweetheart.”

She snorted. “Yours are war scars.”

“Yours too, Christy. I waged war with others while you waged war with yourself. It’s the same. It’s just life; there’s nothing to be ashamed of. We both survived. This body tells its own story, and it’s an amazing story. You are amazing.”

Christy looked at herself in the mirror and placed her hands over his. Her eyes were welling. She cleared her throat. “Are you sure you aren’t ashamed of me?”

Him? Ashamed of her? Was she joking?

The insecurity in her voice sliced through his soul. “Of course not.” He all but snarled. “Don’t you ever dare to ask me that again. Ever.” He stepped in front of her and sank to his knees.

She eyed him warily. “What…what are you doing?”

He pressed his face against her belly and kissed the small swell, filling his lungs with the smell of her, with the smell of home. “You keep watching in the mirror. I’m going to kiss every one of those scars that you seem to think are so shameful.”

Christy was shaking in his arms, her big brown eyes swimming with unshed tears. He reached to her breasts and worked those gorgeous mounds with his tongue and teeth, after which he nuzzled and kissed his way down, mapping her body with his mouth and fingers, sweeping his tongue over every stretch mark. Every dip and every swell too. He caressed her hips, her thighs, her ass cheeks. Rubbed his face on her stomach. For a second he imagined her growing round with his child, and got dizzy.

He touched her with all the tenderness he didn’t know how to convey in words, trying to show her what she meant to him, how precious she was to him, how precious her body was too.

As he paid homage to her, she broke into tears and covered her face, but he pried her hands off. “No, baby. Watch me loving your body.”

She did until it proved to be too much for her, and she crumpled into him, her whole body jerking with her wrenching sobs.

“Shh, babe. I’m here. I’ve got you. Everything is okay,” he murmured as he cradled her in his arms and stroked her back.

He wanted so fucking badly to make her hurt go away, but he could do nothing but comfort her.

It took a while before all the pent-up grief worked itself through her and she calmed down. He didn’t stop petting and murmuring reassuring words to her, not even after she’d stopped crying.

Christy mopped her tear-drenched eyes with the back of her hand and smiled shakily. “Sorry.”

He wiped the last of the tears and then kissed her slowly, letting his tongue explore the recesses of her mouth. She responded right away, pressing herself against him, giving him her tongue.

“Cole, please, get naked.”

He was dying to be inside her, but he beat the urge down. They weren’t done yet. “I want to hear you aren’t ashamed of yourself first. I want you to recognize that your body is worthy of my attentions. That you’re beautiful.”

She looked at herself. Stared at herself for a while. He held his breath. “I’m not ashamed of myself. I’m worthy.” He frowned at her, and she capitulated. “And I’m beautiful. Now, Cole,” she whispered, “get naked. I need you.”

After laying her in the bed, he undressed without taking his eyes off her. God, he wanted her. Her inner thighs were glistening with desire, which was good because he was past foreplay. He slid in to the hilt, her sheath yielding to him, and they came together in a wet kiss full of longing and passion.

“I want all of you,” she whispered as she lifted her hips to him.

“Are you sure, baby?” He pinned her with his gaze as he kept his strokes deep and steady. “Because I want all of you too. What you haven’t given to anyone else. I want your ass, Christy. I don’t want even an inch of you unclaimed by me.”

She faltered only for a second. “Then claim me.”

Her words shot straight into his cock. He thrust into her again and again, finishing each plunge with a grind the way she liked it, until her sweet pussy clenched convulsively around him and she came with a strangled cry.

He rode her orgasm, fighting not to come himself. Then he flipped her to her stomach and lifted her hips, keeping her chest down.

“Like that, babe. Perfect.”

He parted those sweet ass cheeks and swirled his tongue around the puckered rosette, dipping inside before trailing down and licking her pussy, reveling in the quivers still racing through her clit. He would have loved to eat her until she peaked again, but he couldn’t wait. He reached for the tube of K-Y from the drawer in the nightstand, poured a dollop in her, and then lubed his cock up. Fuck, his hands were shaking.

“I’ll go slow, sweet thing. I swear to you,” he said, trying to reassure himself more than her. Urgency roared through him. His heart was galloping, his breath was ragged, and he wanted her so much he couldn’t see straight.

Holding her cheeks open, he placed his tip against that virginal hole and pushed, breaching the ring of muscles while Christy cried out and clamped around his crown.

“Sweet mother of Jesus. You are tight,” he said between clenched teeth as he gripped her hips and tried to calm the desire racing through him. “Don’t fight me, love,” he said. “Breathe deep and push out.”

She did as he said, and he pushed inside her in little increments, parting her untried flesh, getting deeper and deeper with every stroke until finally the muscles of her rosette were stretched tight around the base of his cock, she was whimpering, and he was out of his fucking mind. So hot and so tight. Like a velvet fist.

Sweat pouring off him, he held still, giving her time to get used to him as he reached over and stroke her clit, his caresses making her shudder and getting her back channel to grip him even tighter. “Babe, I don’t think I can stand this much longer. I’m going to lose my ever-loving mind if I don’t move.”

“I’m okay. Please move,” she whispered with a ragged moan.

He slowly pulled totally out, watched her ass close in reflex, then eased inside her depths again, that tight hole stretching for him. It felt so perfect. She felt so perfect.

He kept his strokes steady, dying to pound into her but unwilling to hurt her. She must have sensed the tight leash he was keeping himself on, for she turned her head to him and squeezed her muscles around him. “You are not hurting me. Let yourself go, Cole.”

Oh God. Her trust humbled him. And kicked his arousal even higher. He drove into her with hard, deep movements, his balls slapping at her pussy with every thrust while spikes of pleasure erupted all over him.

He speared her pussy with two fingers, rubbing her clit with his palm, and a broken sound came from the back of her throat. “Oh, Cole. Oh God. Yes. Like that,” she pleaded as he slammed into her furiously. He could feel his shaft shoving against his fingers with every stroke, the pressure unbearable, his whole body in overdrive.

Suddenly Christy tensed. Her pussy spasmed around his fingers, and her ass clamped around his cock. She was coming all around him, flooding his senses with her unrestrained response and demanding his seed. With a deafening roar he buried his cock deep into her ass, as far as it would go, and gave himself to her.

When he floated back to reality, Christy was totally spent. She barely stirred as he went to the bathroom for a cloth.