Rebecca
Perky tits, check. Defined waistline, check. Nice round ass, double check.
I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom of my cottage, naked as the day I was born.
It seems strange that this is actually happening.
It’s been a long time since I’ve stripped myself bare and had the confidence to really take a good look at myself. In some respects, I’m surprised by what I see.
In others, not so much.
Like these little dimples on my thighs.
I rub light circles over my skin as I casually explore and rediscover my feminine figure.
I’ve been avoiding mirrors since my divorce—maybe even before that, if I’m being brutally honest.
My relationship with reflective surfaces wasn’t always problematic. Using a mirror like this to see myself—to get a good idea of what I actually looked like during a moment of my life—used to be a fairly regular practice for me.
I was never exactly in love with myself, but for most of my life, I was quite okay with looking in a damn mirror, at least.
That only began to change over the last few years.
Being with my ex-husband slowly chipped away at my confidence until I started shying away from mirrors altogether.
Hell, even picture frames and pan lids were my arch-nemeses. Anything with a reflection was off-limits.
It’s hard to explain what it felt like to see my reflection at the time—to see what was happening.
Mainly, I got tired of seeing the bruises. I got tired of having to tell myself this was the last time he’d lay his fucking hands on me.
The beginning of my relationship with Dickhead wasn’t like that. I’d even go as far as to say he was kind, polite, and considerate.
I may go so far as to use the word gentle.
After the wedding, things took a dramatic turn.
The monster revealed himself so readily that I barely even noticed at first.
Jealousy and possessiveness started to take hold in ways that were so intense that none of it seemed real.
And that was a real fucking problem because I recognized nothing about the situation of my marriage at first.
The toxicity was so pervasive it was like I was blind to it.
He hated the fact that I had lost my virginity to another man.
Now it still seems unreal. And unbelievable.
But it was my reality. And all I can do about it now is resolve to never put myself in that position again.
The physical marks may be long gone, but I still see a ghost of them when I glance at my ribs in the mirror. The black-and-blue marks, which over time faded to ugly shades of green and yellow, still haunt me.
Those images are embedded in my mind. One of my biggest fears is that they’ll never go away.
That I’ll never be free.
I want to claim me for myself again. I want to abandon the fear, pain, and self-loathing that took up three years of my life.
Now I suppose I should be grateful that it did end in reality, even if the marks are still there in my mind.
The past few days here have been peaceful, serene, and a bit exciting.
I turn and cock my head to the side, inspecting my neck. This brings forth a rush of heat as I remember the way Killian ran his lips and tongue down it last night.
Dickhead never touched me as sensually as Killian does. The only times he ever really touched me were when he hit me.
Sex wasn’t a big part of our lives. I had been tainted by Killian, after all, and Dickhead was thoroughly disgusted by that. He didn’t seem to desire me much.
And even when he did, there was no spark. I literally felt nothing for him toward the end, and it was a chore just to even lay there.
He was rough, and he’d come so quickly—not that he gave a shit. One thrust, two thrusts, three thrusts, done.
I would blink, and it’d be over.
Orgasms? As if. He couldn’t pleasure a woman if his life depended on it.
But it’s different with Killian. Not just now. It was different then, too.
Killian really has the magic touch.
All he has to do is look at me with his sexy, deep-blue eyes and my heart skips a beat.
It almost feels like fate that our paths have crossed again.
I find myself wondering what it would’ve been like if Killian and I had more than just one night together. Would it have made a difference?
Would we be married now, with children of our own?
My thoughts are going in circles now.
Stop it, Rebecca.
I sigh and turn my attention back to the mirror. I lift my tits and let them drop before running my hands down my sides.
The woman looking back at me wears a pensive expression.
I’m doing exactly what I said I wouldn’t. I can’t continue to give my ex this continued power over me. Our marriage is finally over, and I’ve escaped from the nightmare.
Why should I let my past keep me from moving forward?
Am I ready for a new relationship? Probably not at this point, but that doesn’t mean I never will be.
It might be with Killian, or it might be with some man that I’ve yet to meet.
I don’t know what the future holds.
What I do know, however, is that I’m ready to be a mom. I’ve been ready for years.
I can see it so vividly in my mind. A little girl with my red hair or a boy with Killian’s amazing blue eyes. The thought brings a smile to my face.
I have so much love to give. They wouldn’t want for anything, especially not love and attention.
Maybe Killian’s idea isn’t as far off the charts as I thought it was.
Maybe having a baby is exactly what the doctor ordered.
Well, the author, anyway.
I think I’ve finally made up my mind, and not just because I want Killian’s cock so bad I can taste it.