“Open your eyes, beautiful.”

She did, and the way he was looking at her made her feel beautiful, special, and wanted. He didn’t say a word as he kissed the trail of scars from her ribs up and over her breast, kissing every inch, until her whole body thrummed with desire and something much bigger.

“There is nothing ugly about these scars, baby,” he whispered as he kissed them. “No need to hide them.”

She touched the scars over his eyebrows and on his cheek, remembering what he’d said about the gash he’d gotten the night the man had attacked his mother. “The wall?” she whispered. He nodded, and she leaned up, kissing each of those scars.

He continued loving her with his mouth and hands, passionately and sensually. It was freeing and wonderful, and she somehow knew that was because it was Quincy touching her. It was the best feeling she’d ever experienced. He didn’t touch her like he was on a mission to have sex. He touched her like she was precious and he was trying to memorize every bit of her, scars and all. When his hand slid down to her hip, her belly clenched nervously. Not because she didn’t want to go further, but because she did, and that meant showing him the area covered in the worst of her scars.

He must have felt her reaction, because instead of going further, he rose and brushed his lips over hers, whispering, “Thank you for trusting me.”

She wanted to feel his touch, his acceptance, of the worst of her scars. She leaned up and touched her lips to his, and like an unearthed volcano, her imprisoned desire poured out in urgent, messy kisses. He must have been holding back just as much as she was, because in the next breath, their bodies took over. Her hips rocked against his hard length. His hand played expertly over her breast, squeezing and rolling the throbbing peak, sending pinpricks of need racing beneath her skin. He made a raw, sexual sound that vibrated through her. She grabbed at the sheets as he lowered his mouth to her breast, sucking and kissing, sending her body into a writhing, moaning frenzy. When he grazed his teeth over the sensitive peak, pleasure shot through her core.

“Quincy,” she pleaded as he teased her right up to the edge of madness, intensifying his efforts with her every sound until “More” flew demandingly from her lips.

She reached down and pushed frantically at her sweatpants, delirious from the want consuming her. He covered her hand with his, stilling it, and pressed his lips to hers in a painfully tender kiss that went on for so long, when their lips finally parted, she was dizzy with desire.

“I want to undress you, and I don’t want to rush through it,” he said, and kissed her again, deeper and rougher, cradling her against him, as if he were telling her he was serious, he was in charge, and she could trust him.