Page 120 of Get Me to the Starting Line
“What’s this from?”
She clears her throat. “Um, chest tube. I had a punctured lung.”
Rage at the person who caused the accident fills me, the one who almost took her from me before I even got the chance to know her. I have to remind myself she’s here and alive. I place a hand over her heart to reassure myself with its strong rhythm.
I trace the outline of the small scar with my fingers and then my lips before trailing my tongue to the middle of her body, brushing a kiss right over her heart.
My fingers move first, down her stomach to the large vertical scar extending from the bottom of her rib cage, curving around her navel, and stopping right between her hip bones.
This scar is huge but the lines are clean. Her skin puckers a bit around the curve, but damn. For her to have survived this ...
“Tell me about it,” I demand, my anger at the stranger who did this to her lingering.
She speaks as though through a daze. “There was bleeding and they couldn’t figure out where. They went in laparoscopically atfirst, but they couldn’t see, couldn’t clear the field, so they had to open me up. Turns out I was lucky because it was just my spleen. They removed it.” Her voice is so distant, my fingers freeze and I look at her. She’s propped up on her elbows watching me.
A wicked smile blooms across my face. I kiss every inch of that lifesaving scar, up and back down. Treating it with the reverence it deserves.
When I’m satisfied she no longer feels self-conscious about it, I move across her belly, kissing each spidery stretch mark, over to the wider ones on her hips.
“Mon petit louphad claws before he was born,” I whisper, chuckling. Her quiet laughter joins mine, and this time when I look up, her eyes are softer, less guarded.
“He was a big baby,” she explained.
“How big?”
“Ten pounds four ounces, and he was born a week early.”
I don’t know much about birth weights, but that sounds like a lot even to me. She laughs at my expression. I dip my head back down and continue kissing and licking each line, each scar representing the life she’s lived, the life she created.
Her life. Levi’s life.
When I have paid each mark the respect it’s owed, I dip my head lower, kissing down to the crease between her sex and her thigh.
“Julien you don’t have to—” I cut her off with a playful nip on the sensitive skin there, and she yelps, smacking my head.
“I haven’t waxed or shaved—” This time I cut her off with a long stroke of my tongue, right up her slit. Finally. I’ve never tastedanything so good in my entire life. She’s wet already, but I want her soaked, dripping.
“I’m French,” I tell her, remembering when she complained she hadn’t shaved when I massaged her calves.
Her chuckle turns into a moan as I work her with my tongue, finding the movements she likes. Her clit is swollen and ready, but I want to drag this out. I tease her, licking and sucking everywhere except where she needs it most.
I slip a finger inside her warmth, and then another one, curling to the spot I remember from that night on her couch.
My blood heats and my cock grows impossibly hard, straining against the fabric of my sweats.
“Julien, please,” she moans as I edge her to near oblivion. Her sounds drive me forward—her “pleases,” the way her hips move, searching desperately for contact.
I smile into her, gripping her hips, and in a move I know she’s not expecting, I lift her up and climb up the bed, placing her on top of me with her legs straddling my head.
“Julien!” she gasps, staring down at me in shock.
“Ride my face, Leah,” I growl.
She hesitates, looking unsure. But that won’t do. I grip her waist and pull her down, slamming her pussy back onto my mouth, my tongue going right inside and licking in and up to her clit. She cries out loudly and her body takes over.
I’m not giving her any time to overthink this. She fucks my face as I devour her. I feel her coating my lips and then she tenses, pulsing as she comes apart, falling over to brace herself on the headboard forsupport, her orgasm tearing through her body. I don’t let her go, not until she squirms.
I loosen my hold but don’t let her go far.
