Black Girls and Bad Boys: Changing his Tune by Neneh J. Gordon

that she had nothing to be self-conscious about.
    “What time is it?”
    He glanced at the clock. “About ten past seven.” His gaze went to
her gorgeous lips. She seemed to pout without even trying. He could spend all
day looking at her mouth. And kissing it, of course.
    “What?”
    “Nothing. I just like looking at you.”
    She fussed with her hair and tugged at the sheet again.
    He couldn’t stand it. Why couldn’t she take his word for it? She was
sexy as hell. Caution told him not to, but he took hold of the bedclothes and
tore them away from her.
    “Noah!” Instantly, one arm went up to cover herself and the other
reached out for the covers.
    “Let me see you.” Later, he found it hard to believe he’d done it,
but in the heat of the moment he grabbed both her wrists and kneeled over her,
pinning her to the bed.
    As much as he wanted to, he didn’t look at her body. He looked her
in the eye and waited for her to understand that he wasn’t going to hurt her.
For a second or two, real fright flickered across her face and he wondered if
he’d gone too far. But gradually, she relaxed beneath him and returned his
gaze.
    “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.” He spoke softly,
trying to soothe her. “You’re beautiful, Angie.”
    She shook her head.
    He let go of her and she brought her hands up across her chest.
    “Do you trust me?”
    “Yes,” she said in a very small voice.
    He held out his hand. She looked at it first, then let go of herself
and took it.
    He led her off the bed and over to the dressing table. The mirror
cut them both off at the shoulders, but it was her body he wanted her to look
at.
    Pulling her in front of himself, he saw that she was looking away.
He kissed her shoulder, her neck, the patch of skin beside her ear. “Look in
the mirror.”
    She did as he asked.
    “What do you see?”
    There was a drawn-out pause as she stared at herself in the glass.
    He put his hands on the gentle curve of her belly.
    “Don’t.”
    “You’re soft and feminine. You carried a baby in there for nine
months. It’s not supposed to be flat.”
    He got down on his knees and moved to kneel beside her. “I love your
belly. He laid a kiss on the flesh beneath her navel. He could smell the faint
perfume of her soap and the wild musk of her sex. “You should love it too.” He
placed a second kiss below the first. Then another, and another.
    Moving ever lower, he held her by the waist and kissed his way
through her pubic hair, breathing in the very essence of her.
    When his lips pressed against the tender bud of her clitoris, she
dug her fingers into his shoulders.
    He gave her a taste of what was to come, then kissed a trail back up
over her mound. He continued his course all the way up to her breasts, taking
them in his hands as he got up off his knees. “Do you like your breasts?”
    She stared into his eyes. It encouraged him that she didn’t say no,
but she didn’t say yes either.
    “I love your breasts.” Bringing them together, he kissed each nipple
and pressed his lips to the cleavage he’d created.
    Her breathing was loud and laboured. He let go of her to take her
hand. “You can feel how much I love your body.” He put her hand between his
legs, covering his shaft with her palm.
    He watched her eyes grow heavy with need. “Can you feel that?”
    She nodded, her wonderful breasts rising and falling with the effort
it took to draw in breath. As he let go of her hand, she wrapped her fingers
around him and squeezed. He closed his eyes, just for a moment. She felt so
good. But this time, he was going to make it last.
    Reaching behind her, he swept her off her feet and up into his arms.
“You don’t know how much I want you.” He laid her down on the bed and let his
eyes drink her in. He was pleased she made no move to cover herself. Perhaps he
was getting through to her.
    He climbed onto the foot of the bed, kneeling beside her ankles. The
time they had left before