A requested (by many) sequel to i hosted parties and starved my body.
Trigger warning: ED mentions, body image issues mentioned, mention of pregnancy claims.
Mature content.
Shout out to Samston411 for their ideas in this chapter. I appreciate your insight and very specific things to think about!!
Confidence was a funny thing. She'd always had it in droves; without it, she knew there was no way she would have made it as far as she had. Where the confidence was directed was a different story entirely.
The ability to weave words into something that formed a story, the knack for extracting feelings from the jumbled mess in her head and getting them down on paper, shaping it all into lyrics like a baker might shape dough into bread...she'd made the discovery from when she was very young that she had an affinity for it.
Musically, she had faith in herself. Just as she held onto the other facts; she was kind, she was a good friend, a good daughter. She made mistakes, she had missteps, just like everybody else, but above all, she considered herself a decent human and she could say it with confidence.
The self-doubt piled on in other areas and although her pride didn't always permit her to accept help from others (her iron clad determination was both a blessing and a curse), Travis had truly meant what he said. Not just the words, as he'd promised her, but through how he showed her.
Early in the journey, she discovered he delivered. Each and every time they were together, Taylor was reminded of how much he desired her. His love language seemed to be words of affirmation and physical touch, both and each was in play consistently, outside of the bedroom as well.
"Can I?"
He had told her his intentions. Made it perfectly clear he was going to slowly remove her dress and admire her, say everything he wanted to before he touched her and while the nerves were still present, just slightly, there was a trust, too.
Taylor nodded and he kissed her, unhurriedly, softer than she expected. Treading lightly.
Her face was in the cradle of his hands, his thumbs caressing the length of her jaw as his mouth pressed to hers.
Kissing him felt like falling and flying at the same time, dizzy, but anchored and his palms moved to her hips, the warmth of his skin cutting through lace.
More. That's all she could think about, more of this, more of him, moaning as he deepened the kiss, his tongue on hers.
But his movements weren't aggressive or too forward...he silently let her know this was all on her terms, still, that if she was uncomfortable, they'd stop, no explanation needed.
His looked up with a question sitting in pools of blue hazel and once more, she nodded, the breath pushing itself from her lungs.
Kisses on her clavicle, kisses that had her exposing the hollow of her throat, carefully executed hybrids of soft bites and open pecks over columns of bone and skin, the reverberation of his mouth over her larynx when she moaned again, his hands traces circles on exposed flesh until she couldn't take it anymore, wrapping her arms around his muscular frame as they landed softly on the bed.
"You don't have to---" She heard herself say in a voice that sounded too rough and desperate to be her own. "I won't break, Trav."
On top of him, his arousal pressed into her thigh, bringing her into the place of her own want. At that exact moment, it surpassed everything, every self-conscious thought about her stomach not being flat enough, the worry her thighs would jiggle when she moved, stretch marks, cellulite, the urge to ask him to turn the lamp off so that they were plunged into darkness.
