Nothing Less

  She makes a sound like a sigh, and her hand touches my stomach and travels down, lifting my T-shirt up. When her fingernails slide down my bare skin, the memory of the first time she touched me flares to life. Her finger slid down my stomach then, too, and I should have just grabbed her by the ponytail and kissed her mouth. I should have tasted her lips and felt her body melt into mine the way that it is right now. But I didn’t, and somehow we still got here.

  Her hand continues lower, and she brushes over my arousal. She’s completely hijacked my body, taking control in the most visceral way. Her tongue teases at mine, and I tug at the top of the fabric of her soft, silky shirt to expose her breasts.

  Nora grips my cock, and I feel the familiar aching pull in the bottom of my stomach. I groan for her and she grips harder. The pressure almost hurts, but the pleasure overpowers the pain and I reach down to unbutton my pants. Her hands assist, tugging them down my legs.

  “Are we alone?” she asks, her voice low.

  I can’t help the small laugh that escapes my lips, and look down at my pants around my ankles. “You’re asking this now?”

  Through a bitten lip, she laughs with me and drops to her knees. Nora’s hands are steady when she pulls my boxers down, and I’m envious of how comfortable she seems to be with her sexuality. Her hands don’t shake when she undresses me; her lips don’t quiver when my tongue glides over them. For my part, I’m all nervous, shaky hands and awkward moans, and I couldn’t be sexy if I tried.

  Maybe if I pretend to be someone else for a minute I could be sexy. I could be like those guys in romance novels who can make panties drop with the sound of their voice. Nora’s hands are stroking me, and it’s impossible to focus on being sexy when her hands feel so, so good.

  I look down at this beautiful, mysterious girl and try not to come as fast as I did last time—but she’s making that very, very difficult with those red lips and hungry eyes. She places a wet kiss on the tip of me, and I groan and grab the doorframe to keep myself up.

  “Mhm”—she kisses me again—“you taste so good.”

  That ache climbs up my stomach to my chest. “Nora . . .” Her name is dissolving cotton candy on my tongue. I moan again, not giving a crap about what does or doesn’t sound sexy.

  Nora’s lips part, and she takes me inside her mouth. She’s just so pretty with my cock inside her mouth. Her dark eyes are looking up at me, and it’s hard to think about anything but filling her mouth with my come. I need to last longer—Please let me last longer than last time.

  Watching her taste me, I think about how heavenly she tastes, better than any maple square my mom ever made.

  Okay, enough about my mom, but I do need to think about nonsexy things to last longer. When Nora’s warm tongue gently grazes over the tip of me, I force myself to think about school.

  I have an exam next week.

  Work—I have to work tomorrow.

  When I look away from Nora, she pulls back and looks up at me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Huh?” I blink at her. “Nothing.”

  Nora shifts her body and rests her hands on her thighs as she sets her eyes on mine. “Liar.” Then she adds gently, “Talk to me.”

  I take a deep breath. What the heck am I supposed to say? Sorry, I’m just trying not to come in less than five seconds like last time?

  No freaking way in hell.

  “I’m just thinking, I guess.”

  She tilts her head to the side. “Thinking about what?” A hint of red touches her cheeks and, oh, no, I don’t want her to think I’m thinking something bad about this . . . Or even thinking about anything other than the moment we’re sharing right now.

  “Thinking?” she repeats, dipping her head down slightly. She moves her body a fraction of an inch away from me, and I feel the distance like a big, gaping hole in my chest.

  I reach down and cup her cheek, forcing her to look up at me. “Nothing bad,” I promise. “I’m just nervous. Honestly, that’s what it is. I don’t know why.” I stop my rambling before I make a bigger fool of myself.

  “Nervous? About what?”

  “I don’t know.” I brush my thumb over her cheek, and her eyes flutter closed. “I’m trying to be cool and stuff, but last time I”—I pause—“last time, I was an idiot.”

  Nora leans up and my hand falls from her cheek. “An idiot? How?”

  My face is hot with embarrassment. “I came so fast, and—”

  Nora stands up before I can finish my sentence. “Don’t call yourself names in front of me again.” Her voice is harsh, her eyes even more so. “By calling yourself an idiot, you’re contradicting my opinion of you and basically insinuating that I would be with an idiot.” She looks around the room and back to me. I get the feeling that she’s nowhere near finished. “And, you don’t need to be embarrassed about that. I enjoyed it, and it’s never a bad thing when someone is so turned on that they can’t wait to come.”

  Relief floods me, and my shoulders relax. “It’s not very sexy.”

  She glares at me. “You don’t get to decide what I think is sexy.” Her hand is on her hip now.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “And stop saying sorry for things you didn’t do, Landon. You did nothing wrong. You do that too much.”

  I guess I do. When I think about it, I spend about half of my life saying sorry. Even if I haven’t done anything wrong. I fuss with the bottom of my shirt, trying to cover at least some of my body.

  “If I didn’t think you were sexy, I wouldn’t be here, on my knees in front of you. You don’t have to be whatever version of sexy you think I want. You just have to be here, with me. Do you want to be here with me, right now?”

  I nod.

  “I need words, Landon.”

  Of course she does. “Words aren’t real until you say them.” “Yes, yes, I do. More than anything.”

  “Okay.” Nora lowers herself back to the floor.

  As sexy as she is in front of me, it seems wrong that she’s kneeling before me.

  I should be kneeling before her.

  I grab her hand and pull her up. The confusion is clear in her eyes as she stands.

  “Come to my bed. I want you in my bed.”

  “Is that so,” she says with a wicked smile.

  Without thinking, I scoop her into my arms and move toward my room. My pants are at my ankles, so I pull one foot free. It’s still difficult to walk, but I would rather spend a year in Azkaban than drop Nora or have to put her down. Nora buries her face in my neck, and I love the way she feels in my arms.

  When I reach the hallway, I kick my pants off the rest of the way, and she giggles against my neck. I try to open my bedroom door with one hand, and Nora realizes that I’m struggling and reaches out to open the door for me.

  As I walk over the threshold, I hear the sound of her foot smacking into wood.

  “Ouch!”

  Shit. “Sorry!” I take two quick steps forward and drop her onto the bed as she untangles her arms from around my neck.

  “I think my foot is broken.” She laughs, holding on to the red mark on the top of her foot.

  I don’t even remember her taking her shoes off. Then again, I’m not great at focusing on the details when she’s around. “See, this is why I’m nervous.” I move up on the bed and sit down next to her. Nora extends both legs. When I look at her, I’m distracted by that dang shirt again.

  Nora leans her head onto my shoulder. “I missed you while I was gone, too,” she says, finally responding to my words from a few minutes ago.

  I stay quiet for a moment before asking, “Where did you go?”

  She turns to me and shakes her head. No response.

  “Are you cheating on me?”

  I mean it as a joke, but her back goes rigid and the energy between us shifts. Nora smiles, but it’s faker than a plastic doll’s. “I wasn’t aware that I was in a position to be cheating on you.”

  Now the tables have turned. She’s nervous; I can sense i
t. There’s something else, too, and I can suddenly feel a great pain inside her.

  I lean up and study her face. “Would you like to be?”

  Her lips shake and she opens her mouth, then closes it again.

  Guess not.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she mumbles. “I’m thinking.”

  “You’re always thinking.” I ignore the probing ache in my chest at the idea that she could possibly want to be more with me.

  After a few moments of silence, her voice breaks the stillness—small, unrecognizably so. “I want nothing more than to be yours—”

  I don’t give her a chance to add anything more, to take anything back. I turn my face to hers and take her mouth to mine. My hands cup her cheeks, move down to her neck, and I push my tongue through her lips.

  She groans into my lips, and I move in front of her. Her thighs spread open for me, and I push my body between them, kissing her hard. I kiss her longer, harder, deeper. My mouth grows hungrier, my hands grow fierce, and my insides feel as if they are turning to liquid. I pull away to admire her face. My eyes take her in—every centimeter of her face deserves to be admired; I could stare at her for one hundred years and it would never be enough. I brush my hand over her hair and rest it at the base of her neck. She’s watching me, her arms motionless at her sides. The corners of her mouth are upturned, but she’s not quite smiling.

  I’m over her now, her face inches from mine. I lean in and brush my nose against hers; her eyes flutter briefly, and a small noise comes from the back of her throat.

  “Are you still thinking?”

  “Only about one thing.”

  She keeps a steady gaze, her eyes careful. “And what’s that?”

  Instead of answering her, I lean into her and press my lips to hers. My hand fists in her long hair, and I move one arm under her back, lifting her to press her body against me. I can’t seem to get close enough; the urge to hold her closer and closer still is an overpowering one.

  I don’t remember ever feeling this way about a person, wanting to be close enough to become one.

  With one hand holding her neck still, I move my other hand down to her bottom, gently caressing the soft flesh. Her moans fill my ears, my small bedroom, my apartment, my block, my city, my world.

  Her body was made for this. She was made for me.

  Her warm hand grabs hold of mine, and she guides it back to her front, between her thighs. Her black pants are tight, the fabric thin. When I touch her, I feel her wetness through the material. My God, this woman’s going to kill me.

  “Don’t stop, Landon. Please.”

  Her words are a spark of flame to a forest of trees, and I’m no longer here in this room. I’m above it, watching from the sky, wondering how I got lucky enough to be with her, like this.

  My fingers move to the waistline of her pants, and I unbutton them quickly. She lifts her back up to help me, and I make the mistake of looking at her—from her low-cut red silky shirt with her breasts swollen and nearly completely out of it, to her red panties. My heart is pounding through my rib cage, threatening to break free.

  I recognize the look in her eyes and still can’t believe that I’m worthy of her beautiful gaze on me. She’s breathing hard, lips parted, and staring. She raises a shaking finger to my face and traces the outline of my lips. I kiss her finger, and she groans, still caressing my wet lips. I wrap my lips around the tip of her finger and gently bite down. Her hips lift off the bed.

  “Landon,” she breathes, my name as soft as ash.

  “Nora.”

  She guides me to enter her as she slides those damn red panties down her thighs. “Do you have one?”

  Have one what? “One . . . ?”

  “Condom.”

  Oh, duh. “Uhm?” I’m sure I have one somewhere around here. Where would it be? If I were a condom, where would I be . . . ?

  Inside Nora, that’s where.

  “I’m on birth control . . . ” she says, but looks uncertain.

  I climb off the bed and hurry to my dresser. Digging through the folded briefs and socks, I feel a plastic wrapper. Bingo!

  “Bingo?” Nora says with a youthful giggle.

  My stupid mouth never waits for my permission to speak. I don’t try to defend myself and instead just laugh with her and climb back between her legs. With steady hands she helps me and once again guides me to her. I lean my face to hers and kiss her lips, her cheeks, her chin, even her closed eyes.

  She sighs and wraps her arms around my back, pulling me to enter her. Fuck, she feels . . . She feels like nothing I’ve ever before felt. Maybe she’s just perfect for me. Her body, still and soft under me, is all curves and tanned skin. I didn’t take her shirt off, but I can see plenty of her breasts. She catches me looking at them and pulls the fabric down, cupping her breasts and pulling them out from her shirt. I bend my neck to pull one of her soft, dark nipples into my mouth. I gently nibble her, eliciting a sharp whimper.

  Her arms go behind my back again, urging me to her. “Are you okay, Landon?”

  I thrust into her slowly, reveling in the exquisite feel of her body taking mine. I nod and lift my mouth to hers. I keep moving slowly, in and out. In and out. Tenderly touching her, claiming her as mine.

  She kisses me until all I can feel is her heart pounding against my chest, her body flush with mine. Her legs grow stiff, and she whispers, begging me not to stop. I don’t until my body splits in two and falls onto hers in a fit of sighs and rising and falling chests.

  I roll off of her warm body and lie on the bed beside her. “That was—” I try to catch my breath.

  “Perfect,” Nora says for me.

  chapter

  Eighteen

  HALF OF NORA’S BODY is on top of me, lying across my chest. Her chin is resting just below my breastbone, and her fingers play in my chest hair. She swirls her index finger around, and I watch her in silence. The air conditioner hums in the background, and my mind is replaying the last few minutes over and over and over. Her cheeks are still tinted a blooming pink, and she looks refreshingly, painfully beautiful. She’s taken her shirt off and is wearing nothing but those beautiful eyes, those pouty lips, and that dandelion tattoo midway up her back.

  “You know, I’ve never had a lover be so gentle with me,” Nora says, her eyes not meeting mine. She stares at my chest, and her fingers continue to caress my skin.

  You know, I’ve never had anyone call me a lover, I want to say, but decide against it. “Is that a good thing?” I cringe, thinking of all the whips and chains and things people seem to be into nowadays. Am I too gentle? Dakota sure thinks so, not that I want to think any more into that . . .

  Nora beams. “Yes. A very good thing.” Her voice changes to a whisper, even though we’re alone. “Though”—she regards me thoughtfully—“sometimes I’ll want you to be rough.”

  I’m surprised by the way her words make me feel and also ecstatic that she wants to do this again. My body, though still recovering, aches to be inside her again. Just how rough is she talking here? I’m intrigued by the wide world of sex that I’m unfamiliar with, but I don’t know if my mind can separate being rough from hurting her. I know there’s this whole gray space between rough sex and plain old sex, but just where does her arrow rest on the spectrum?

  “How rough?” I ask.

  One of her hands moves over mine, and she guides it to her hair. Wrapping our fingers around a chunk of dark strands, she yanks on it. My cock throbs.

  “Rough enough.” She smiles delightfully and mischievously. She rubs herself against me. It’s like her body is completely in tune with mine. “Does that sound like something you would like?” Nora’s voice is husky. She tilts her head down to my chest and swipes her tongue across my hardened nipple. Her teeth graze it, and she flicks at it with her tongue. The sensation shoots straight to my groin. No one has ever touched me there, let alone used their mouth on me. My heart is racing—more than usual—and I’m both excited and a littl
e afraid. Not because I don’t want this, but because it’s all so new to me. I heard someone say once that there was a sweet spot between thrill and fear, and it’s a spot I think I’ve jumped right into the middle of.

  I nod in delayed response.

  She presses her lips against my chest. She makes a humming sound in the back of her throat. “I love your body.”

  She moves her hands up to my neck. Her fingers skim over my clammy skin, and my cheeks heat under her compliment. Her hands span my shoulders and back down my chest. It takes everything in me not to writhe under her.

  “You’re one of those people who don’t have to work out to have an amazing body, aren’t you?” Nora gives me a conspiracy-filled smile. “Actually, don’t answer that. I want to imagine that you work out twice a day to look like this.” Her fingers leave my chest and travel down my stomach. Her long nails drag down the ridges of muscle.

  I move my hand to her bare behind. “I love your body.” I grab a handful of her thick ass, and she purrs. Literally purrs from my touch, and I want to hear that sound again. “You have the kind of body that men have bowed to since the history of time.” I think back to all the ancient beauties and the spells they cast on men. Despite my love of all things history, in this moment, naked beside her, I can’t think of a single one of their names.

  “Hardly.” She snorts. “I love my body,” she says with certainty, “but it took me a long-ass time to get there. My teenage years were awful, with every girl on TV a size zero and airbrushed to death. Even the girls at my school—I went to a private school, and they were all these tiny little blondes with rich daddies. From magazines to movies to the hallways, there were no girls who looked like me.”

  This part of her, the insecure teenager, tugs at my heartstrings. Having been with Dakota, who is darker skinned than Nora, I remember these problems coming up. If society tells us that all women should look a certain, very specific way, who are the young girls such as Nora, with two races running through their veins, supposed to look up to?

  I try to think of Nora as a happy teenager, and it brings a smile to my lips. “How were you as a teenager? I would have liked to know you then.”