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.