Chapter Twenty
NORA WAS RIGHT. Her cabbage was delicious. It didn’t taste anything like the smelly rolls my mom would make. She pulled the leaves off and sliced them up, then threw them onto a plate for us to munch on. That’s it. And it was much, much better than I thought it would be. Nora sat perched up on the counter and fed me bite after bite. It tasted like garlic and salt, and, given that she kissed my lips after each bite I took, I ate the entire pan.
“I told you it was good.” She squirts soap onto the pan she cooked it on. I watch her clean the dishes and wonder if I should offer to help.
I probably should. “Can I help you?”
Nora turns, half-surprised, half-smiling, like I just offered a fluffy white puppy. “Let me get this straight.” She licks her lips, and I walk closer. “You not only have the tongue of a saint, the body of a god, and the brain of a philosopher, you also help wash dishes?”
Something pulls at my chest with each word of praise.
Her expression is amused, and I love the way her unguarded smile hangs from her lips. Just as I love the way my boxers hang low on her hips. My shirt doesn’t swallow her; the fabric is somewhat tight against her chest and hips, but loose on the arms. Now my shirt will smell like her. I’ll never have to wash it again. Okay, maybe not never again, but not anytime soon. I barely do laundry anyhow.
I stand behind her as she pretends to wash the same pan that has been in her hands for two minutes now. What is she daydreaming about? Me helping her with dishes? Is it that simple to climb into her heart?
Finally I say, “That I do, little lady.”
Her long fingers hold on to the sponge, and she dips it back into the soapy water. “Again with the little lady?”
She tilts her head slightly, exposing her neck. I can’t tell if she’s purposely encouraging my need for her, or if her body is calling to me without intention. Either way, I’m a lucky SOB.
“I’m older than you,” she notes.
I laugh under my breath and watch small bumps grow on her neck. Did I cause that? Holy shit! I think I did. I wrap my arms around her waist, and she leans back into me, her bare neck calling my name. I kiss her there, just above the curve of her throat.
“I’m bigger than you.” I kiss her neck again. My tongue swipes over her warm skin, and she groans, breathless. My hands move to her hips, and I give her a light squeeze.
“Bigger, are you?” Her voice is small and gruff. Nora pushes back, her ass pressing against me.
“I am.” My hands travel to her breasts, and I rub them softly, gently caressing her flesh. When my fingers find her nipples, covered only by the thin fabric of my cotton T-shirt, my fingers tug at them and they harden under my thumb. I tweak them; with each pinch my touch grows stronger, her moans transform into mewls, her whining gasps make me throb for her.
Her unmoving hands are still in the water, and I move one of my hands down to her stomach. I stop there, unsure how far to take it. As if she can hear my thoughts, she looks over her shoulder at me. “You can be whoever you want with me, remember?”
I can be who I want to be with her. No pressure, no worrying about whether I sound cool or lame, or strong or weak. I don’t have to push through the fields of doubt in my mind; I don’t have to question every single thing I say or do. I can sidestep all that. With her, there’s a calm silence like I’ve never known.
She turns the faucet off, and I watch her rinse the soap from her hands. “What do you want, Landon? Tell me.” Nora moves her hips, rubbing her ass against me. “Don’t be afraid. I want you.” Her hand wraps around me through my thin pants. “I need you.”
“Turn around,” I growl, barely recognizing my own voice.