Nothing Less

Chapter Seventeen

NORA’S LIPS ON MINE are more than welcomed, if not exactly the first thing I thought she would do when I saw her in my doorway. But here she is, pushing my shoulders against the back of the door, her breath hot on my lips. Her hands are wild as her body presses against me and I attempt to catch my breath.

I put my hands on her hips, and her teeth gently pull at my lower lip. I lift one of my hands to cup her breast, and my fingers brush over her hard nipple. She’s not wearing a bra.

When she pulls away, I reach for her. My back is tight against the door, and she’s stepping away from me. Red stains of lipstick practically illuminate her full lips, instinctively causing me to lick my own to remember her taste.

“I . . .” Nora starts, stops, searches for words. Her eyes circle the room and land back on me. Her mouth falls open, but she doesn’t speak.

I don’t think I want to hear what she has to say. She’s good at making excuses for why we shouldn’t be doing what we’re doing, and right now I want to ignore what might be right or wrong and just grab her by the waist and pull her to me. Her breasts are full, barely contained by the low cut of her shirt, which is the same bright red as her lipstick.

“What are you wearing?” I’m mesmerized by the shirt.

Nora cocks her head to the side and looks at me. She looks down at her outfit and back to me. “Clothes?”

Thinking before I speak is definitely something that I should work on. To try to wash away that awkward moment, I reach for Nora’s arm and pull her back to me. She doesn’t stop me from pulling her into my arms and holding her.

“I missed you. When you were gone just now,” I say through her lips on mine. She’s so warm, her body feels like summer nights in Michigan: languid humidity and fireflies twinkling in the yard. I would catch the fireflies in a jar but let them go soon after. Nora reminds me of a firefly, surprising and bright. Not to be kept in a jar. Never letting herself be kept in a jar.

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