Page 71 of Make Her Mine

Jefferson: Wear that yellow dress.

Me: You’re picking out my clothes now? Controlling much?

Jefferson: If you were my girlfriend, I would really like you in that dress. And you’d really like me liking you in that sundress.

He has to stop saying—texting—stuff like that. This feels like flirting. For real.

But I can’t help but think of other things that would happen if I was his girlfriend for real.

Like, if I was his girlfriend, I would wear my hair down loose and curled slightly, I’d wear my citrus-coconut body spray, and lotion.

Jefferson likes coconut.

CHAPTER 15

JEFFERSON

I get home more eager to see Harlow than I should.

She didn’t ask more about the begging that happened last night even after I teased her about it.

That’s interesting. Does she remember it? Maybe. But if not, I will happily tell her all about it.

She was asleep, and I think actually dreaming when she asked me to lie down with her. But far be it from me to deny a beautiful woman with her mouth pressed against my neck, begging me to stay in bed with her.

Yes, we slept together.

I could tell her that we didn’t touch all night, but that would be a lie.

Harlow might not be into blankets and pajamas, and I wouldn’t exactly call her a cuddler, but I couldn’t sleep in even a king-sized bed, trying to keep space between us, and not know she was there.

If she didn’t have a hand on my arm or chest, she had a foot against my leg or wedged between mine. And there were about three hours where her sweet ass was nestled up against my hip.

She just seemed to want to have some part of her body against some part of mine at all times.

And she definitely doesn’t like blankets.

I tried to cover her up, because she wasn’t wearing much and I didn’t want her to be cold, but also for my own sanity. Without a blanket, there was a lot of smooth, bare skin and sweet curves on display in my bed. But she almost immediately threw any coverings off.

And while the shirt covered a lot when she was upright, it did a pretty poor job of covering her when she was lying down and moving around on the sheets.

I not only know the color of the panties she was wearing, but I now know the exact shape of her thighs, hips, and ass, how smooth her stomach is, and that she has a tattoo on her left rib cage. It’s a quote, done in a pretty script. It says, be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.

I’ve already looked it up. It’s a Maya Angelou quote.

I’m not surprised by the quote at all. Or that it’s placed, essentially, under her heart.

I’m surprised by how fucking hot it makes me, though.

I didn’t even have to stare and ogle her. There was just no escaping it.

Especially when she did strip her shirt off sometime in the night.

I put it back on her, but…how could I avoid taking a mental snapshot of a nearly naked Harlow Hansen in my bed? I’m no fucking saint.

She’s gorgeous. Her body is toned and curved in all the right places. I would very happily spend hours running my hands, lips, and tongue all over every inch.

Not, of course, when she’s asleep and unaware.

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