Page 92 of Make You Love Me
“You thought it was a drunk confession I didn’t mean.”
His gaze drops, but I bring it back to me by framing his face with my hands.
“I’m sorry for giving you so many reasons to not trust me. I should have been the one protecting your heart and constantly filling it, not—”
“I’ve never stopped loving you. I was upset after the breakup, but I’d have found my way back to you eventually. I always do.” He leans in for a kiss, but before he can withdraw, I hold him and deepen it. He’s less tentative this time, more possessive, hungry.
“Where do we go from here?” I ask, knowing that one taste of him won’t be enough and hoping he feels the same.
“Well, we agreed to start over, but I’d rather skip ahead.”
“How far ahead?”
“Cool your panties. I’m not proposing again,” he confesses with a playful eye roll. “But I learned tonight that I’m not good at sharing you. I won’t do it.”
“Jordan Jones, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”
He nods. “In private, public, and every way that matters. No more pretending, Nora. No hiding. I don’t need you to marry me, but I do need a real commitment.”
My hands slide down his broad shoulders and chest, taking in the feel of him—my sweet, sweetboyfriend. “I can handle that.”
Bringing me closer, he kisses me until the room spins, and I’m no longer thinking of relationship labels. I no longer care about promises, past mistakes, or future uncertainties. Only him.
Chapter 24
Jordan
We should get ready,” Nora says, crawling on top of me, her hands trailing down my torso. The gray light of dawn fills the room, covering her smooth skin in a soft amber glow.
Mirroring her, I slide a finger down the thin space between her breasts. “I’m suddenly in the mood for something else.”
“We have plans,” she informs me.
“Seems to me like your body is advocating for a change of plans.”
“Mmm.” She shifts her hips over me, teasing me into wanting more than a beautiful view. “Under normal circumstances, you’d be right, but…”
“We have plans,” I repeat as my gaze travels from her face down to her navel, committing the view to memory. She’s tousled and sleepy-eyed from an active night and looking at me with a new affection. One I never thought I’d see.
“You’re quite the devoted brother.” Moving to her hands and knees, she plants a kiss on my lips for incentive, but it onlymakes me crave staying put more. I pull her down and roll, pinning her under my arm and good leg.
I cover her squeal with my mouth until her body stops resisting and starts writhing with need.
“We can spare twenty minutes,” she concedes.
“Plenty of time for what I want to do to you.”
???
It took three tries, but we eventually made it into the car to start the five-and-a-half-hour trip to New York City. But an hour in, Nora turns off I-95 and heads west.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“A planned detour.” She takes my hand for the first time in our new, actual relationship, and I feel like a teenager again. Back when a touch from a girl felt more like heat from a flame. When simple moments got the heart pumping, not only from the physical connection but from knowing that person chose you. A time when casual gestures meant so much more.
“Detour to where?”
“Cave exploring in a non-dangerous, wheelchair accessible fashion.”
