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  I cup his face in my hands, and his eyes open halfway.

  Under hooded eyes, his body calls back to me. He shifts his legs and pushes one thigh between mine. He lifts his leg up, so his thigh presses against me. The ache in my stomach tightens.

  “I do.” A hint of rasp coats his low voice. “I think about you all the time. The last time . . .” He looks toward the kitchen table and back to my face, and rests his eyes on my mouth. He’s so close that I can smell the sweetness of his drink on his tongue.

  “The last time was . . .” I trail off. I feel drowsy under him.

  Landon’s eyes open farther, and his hands grab my hips. His mouth is on mine before I can push through the fog in my brain.

  chapter

  Thirteen

  LANDON’S HANDS THREAD THROUGH MY hair, pulling me closer. His mouth is so soft, yet his touch is hard, commanding. I’m in awe of him, and my mind is swimming with lust for him. His hands move to my hips and he lifts me onto the countertop. His body is between my thighs, and I close my legs around his back. I wish the counter were lower, so I could feel his cock press against me.

  How do we always end up here? With our mouths and hands all over each other?

  “Nora,” Landon says into my mouth. The way he says my name, so tenderly, makes me want to moan. I fight the urge, but my body is almost out of my mind’s control.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him as close as possible.

  “Don’t try to fight it,” he says, as if he knows that my mind is pushing hard against him.

  I nod and pull my mouth away from his. I move my lips to his ear. “I want you to fuck me, Landon.” I drag my lips slowly across his cheek, down to his jaw.

  He trembles under my touch, and I pull at the bottom of his shirt and lift it over his head. His body makes me ache. The muscles on his abdomen aren’t too overworked; the lines are faint and soft, but strong. The trail of hair on this stomach is just another part of his body that I want to have my mouth on. My hands look so small as my fingers find the buttons of his jeans, and I pop them open quickly.

  He’s wearing black briefs that fit snugly. Why does he have to be so hot? Why does he have to make me forget my judgment and rip his clothes off? I’ve read my fair share of romance novels, and I’ve always rolled my eyes at the way a man’s body supposedly has the magic ability to turn a woman’s brain to mush. But here I am, with my very own shirtless man—in a kitchen, of all places—and I can’t form a single coherent thought.

  My thoughts are plenty, but none of them pure.

  My mouth moves lower, to suck on the smooth curve of muscle just where his shoulder meets his neck. He moans and I suck harder, not caring if I leave a mark. If I mark him, does that make him mine? If Dakota saw proof of my lips on him, would she do everything in her power to destroy me?

  Probably.

  Do I care?

  Not right now.

  My hands find their way down his chest to the line of his briefs. The elastic is tight, but I push my hand through and grip him. He’s hard for me, so hard for me.

  Landon lets out a heavy breath and drops his head to my shoulder. His hair smells like pine and soap, a stimulating mix. I rest my free hand on the back of his head and hold him to me as I stroke him with the other. I move my hand slowly, pumping him.

  He feels so heavy in my hand, and all I can think about is that I want to watch his face change as he grows closer to his orgasm. I love the way he closes his eyes when he comes. I’ve thought—many, many times—about how he came in his boxers as I straddled him.

  “This is better than imagining, isn’t it?” I ask.

  I barely recognize my own voice.

  Landon lifts his head slightly, and his hands move to my hips. I feel his fingers tug on my shirt, and I lift my body so he can take my shirt off. The second it hits the floor, his mouth is less than an inch from my chest. His eyes are wide on mine, asking for permission.

  I nod and reach behind my back to unclasp my bra. My bra falls away, and Landon’s eyes blink in anticipation. He makes me feel so wanted. He makes me forget the years of insults in my past and those I inflict on myself in the present.

  He eagerly cups my breasts, and I notice that his hands are shaking as his fingers rub circles around my nipples. They harden under his gentle movements, and I moan when he pinches one between his thumb and index finger. Landon’s eyes stay on my chest while his hands play with me, exploring my pleasure. I stop stroking him; my body can’t possibly handle both sensations at once.

  “You . . .” Landon’s breath is hot on my breasts. “You’re so—there isn’t a word for how beautiful you are.”

  His words fall over me, coating me, and I watch him bend down farther. His lips wrap around my nipple, and he sucks it. When I moan his name, he sucks harder. His other hand is rubbing my other breast in slow circles, and my entire body aches painfully for him.

  I’ve never had a man touch me with such reserve. Landon’s touch is both steady and gentle, claiming and freeing. No one has ever taken the time to admire me the way he is now. His cock is out, pressing solidly between us. I want to take every second of this in so that I can think of him later, when he’s no longer mine to touch.

  His mouth moves to my other breast. It’s overwhelming, watching him and feeling the vibration of his moans on my skin.

  “I want to take your shorts off,” he says, his voice low.

  I nod barely, I think.

  He grabs me and lifts me off the counter with ease. His hands are no longer shaking when they unbutton my jean shorts. He tugs at them, and they don’t fall. I help him, pulling at the fabric, and once they’re over my ass, they drop to the floor.

  Landon’s fingers hook around the strings of my panties, and he kneels in front of me. I put my hands on his head and stroke his soft hair. Slowly, he moves his head back and forth over my panties. I can feel how wet they are already. I’m throbbing.

  He inhales a long breath, and my knees nearly buckle under me. How can someone so sweet possibly be so sensual? Landon is so much more unpredictable than he thinks he is.

  His nose rubs over my clit, oh so gently, and I moan for him. His hands trail down my body, taking my panties with them as they skim over my legs, and I tremble.

  Landon looks up at me, nerves clear in his eyes. He’s nervous. Of course he’s nervous—he’s only been with one woman before. He doesn’t have the same experience that I do. He’s pure, and I’m covered in mud. I need to guide him a little more.

  “I want you. I trust you,” I assure him, and his eyes soften. “Taste me.” I tug gently at his hair. “I know you want to taste me on your tongue, Landon.”

  With that, he wraps his arms around the back of my legs, and I spread them just enough for him.

  My head rolls back the moment his tongue touches me. My wetness mixing with his warm, wet tongue has me holding on to the counter for support. The pleasure I feel is crippling, and the way his tongue glides over my sensitive nerves has me biting down on my lip, trying not to make a sound.

  My stomach tightens, and I feel my orgasm climbing up my spine. I’m convinced he’s going to drive me too crazy; he’s too much.

  Landon Gibson is the definition of too much.

  He draws small circles with his tongue; he doesn’t stray from where I need him. His name falls and falls again from my lips, and his arms are strong, holding me up when my body melts into him. As I come on his tongue, I can’t hold my own body up. He grips me harder, and I let go of his hair and dig my nails into the countertop.

  When I finish, he slowly rises from his knees. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are a deep pink, a little swollen and wet from me.

  “Let me touch you. I need to touch you,” I whine, needing him. Now.

  Landon’s eyes are intense, pouring into mine. “Come to my bed,” he instructs. It’s a foreign voice, a voice so full of command that I immediately nod and follow him to his room.

  The walk down the hallway
to his room is a long one. Between my thighs, I ache. Between my ears, I throb. My doubt is threatening to sweep down the hallway and take me with it. I’m taking it too far, I know I am, but I can’t stop this any more than I could stop a barreling train.

  Landon’s room is simple. His bed rests against the wall and has a plain gray bedspread with just two pillows. I stand in the doorway, completely naked, and try to focus on the décor of his room and not my thoughts. I’m not sure what to do. I know what I want to do, but I want him to lead what happens. I want to be able to feel less guilty when this ship wrecks, knowing he was my co-captain.

  Landon walks over to me and leans behind me to close the door. He turns the lock, and it clicks into place. My heart races.

  Without a word, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to him. He’s wearing only briefs, which he’s pulled up since we left the kitchen. His hardness presses into me, and I kiss him. I can taste myself on his tongue, and he moans when I grip him through his briefs.

  “Lie down. It’s my turn to taste you,” I tell him.

  He hesitates to pull away, like his mouth doesn’t want to leave mine. The idea warms me, and I welcome it with open arms.

  My body is growing impatient. I look down at Landon’s nearly naked body, and I can’t fight the crushing need to see the rest of him. I push at his shoulders, and he moves to his bed. Grabbing the smooth fabric of his briefs, I pull them down his legs. They pool at his feet, and he kicks them away.

  I press my hands against his bare chest to push him onto the bed. He’s breathing so heavily that I search his eyes before I continue. Sensing my wordless question, he nods and lies back on the bed. His brown hair is a mess on his pillow, and I climb onto the bed. Moving up his body, pressing my naked skin to his, I want to tease him.

  My mouth finds his and I kiss him, hard. I kiss him and I kiss him until his shoulders relax and I taste him sigh. I press the wetness between my thighs on his hardness and he moans, his hands balling into fists in the blanket.

  I rub him again, sliding myself over him, coating him. I want him to feel how much I want him. He groans, my name tumbles from his mouth, and he moves one hand to my bare back. His fingers find my hair, and I bend down to press my mouth to his ear.

  “Pull it,” I tell him. He blinks at me in surprise, and I put more weight on his body. If I move, ever so slightly, he will be inside me. “Pull my hair, Landon.”

  His throat moves when he swallows, and he tugs at my hair. I let my head fall back, and he shifts his hips under me. He moves one hand to my hip, keeping me in place. His cock is pressing against me, at the exact point of contact I need it to.

  Fuck, this man will kill me. He tugs my braid again, and I watch desire ignite in his eyes.

  He tests me, tugging harder, and I lower my head to his chest. I kiss him there, just below the dip of his collarbone. “You don’t have to be gentle with me. Not when we’re both feeling anything but gentle.”

  I kiss his neck, just under his ear.

  “You make me crazy,” he tells me.

  “I know.” I kiss his mouth.

  He pulls on my hair again, and I moan into the kiss.

  “I’ve never felt like this before,” he confesses. His mouth is touching mine. “The things I want to do to you are things I’ve never even thought about before.” The honesty in his voice makes my chest sting.

  “You can be whoever you want with me, Landon. You can try new things.” I bite at his lower lip and feel the shift of his hips again. On cue, he pulls my hair. I knew he would catch on quickly.

  I climb down his body, kissing my way down, and his hand releases my hair.

  “You don’t have to be shy.” I kiss him just above his navel. His muscles retract. “If you want to do something, just say it. Like right now, I want to take your thick cock in my mouth and taste your come.”

  His hips jump at my words, and his eyes are burning into mine.

  “Is that what you want?” I kiss lower.

  He nods furiously, and I smile. I follow the trail of hair with my mouth and kiss him one last time, in the sensitive spot between his thigh and his cock. It jerks next to my face, and I take it in one hand. I want to admire him, the way he admired me.

  I try to be patient and place a kiss on the tip of him, but the noise he makes when I do cuts through my patience. I take him in my mouth and he comes instantly. My name has never sounded better than it does when he moans it while filling my mouth.

  When he’s finished, he reaches for my shoulders and pulls my body to his. I lay my head on his chest, and it moves with each rise and fall of his breath. His fingers caress me, tickling my skin as he drags them down my arm to my hip, and then back up.

  Landon’s hands are strong yet soft on me, and I can’t remember the last time I was held this way. It’s been, what . . . at least two years. Even when I was with him, he never held me like this. Quiet time was sparse in our house, and I never realized just how rare it was until it was too late. Landon’s fingers move up to my hair and gently rub my scalp. I let my eyes close and soak in the contact.

  The harsh pang of loss that’s been throbbing inside me for years feels as if it’s dissipating with every stroke of Landon’s fingers in my hair. I love how gentle he is, how untainted his soul remains. I’ve never met anyone like him, and I can’t help but wish for more of him. More time, more kisses, more of his fingers leaving their marks on my skin. Dakota is so lucky to have been with him for so long, sharing so many memories with him. I’ll never understand why she took him for granted. I will simply never, ever get it.

  A loud crashing sound comes from the living room, and we both jump. I climb off the bed and search for something to cover my body. Landon already has gray sweatpants hanging from his hips, and he’s pulling an NYU T-shirt over his head.

  Another crash. Landon looks at me. “You stay here.” He seems slightly panicked, but not afraid.

  When he opens the door, the sound of shattering glass fills the room.

  chapter

  Fourteen

  Landon

  WHEN I HIT THE HALLWAY, a string of curse words fly into the air. The voice is too low to recognize at first, but I have an idea . . .

  If Hardin is breaking things in my living room, his ass is going right back where he came from. It takes my brain a few seconds to process what’s happening when I finally see the living room. My grandma’s table is knocked over, one leg broken, and the vase that was once atop it is on the floor, fractured into glass shards around some stranger’s feet. Hardin is kneeling down with a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth and his arm wrapped around the stranger’s neck.

  The man’s face is red; a thick trail of blood flows down his face and has stained his mouth. The blood adds to the drama of the whole scene. When I pay close attention, I see that he’s small-framed, and probably pissing himself because he thinks Hardin’s going to kill him.

  I stop a few feet from them. What the hell is going on? Who is this guy?

  I search his face again. He looks a little familiar, but where do I know him from?

  “If you don’t plan to kill him, you should let go,” I caution Hardin. Going to jail would definitely throw a wrench into his weekend reunion with Tessa.

  He looks down at his new friend and then back up to me. “Fine.” He pulls his arms away from the man.

  Gasping, the stranger falls over onto his side and cups his hands around the front of his neck.

  “What’s going on?” I demand. Whatever it is, it happened really, really fast. I didn’t even realize Hardin had come in.

  Hardin stands up. “Don’t move.” The stranger moves to hold his nose with one hand while his other is on the floor, open palmed.

  Hardin doesn’t take his eyes off the intruder. “When I got here, he had his ear pressed against your front door. I don’t know what the fuck he was listening for. He was probably going to try to break in or some shit. I would know.”

  “Well, why did you
bring him in here?” I look back at my grandma’s ruined table.

  Hardin stares at me like I’ve asked him why the sky is neon green. “So he wouldn’t leave?” he says with an eye roll.

  The man tries to sit up, and Hardin crushes the free hand under his boot. “I said not to fucking move.” Hardin raises his hand and casually pushes his hair back over his forehead, completely ignoring the shouts of the man on the floor in front of him as he steps on his hand.

  “What were you doing here?” I ask the stranger.

  Hardin pulls his phone out of his pocket. I assume he’s calling the police. I feel like I’m inside a movie.

  “If he calls the police, you’re going straight to jail,” I point out.

  The man moves his arm when Hardin takes a step away. Gripping his hand, he lifts himself to his knees. When Hardin returns, the man promises not to move and rests his back against my wall. He looks more and more familiar the more I stare at him.

  “I was looking for my friend’s apartment,” he says. “That’s all.”

  I don’t know if I believe him. My apartment did get broken into a few weeks ago, so I can’t be too sure. When my eyes register his black coat, his dark eyes, and his gray jacket, a memory pricks at my brain. I’ve seen him before in the hallway here, that’s it.

  “I think he’s telling the truth. I’ve seen him here before,” I tell Hardin.

  The man stands up, and Hardin puts his phone back into his pocket.

  My bedroom door opens, and Nora walks into the living room wearing a pair of my briefs and one of my white undershirts. Her dark nipples show through. I see Hardin and the random guy looking at her, and my chest flares.

  “You can go back in my room.” I hope she listens. I hate the two of them looking at her so exposed.

  “What the hell?” She looks at Hardin, then at the other man. “Cliff?” Her eyes harden suspiciously. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “You know him?” I look between the two of them.