So Much More (Made for Love #3) (35 page)

His eyes scour my face as he wipes away my tears. I wait for him to say something, but all he does is stare at me. When I start to shake my head in an attempt wiggle out of his grasp, he kisses me. A part of me knows that I should push him away—but I can’t. I
love
him and I
need
him to want me in this moment.

He breaks our kiss and I keep my eyes sealed shut, wishing that all of this felt different.

“Sunshine, look at me. Please look at me.”

Reluctantly, I obey.

“
I love you
.”

My heart skips a beat and then jumpstarts itself, accelerating to the pace of a damn hummingbird’s wings as my skin breaks out in goose pimples.

“What?” I barely manage.

“I love you—I love you
so
much.”

A new sob crawls it’s way up my throat. “Then why—” I choke. “Why—”

“You said you trusted me. That’s not enough. I need
more
than that. This cannot just be about
trust
. I’ve done that!” He lets go of me as he coughs out a humorless laugh. “I kind of get it now. I get it why God created us the way He did. Why He tells us not to sleep around—it fucks with your head. It’s not a rule to punish us; it’s a rule to protect us. Anyone who thinks they can detach their emotions from sex is fooling themselves. It’s bullshit. Absolute bullshit. I don’t care who you are. It’s part of the fabric of our being—sex ties you to a person. Sometimes—” He huffs out a sigh, dragging his hands down his face. “Sometimes the wrong person.”

He looks at me and my mouth falls open, my heart begging me to say something. He just told me that he
loves
me! I can’t make my brain send words through my lips. His love isn’t the only thing he just spoke about and I’m not ashamed to admit that I still don’t understand what he’s trying to say. So my mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out.

He leans toward me and presses a soft kiss on my forehead before he moves to sit beside me. He pulls the sheet over his lap and then slips his arm around my waist. “Come ‘ere,” he says softly. I’m so out of sorts—my mind confused, my heart in pain—I don’t know what to do. As if my muscles are responding to a memory, I let him tuck me against his side. Then I tilt my head so that I can look into his eyes. Silently, I plead for him to do better—to tell me
why
.

“The first time Olivia and I had sex, it wasn’t about love. It was about trust. Hell, the first dozen times we had sex it wasn’t about love,” he begins to explain.
He looks away from me and I can practically see him walk backwards in time. “Then, for me, it changed. When I told her how I felt, she went out of her way to show me that she didn’t feel the same way.

“Over the years, it became an endless cycle. She’d always come back to me. She’d say she was sorry. I’m her best friend. She trusts me. For her, that’s what it’s always been about. For me, I’ve always needed more. I was so in love with her that I didn’t have the strength to tell her no until it was too late and she had hurt me all over again.

“I know I was crazy to wait for her, to think that she’d ever change, but I did. Then, a little over a year ago, she came back. This time, she said she had come back for me. I wanted to believe her, so I did. But then the truth came out. While she was fucking me, she was cheating on her fiancé. I didn’t even know she was seeing anyone! She told me that as soon as he proposed, she thought of me. She said she couldn’t get me out of her head and she thought maybe I’d had it right—that it was supposed to be me and her.

“She left that weekend promising to come back. Promising to break off her engagement. Promising that she wanted me. Then I didn’t hear from her for over a year.”

I reach up, sliding my hand around his cheek, turning his face until he’s looking straight at me. I see, now, that I’m not the only transparent person in this bed. I try my damnedest to grab hold of what he’s just shared with me, to make his confession take away the sting of rejection that still lingers in my chest—but then his words from earlier echo in my mind.

“I’m not her, remember?” I whisper. “This,
this
is yours and mine.”

“But don’t you see?” he pleads with me, resting his forehead against mine. “I can’t do that to you. I can’t let this be about trust—not just because it’s not enough for me, but because it’s not enough for
you
. When I make love to you, Sunshine, I want you to be ready.”

“I’m—”

“No,” he cuts me off with a shake of his head. “Not just ready to lose your virginity—but ready to love me; ready to have me—all of me; and ready to give me all of you. Always. I want to give you that promise, that it’ll be you and me and our love.
That’s
what you deserve, my sweet girl. Forever.”

His words are like a salve, taking away all my confusion, all my disappointment, all my pain, and every trace of rejection I might have felt since the moment he pulled away from me and told me
no
. I wrap my arms around him, needing to be closer to him. When he hugs me back, holding me tight, my words get stuck in my throat.

I love you
.

They’re there, logged in my airway, suffocating me. I want to say the words so badly—but if I say them now, will he know that I mean them? Or will he think that I’m just saying them because I want him so desperately? If I’m being honest, it would mean both of those things. Yet, somehow, now doesn’t feel like the right time to tell him. This moment is about
his
love. Right now, I just want to feel that.

“Will you hold me? Hold me until we fall asleep?” I ask, pulling away from him.

He kisses my cheek before he goes to turn out the lights. When he comes back, he lays down on his side and pats the space in front of him. I slide down under the sheets, turning away from him before I curve my back against his front. He folds me in his arms, holding me snuggly.

“I love you,” he whispers, his lips grazing my shoulder.

I close my eyes, letting the words sink into my very being, and pull his arms around me tighter. We make not another sound before we both drift off to sleep.

T
HE SHEETS ARE COLD.

That’s the first thing my brain registers when I open my eyes.

French toast.

That’s the second thing my brain registers as I draw in a deep breath.

I roll onto my back and look across the room. There, in nothing but my t-shirt, Sarah is standing at the stove flipping French toast. For just a moment, I lie perfectly still and simply admire her. Her long, blonde waves hang down her back. The neck of my t-shirt is crooked, showing off her bare shoulder, and the hem at the bottom stops at the top of her legs. My dick twitches at the memory of what I know to be under that thin layer of cotton.

Then it’s the memory of last night that comes rushing back. To say that it didn’t go exactly the way I’d hoped would be the understatement of the year. I know that the strength it took to pull away from her was a manifestation of my love. Nothing more, nothing less—it had
nothing
to do with me. I did it for her. I’d do it again, too. She’s worth the wait. I wanted her to know that—
needed
her to know that.

As if she can hear my thoughts, she turns and looks at me. When she smiles, it’s like the whole world slows down for a second—just long enough for me to appreciate how lucky I am that she’s mine. Last night, after she told me she didn't accept my apology, I thought I might have lost her for a second. When I told her I loved her and she didn't say it back, it didn't matter so long as she didn't leave.

Like I said, she's worth the wait.

“Don’t move,” she tells me before she begins hurrying her way around my small kitchen.

Our
small kitchen.

The thought occurs to me that she belongs there. Not barefoot in my kitchen, although I won’t complain about my morning view. What I mean is, she belongs
here
with
me.
What’s mine is hers—hasn't it felt that way since the morning she showed up at Little Bird, begging me to let her loose in my kitchen? I don’t want that to ever change. Whether she’s ready or not, I’ll wait for her to see that her future isn’t as unclear as it may seem. Her future is here.

With me
.

I sit up when she makes her way back to bed. She’s got a plate full of French toast doused in syrup in one hand and a fork in the other. She hands me both before she crawls in beside me and reclaims the fork. “You’re out of coffee. You also don’t have any orange juice, which makes this the lamest attempt at breakfast in bed, for which I apologize. I did the best that I could.” She cuts a piece of toast and places the first bite in her mouth before she feeds me my own piece.

I smile at her as I chew and then plant a kiss against her lips. “You’re here,” I tell her, talking around my food. “That automatically makes this the best breakfast in bed
ever
.”

She stares at me for a second, finishing her bite before she responds.

“I love you.”

My smile slips.

I wasn’t expecting that.

“I loved you last night, too. And the night before that. And the night before that. And probably the night before that! I didn’t say it back to you because I didn’t want you to think I was saying it for the wrong reasons. This is
not
about sex—it’s about
you
and
me
. It’s about…”

She keeps talking, but her words go in one ear and out the other as I set aside our breakfast and take her face in my hands. Her lips are still moving until I close my mouth around hers. She hums a laugh and I smile at the sound.

“I love you, too,” I declare, my lips still touching hers.

“I was hoping you'd say that,” she murmurs bringing her hands to rest against my chest. I jump when the cold fork in her grasp touches my skin.

“Give me that,” I insist, discarding it along with our toast. “We'll eat that later.”

I claim her mouth with mine and she wraps her arms around me immediately. She tastes like syrup and Sarah. I reach for the bottom of my shirt, skimming my hands up her sides and over her breasts as I push the fabric out of my way. She helps me, tugging it over her head before reaching for my kiss once more.

“Babe?” she mumbles.

“What is it, Sunshine?”

“I heard you. Last night,” she starts to say as she takes my hand in hers. “Every word is written on my heart.” My breathing grows ragged as she pulls my hand down between her legs. “And I want you. Always,” she whispers, guiding my fingers to her heat.

She’s sopping wet.

“Shit, Sarah,” I mutter, dropping my forehead to her shoulder.

“Make love to me, Brandon,” she speaks directly into my ear. “Please. I don't think I can go another day without you. I swear, I've never wanted anything as much as I want this—you and me.”

I don't hesitate to reach for the condom we didn't use last night. No chance in hell I'm telling my girl no twice. I slide it on before I turn and ease Sarah down onto her back. She spreads her legs and I let the weight of my cock rest against her entrance. I swallow nervously as I gaze down at her. She’s nervous too, her chest rising and falling with her shallow breaths.

“Are you alright?”

She nods, holding onto my shoulder with one hand while placing the other just over my racing heart. When she smiles, I know she can feel my pulse. “I love you, Brandon.”

“I love
you
, Sarah,” I reply, easing my way inside of her.