I want her in my life permanently and forever. I want to give her children and raise them together with her. I want our children to emulate her and the love she understands from her life, and I want to push out my shallow, self-centered past and learn to be like her, radiating warmth, compassion, commitment. She’s so perfectly genuine, and I want to be like her. I want to love her. I’ve spent the last six weeks pushing her forward, boosting her, teaching her everything I know, but I’ve learned so much from her as well. Perhaps I can love too. Perhaps I can love her. Perhaps I already do. Perhaps I can love her more than myself, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll be damn good at it, and I’ll have her to thank for that. She’s taught me just as much as I could ever hope to teach her, and hasn’t she taught me this as well?
Chapter 18
Having Jordan near my family was strange. I dreaded it the moment he asked us to lunch, but once there I enjoyed his interaction. My parents liked him right away. My father can be gruff, cold even to those who don’t know him, but he was none of those things with Jordan. On the contrary, his respect for Jordan was so very visible to me. My mother adored him, obvious by her inability to stop talking. She was saddened by his admission of growing up alone, hell I was too, and her heartstrings were instantly pulled. My heart broke with his tale of nannies and boarding schools. Jordan is strong, confident, intelligent, and demanding, but he was also a child once. He deserved a family that cared for him, that loved him, that was present in his life, and it’s difficult not to pity him and want to give him all of those things now in consolation.
I care for him. I shouldn’t, but I do. He’s off limits by my choosing, but I still can’t stop wanting him, caring for him, hurting for him, loving him… His embarrassment of his past hurt my body with a very physical pain that clenched my guts and stabbed my heart. My throat constricted in a desperate attempt not to cry. I wanted to erase his humiliation. He watched my family, and it didn’t escape my attention just how intensely he studied us. The small smile that passed his lips showed his appreciation for our dynamic, and that breaks my heart all the more because he didn’t have that dynamic in his family—never did, and yet he could sense it, see it, understand it in my family. He deserves it in his life, and I want to give it. I know how to love, and I love him. Could he ever love me?
I’ve wronged him by withholding myself. It was never what I wanted, and I hurt him by pushing him away. I rationalized it as though I was protecting us both, but from what? My career will sink or swim on the merit of my talent, and it may or may not be impacted by my relationship over the remaining month of my internship. His career is equally threatened by our relationship, but it was of no concern to him. He was willing to risk it to be with me. He was ready to divulge it all out of concern for me. He never confessed his care for me, but he cares. His actions have made this clear.
He deserves more from me. He deserves the same compassion, passion, care, and love he has shown me in his own misunderstood way. He confessed to me at his home the day we ran into Mark, and I can still hear the words he spoke and the gentle tone of his voice. “I can’t stop with you.” Those words have stuck with me since that night as much for the warmth they bring to my heart as the reassurance I’m different to him in some way than other women. This is the man who doesn’t do “next times,” but he did with me, never tiring of our time together. What did I need, a damn bulletin board? He cares! And I turned my back. And it’s with the confidence I owe entirely to him I leave my emotionally safe and secure sanctuary and make my way to his.
I may have only been in his home twice before, but I have no problem finding it on this evening. His car is in the driveway, and I’m excited for the first time since I ended us. When the doorknob turns, my body turns to liquid fire, the heat of my need pulsing through my body in waves. I’m trembling in the want and need I’ve denied for the past week and a half, and as the door opens I have to restrain myself from forcing my way in and attacking him.
I stare openmouthed at his beauty. He’s not wearing a shirt and only has a pair of worn and faded jeans on. He looks surprised, but as I continue to drool over him, my lust no doubt visible in my love-drunk stupor, a small smile spreads across his mouth. It’s more smirk than smile as his gaze moves from mine to my lips and then to my breasts. When it finally makes its way back to my eyes, his are dark and hooded. He knows why I’m here, and the occasional clench of his stomach muscles tells me he hasn’t lost any interest during our time apart.
“I can’t stop with you either.” I can barely get the words out before I lunge at his mouth. I’m hardly tall enough to get there on my own, but he meets me halfway, pulling me into his arms and back into his home. He pushes the door closed and me against it as we attack each other’s mouths. I know his taste, and it hits like a long-remembered aphrodisiac. His tongue is plunging and claiming, and mine meets his with his every movement. His lips are powerful and strong as they work against my lips, and as his hands explore, knead, grope, and grip in his desire, my body hums in excitement. He’s clawing and pulling at my clothing as though he can’t get me out of them quick enough, but before he has me completely naked he lifts me to straddle his hips, and with an ease difficult to comprehend, he walks us to his bedroom and to his expansive bed.
I haven’t been in this room since the night he unknowingly took my virginity, and the memory of that heady and intense encounter is flashing in my mind, but I want it like this. He was unknown to me at that time, and now he’s very known, very understood, and I love that he still wants me so many weeks later.
He lays me on the bed and pulls back from my body to finish removing my clothes and his. He stands and pulls his pants and underwear off, dropping them by the bed. He then grabs a condom from his nightstand and tosses it to me with a sly wink, and when he returns to the bed to hover his body over mine, he speaks for the first time. “You better hurry with that condom, Addy, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my dick out of your body.” The familial use of my nickname warms my body and eases my nervousness.
I tear the packet open, and he watches me. At my first touch, a deep groan passes his lips. Once the condom is rolled into place, he pushes my knees wide with his, and lining the head of his cock to my waiting entry, he thrusts hard and deep to my core. My womb aches at the invasion, and I note how easily my body forgot his size and breadth. As I readjust to his fullness, he pushes and pulls into my body. He wants to pound, I can see it in his pained expression, but he can see my need for time. He goes slow as my body relaxes and opens to him, and as his strokes become easier for my body to accept, his speed quickens and his thrusts deepen.
Every stroke is taking me closer to my release, and he’s teetering on the precipice of his own explosion. We come together, and I cry out in unrestrained ecstasy. His own guttural moan as his stomach clenches and his cock pulses within me tells of his own powerful orgasm. He collapses beside me, pulling me to face him as his hands trail across my back. His heart is pounding as I listen with my ear resting against his chest. The soft hair that covers his upper body tickles my cheek, and it takes little time to drift away to the slowing thuds of his heartbeat as his body relaxes in contentment.