So Much More (Made for Love #3)

by R. C. Martin

  “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.

  THE 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.

  It hurts for just a second, my small opening working to accommodate all that he has to give. He eases his way in slowly and I can barely breathe as I feel him fill me up. He was right—he was right about sex not being just a physical act. It feels like he’s taking a piece of me. It’s something that I can never get back. At the same time, he’s giving me a piece of himself in return. Except—as I stare into his warm hazel eyes, I know, with all my heart, that he’s giving me more than he’s taking.

  “Sarah?”

  “Yes?” My mouth shapes the word but no sound comes out.

  “Breathe, baby.” As he speaks, he pulls back out and then pushes himself back in. I inhale erratically, sliding my hands up his neck and into his hair. He lowers his f
ace closer to mine as he rocks in and out of me, setting a steady rhythm. “My sweet girl—god, you feel incredible. I’m never going to let you go.”

  “Me neither,” I sputter. “Me neither!”

  He kisses me.

  His tongue sweeps through my mouth and I’m overwhelmed by him—his hands, his lips, his tongue, his cock—I can’t get enough and yet it’s too much! I grow lightheaded from our ongoing kiss. I hang on for as long as I can and then I pull away, gulping down a mouthful of air. That’s when I feel it! He feels it, too—I can tell by the way he picks up speed and—

  “Sarah. Holy shit. Sarah.”

  I fucking love his orgasmic mantra.

  He brings one of my legs up around his waist and then the other. I lock my ankles behind him and suddenly he’s going deeper than before. With every thrust, he forces a moan from my lips. As his pelvis grazes the sensitive flesh above my entrance, I’m afraid my building orgasm will be too much for me to handle.

  “Brandon—I’m—I’m—oh…my…god!”

  “Come with me, baby.”

  He pumps into me harder. Faster. I barely hear it when he reaches his climax because mine is so intense, I can’t be silenced. For a second, I can’t even hear my own thoughts. When he collapses on top of me, I hold onto him, needing him to stay close.

  I’m not ready for this moment to be over yet.

  After a minute, he props himself up onto his elbows and brushes his lips against mine. “Are you okay?” he asks softly.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I reach up and cup my hands around his bearded cheeks. “I probably woke up your neighbors.”

  He chuckles, kissing me once more. “I love how you never hold back.”

  I smile at him, admiring the joy I find in his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “For what, Sunshine?”

  “For last night. For this morning. For this moment. For loving me like you do.”

  He scowls as he shakes his head at me. “You don’t have to thank me for that. Not any of it. I’m yours.”

  “I’m yours, too,” I whisper.

  “Damn straight,” he says with a smirk and a quick kiss. He rolls off of me and removes the condom. I’m distracted as I watch him dispose of it—the evidence of our first time.

  My very first time.

  It belongs to him. Just like I do.

  “So, I have this idea,” he begins to say, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Okay. What is it?”

  “I think we should stay in bed all day. And eat French toast.”

  “Just French toast?”

  “And each other, of course.”

  I giggle, because that’s not what I meant and because the grin he’s wearing is the perfect mix of adorable and mischievous.

  “What about Aunt Row?”

  “I’ll call her. I’m not sharing you today.”

  The second he steps out of bed, my entire body mourns the loss of him. I realize, as I watch him dig his phone out of his pant’s pocket, that I don’t want to share him today, either—so I say not another word about it.

  AFTER SARAH AND I eat our plate of reheated French toast, we decide to take a shower. I cleanse her with my affection and we make love until the water grows cold. When we get back in bed, we both end up falling asleep. By the time we’re awake, we’re hungry again. As previously planned, we make more French toast. Sarah insists that she can’t cook naked—much to my disappointment—so we each don a pair of underwear and she slips into one of my t-shirts.

  We eat our midday meal together on the couch. Only this time, Sarah has her own plate. She downs five pieces of toast, barely coming up for air between each one.

  “I never really considered myself to be a man with a fetish—but watching you eat is so damn sexy,” I admit with a grin.

  She laughs at me before stealing my last bite.

  “Okay—now that’s not sexy. That’s just wrong. You’re going to pay for that,” I warn her as I move both of our plates to the coffee table.

  I tackle her and she bursts into a fit of giggles.

  I swear—she’s too fucking cute.

  “You’re heavy, babe. You’re going to make my lunch come back up if you’re not careful. That would be such a shame—I really love French toast.”

  I begin to roll away from her, knowing that I’ll end up on the floor when I do. I grab hold of her at the last second and take her with me. We both laugh at the loud thud we make at the bottom of our fall.

  This, right here—our smiles, our laughter, our joy, our love—I want it to last forever. I’m not naive. I know that everyday won’t be as phenomenal as this one is. Yet, I’m sure that every average day, even every hard day, they’ll all be worth the endurance it’ll take to bring us back to days like this one.

  Besides, every moment spent with Sarah is far greater than every moment spent without her.

  “Babe, I think your phone is ringing,” she says, looking up across the room where my mobile rests on top of the dresser.

  “My girl’s right here. I already know I don’t want to speak to whoever’s on the other end of that call.”

  She smiles at me and then kisses the tip of my nose. “Maybe you should just check it this once. What if it’s Aunt Row? We’ve already blown her off once—we shouldn’t do it again.”

  I nod my agreement only because I’m in love with the fact that Sarah now refers to Row as our Aunt Row. When we get up, she plops back down on the couch and I go looking for my phone.

  “Hey, will you grab mine too? I should probably text Aria and Millie and apologize for last night.”

  “Okay—ten minutes,” I insist as I grab both of our devices and rejoin her on the couch. “Then no more phones. Deal?”

  “Deal.” She kisses me as she takes her mobile from my hand. “Holy shit,” she mutters as soon as she looks down at her screen. “Apparently, it’s text-Sarah-day.” She holds it up and I’m impressed with the amount of notifications I see. “Millie, Aria, Harper.” She chuckles. “Even Sage. I might need more than ten minutes.”

  “Fine. Eleven,” I concede with a grin and a wink.

  She leans into me, nudging her shoulder against mine; only, she doesn’t pull away.

  God, I’m so in love with this girl.

  I’m surprised when I see that the person who was trying to reach me was my mother. It’s not often that she calls and I immediately wonder if something’s wrong. I don’t even listen to her voice message before I call her back.

  “Hello?” she answers.

  “Hey, mom.” Sarah’s head snaps up at my greeting. I smile, sliding my hand around her thigh and giving her a gentle squeeze. “I didn’t listen to your voicemail. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine. I was just wondering if you were planning on making it to brunch next week? I thought I’d see you today.”

  “Oh?” I ask. I lift my eyebrows at Sarah, who is still watching me intently, showcasing my amazement.

  “Yes. I’ve been told there’s someone that I need to meet. A girl you’re quite serious about?”

  “Yeah.” I trace a finger down Sarah’s cheek. “Her name is Sarah.”

  “Alright. I’ll clear my schedule for next Sunday if I know you’ll be joining Row and me.”

  “We’ll be there, mom.”

  “Sounds fine. I’ll see you then.”

  “Bye.”

  “That was your mom?”

  “Mmhmm,” I hum, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. I press a kiss into her hair before I mumble, “She wants to meet you. Next Sunday.”

  “Wow,” she sighs, shifting to hook both of her legs over one of mine. “I just got nervous.”

  “Don’t be nervous,” I chuckle. I reach for her chin and tilt her head up. “She’s not scary.” She nods her understanding and blows out a calming breath. “Get to texting, sweet girl. Your eleven minutes are ticking away.”

  “Dammit. I need my time restarted,” she declares, returning her attention back to her phon
e.

  As she opens and reads her first few texts, she’s silent and quick to respond. Then she starts laughing. When she presses her phone against her chest and buries her face in mine, tickled as I’ve ever seen her, my curiosity gets the best of me.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Aria. Ohmygosh—she’s so embarrassing!”

  “Let me see,” I say, holding out my hand.

  “No way!” she insists, shaking her head at me.

  “Why not? Is it about me?” I tease, wiggling my eyebrows at her. The grin that spreads across her face says it all. Now I have to see. “C’mon—show me the goods.” She bites her lip as she contemplates my request. When I reach to ease her lip free, she gives in and holds up her phone so we can read the string of texts together.

  Aria: Fuck—you’re the hottest virgin I know!

  Aria: You two hot tamales blazed out of here so fast—you better be getting laid, girl!!!!

  Aria: Btw—Josh says thanks. Or he will later. My loins are on fire!!!! My lady parts thank you too!!! xoxo <3

  Aria: I was going to wait. But I can’t! Did he deflower you? I’m DYING over here.

  Aria: Was it amazing? Did he make your pussy sing? Did you do it more than once? Are you doing it NOW?!?

  Aria: Seriously?! Y’all wake up at the ass crack of dawn everyday. I know you’re up. YOU know I need updates. Are you alive?!

  Aria: Shit—maybe I shouldn’t have been so flip about my curiosity killing me…

  Aria: Sarah Hailey Prescott. 1993-2016. Loving daughter, amazing friend. Death by cherry-popping. Died after experiencing too many orgasms in one night.

  After reading all of the texts, I'm both amused and conflicted. I'm not sure whether or not I should feel flattered that Aria assumes I'm that good in bed, or worried by the fact that I've only made my girl come three times this morning.

  I'm going to have to work on that, starting in approximately four minutes.

  I pluck the phone from out of Sarah's grasp and begin typing a reply. She tries to steal it back, but her attempts are both halfhearted and futile.