Nell’s To-Do List
• Yeah . . . I’ve got nothing.
His handwriting is messy. Slanted and hurried, and it’s nearly as hard to decipher as he is. My hands are shaky, and my heart won’t work properly no matter how many calming breaths I take.
Ways to Prove that you love Nell De Luca
1. Tell her. Every day. Three times a day. As many times as it takes.
2. Never choose anything else over her. Not football. Not your own stubbornness. Nothing.
3. Be there whether she wants to go skinny-dipping or wants to study. Make sure she knows that she’s the adventure, not anything else.
4. Always tell her how amazing her food is (okay . . . that one is partly for you, too, because it means you get to keep eating her food).
5. Give her the best sex of her life (also works out pretty well for you).
6. Teach her whatever she wants to know, and learn from her, too. She’s a fucking genius.
7. Tell her she’s a fucking genius. All the time. When she doubts it and when she doesn’t. Just tell her.
8. Never walk away after a fight. Don’t. Fucking. Do it.
9. Prove you love her (preferably in bed, but that’s optional) once a day. Three times a day. As many times as it takes.
10. Be worthy of her. Not by playing football or pretending to be something you’re not. By being the man she makes you feel like you are. Strong and smart and kind and so damn lucky to have her.
I don’t know whether to cry or laugh or both as I read his words. And the fist around my heart is shaking, or maybe that’s just me. I look up at him, and he has his hand tucked behind his head, watching me from over by the Ping-Pong table. Longing and fear are etched all over his face. He’s terrified of what I’ll say.
And he didn’t play today, and he wrote me a list, and he says he loves me. Or he wrote it anyway.
“Well,” I say, my voice scratchy with pent-up tears. I take a few steps toward him. “Let’s hear number one, then.”
He crosses to me in two strides and pulls me up into his arms. His muscles wind tight around my middle, and he presses his forehead into mine like he can’t get close enough. “I love you. I’m so sorry, Nell. You might have reminded me of Lina in the beginning, but what I feel for you is so much bigger than that. So much better. I love you. You’re a fucking genius. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” The words shake coming out of my mouth, so I repeat them. More for me, really, than him. I love him. This is not beyond me. This feeling, the way something in me feels too big for my body, the need to bring him closer and closer . . . that’s normal. I’m normal.
He turns and sits me right on the edge of the Ping-Pong table beside us, and covers my mouth with his.
Okay, maybe we’re not entirely normal. But I like our kind of normal.
His mouth pushes and pulls and dances with mine, and he promises against my lips, “As many times as it takes. You’re not gonna doubt me, sweetheart. I’ll make sure there’s no room for doubt, not when I’m done.”
I drag my hands over his back, tracing the muscles, reminding myself that he’s here. That this is real. He drops his face into the crook of my neck and groans. His big hands run the length of my thighs, to my knees, and then back to the curve of my behind. He cups me there, squeezing and pulling until I’m right at the very edge of the table, and then he presses his hips into mine.
His hands glide up to grip the bottom of my shirt, and he starts tugging it up.
“Mateo, there are people outside. A lot of people.”
He kisses me hard, driving his tongue between my lips a few times before he says, “Don’t care.”
“Mateo—”
“Keep saying my name. It’s only going to make me more determined to have you.”
He gives my shirt another tug, and then he’s pulling it up and over my head. He groans and bends farther to drag his lips over the swells of my cleavage. I fight to keep him from distracting me, but it’s hard, especially when he tugs down one cup on my bra and sucks the tip of my breast into his mouth. My back arches involuntarily, and I clutch the back of his head.
“You kicked all those people out. If we don’t open the door soon, everyone is going to know what’s happening in here.”
“Good. I want them to know.” He slides my bra straps down to my elbows and peels both cups down. His fingers dance over the newly revealed skin, stroking softly enough that it tickles and my skin tightens, and oh God, who knew that light, simple touch would go straight to my sex? “I nearly went crazy when I saw that guy holding your ankles outside. If I hadn’t been so worried about getting you alone, I would have tackled him.”
“That would not have been smart. Your concussion—”
“You can be the smart one in this relationship. I’ll settle for being the one that gets to worship these.” He cups both of my breasts, lifting and kneading. He replaces one hand with his mouth and skims down my stomach to flick open the button on my jeans. “I’ll settle for being the one who gets to peel these off of you. You don’t know how badly I want to touch you. I need it.”
I want to resist. It’s barbaric and embarrassing to do this with everyone outside. But he’s not the only one who needs to touch.
“We have to be quiet,” I say. “It’s bad enough that they know I’m in here. I don’t want them to hear it, too.”
“I’ll keep your mouth occupied,” he promises.
My pulse is so wild that I can feel it everywhere. And his words make me think of his promise to teach me whatever I want to know, how to use my mouth on him included. I try to clench my legs against the ache, but his position between them stops the impulse.
“Not that,” he says, and I frown.
“Why not?”
“I fucked up, Nell. Let me apologize. Tonight is about you. Let me take care of you.”
“I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. I should have let you explain. But I was so ready to believe that I’m not made for this kind of thing. That I’m not made for love. I’m just as much at fault here.”
“No. You’re not.”
“I don’t just want to let you take care of me. I need to be an active participant in this.” I reach a hand down between us and ghost my fingers over the tented front of his sweatpants. “I want to feel like I’m made for this. For you.”
I drag my fingers over him a little more surely, and he groans.
“There are probably guys out there who are good enough to turn that kind of offer down.” He hooks his hand around the nape of my neck and pulls my mouth up to his. “I’m not one of them.”
I push him back, and with his hands on my hips, I slip off the table.
“So this is your room?” I say as we shuffle toward his bed.
“This is it. Get used to it. Because you’re not getting out of it until morning. Maybe not even then.”
I nudge him backward until he sits on the bed. He leans over to pull off his shoes and socks. Before I can climb up next to him, he hooks his fingers into the open band of my jeans and tugs me forward. My bra is still trapped awkwardly around my waist, and I reach around to unhook it while he lowers my zipper.
I expect him to push my jeans off my hip, but he surprises me by dragging my underwear along at the same time. In seconds, I’m standing before him naked, while, except for his shoes and socks, he’s still completely clothed.
I clutch his shirt, and he helps me pull it up over his head. The fabric catches on his broad shoulders, and I suck in a breath at the sight.
He hooks an arm around my waist and pulls until I’m standing between his knees, my belly pressed against his chest. His face is level with my chest, and he drags his cheek over the curve of my breast. “I like the idea of you being made for me.”
The short hair on his head tickles my palm as I hold him to me. “You do?”
“I like it so damn much, sweetheart. This . . .” His hands sweep over my backside, then grip tight. “Made for my hands. Makes me feel incredibly lucky.”
I laugh and press at his shoulder, and reluctantly he lets go to scoot back on the bed. I climb up on my knees, and he groans before I ever even touch him.
“You don’t have a headache?” I ask.
“No.”
I crawl a little closer and prop my hands up on either side of his hips.
“Still experiencing blurred vision?”
“No.”
I lean down toward the trail of hair that descends from his belly button and place a kiss right beside it.
“Sensitivity?” I ask, not moving away from his abdomen.
He growls, “Not to light and sound, no. Symptoms are gone, Nell. I promise.”
“Hmm,” I say, and draw a finger along the band on his sweatpants. His ab muscles clench under the touch, and I smile. “This is going to be fun for me.”
“You’re killing me, you know that?”
“What?”
“That you want to—that you’re so fucking eager . . .”
He hisses out a breath when I hook my fingers under his waistband. I take a cue from him and pull his sweats and underwear down in one movement, and his erection springs free, thick and long and dark.
I start with touching him, matching the strength and speed he’d taught me that one time in the shower.
“Ah,” he breathes, tilting his hips up toward me.
“Tell me what to do.”
He wets his lips and takes a ragged breath before instructing, “Lick the tip.”
I do as he says, and I can’t even put into words how gratifying his groan is. He directs me through the first couple of movements, telling me where he’s sensitive, where to pay special attention, but by the time I take him into my mouth, he’s barely getting out one-word replies.
For someone who struggles with thinking too much during sex, this is the perfect way to connect for me. When I can focus on him, on his reactions, I’m free to analyze and catalog my observations, and repeat the moves that get the best reaction. It’s a challenge, and even though I don’t know what I’m doing, I take pleasure in learning.
And it makes me feel like we’re in this together. Like I’m essential, rather than just a convenient replacement. It’s the final thing I need to push the thoughts of his ex out of my head, because it’s my name he says between groans. It’s my cheek he touches, soft and sweet, and at odds with the raw act we’re in the middle of.
“Ah, God. Nell . . . God, it’s not right that you’re so good at this already. Stop. I don’t want to come like this. Not tonight.”
He guides my head, pulling me away and pushing me back against his bed so he can climb over me. While I settle into the pillows, he reaches into the drawer of his nightstand for a condom.
I watch him put it on, no less fascinated this time than I was the last despite how much better I now know that part of him. He pushes my legs wide and lowers himself onto me. He doesn’t enter me, not yet. He just presses his hips into mine and leans down close.
He strokes his thumb over my bottom lip and says, “Fucking made for me.”
I lift my hips up into his, and just when he’s shifted and is about to push inside, there come three loud knocks on the door.
I panic. “Did you lock the door?” His head drops down to my collarbone, and he groans. “You didn’t lock the door. Are you serious?”
Hey says, “I didn’t want you to feel like I was trying to trap you in here.”
I laugh then, even through my panic. “You caveman-dragged me in here, kicked everyone out, pinned me to the wall a few times, but you didn’t want me to feel trapped.”
He’s about to reply when the knock comes again. “Guys? It’s Stella.”
I cover my mouth so I don’t laugh, and Mateo smothers a curse against my breast.
“I’m not coming in, so don’t worry.”
“Thank God,” he growls.
Stella continues: “Sorry for this weirdness. I just wanted to tell Nell that I’m leaving, and I’m officially passing off the last item on the list into your apparently very capable hands, Torres.”
“Bye, Stella,” I call out, my voice breathier than I would like. “Thank you for today!”
When we don’t hear anything for several long seconds, we assume she’s gone, and Mateo climbs off the bed to lock the door. I blush when he walks back toward me, and I can see all of his naked form on display.
He vaults up onto the bed, practically leaping on top of me. He hovers over me on all fours, before leaning down to brush his lips against mine.
“What is this about my very capable hands?”
Oh God, so much blushing.
“You’re the one who made me add ‘best orgasm of my life’ to the list. It’s your fault really.”
“You told her about that?”
“Not specifics, no. She just asked if it was true.”
“And you said yes?”
I lift my arms around him, laying my forearms along his shoulders. I inch up to press a kiss to the middle of his chest. “Best of my life.”
“And the last item on the list?”
I grin. “Pull an all-nighter. It’s all I’ve got left. Think you could help me with that?”
He lowers his hard body down on mine, and with excruciating slowness begins to push inside me. “Will that be a first for you? This all-nighter.”
I bite my lips against a moan, still entirely too conscious of the people just outside the door. “It is.”
He leans down and kisses me, his lips soft as he seats himself all the way inside me. I rock up into him, and swallow his groan.
“I want it. That first. All of them. As many all-nighters as you’ll give me.”
Then he kisses me, and I love him.
I love him.
I love him.