Less
When I'm with her, her mouth on mine, her body in my arms, there's absolutely nothing else in the world that matters.
Amanda is the culmination of every fantasy, daydream, and wish I ever made for a woman—and I finally have her right where she belongs.
Sure, it took me a while to get my head on straight after all the shit that happened—shit I did—three years ago, but I swear to fuck I am solid now.
I am steady.
And if I ever feel unsteady again, I'll be back in therapy so fucking fast I'll get whiplash, because nothing is worth risking losing her ever again.
The apartment is quiet now.
The dishes are still sitting in the sink.
Brielle and Nick are gone.
The only sound left is the soft hum of the city outside and the woman in my arms sighing into our kiss.
Home.
That's what this feels like.
Not the condo.
Not the furniture.
Her.
Amanda Perkins is my home.
And I’m hers.
She moans into my mouth, and I swallow the sound.
“Fuck, Rusty, you taste so damn good.”
I kiss her deeply, smoothing her hair back and swallowing her soft moans and pants.
She clutches at me, hands gripping my shirt, finding the hem and tugging it up.
I break our kiss and pull it over my head, grabbing the collar of the borrowed shirt she's wearing, and I tear it clean off her.
“Damn, Sweetheart, look at you,” I groan as she pulls me down for more.
We kiss and touch. Like we’re relearning each other—our bodies, our likes and dislikes—as we undress.
And it’s so good.
Even better than before.
I lick into her as we make our way to the bedroom, touching and feeling and memorizing every single thing I can about her as if I can’t bear not to.
And this is the whole damn truth—I need her. She makes me whole.
Without her? There’s no me. Only emptiness.
And I’ve lived through that hell once. Never again, though.
Once we’re inside, there's no slowing down.
No hesitation or doubt.
No stopping us at all.
Since the moment I boarded that plane to Los Angeles, I've felt alive for the first time in years.
Not because of the city.
Not because of the job.
Because of her.
Because somehow this stubborn, beautiful woman opened her heart again and let me back in.
Her pale green eyes are lust-glazed and captivating.
She whimpers as I reach between her legs and find her wet and hot and all for me.
“Fuck, you're soaked for me already, aren't you?”
She nods, and I am salivating for this woman.
I sit on the bed and slide back.
When I lay down, flat on my back, she just stands there, uncertain.
And that breaks my heart a little.
Because I know where that uncertainty comes from.
Years of people making her feel like she wasn't enough.
Years of critics and online celebrity bullshit.
Years of cruel comments and impossible standards.
Not in this house.
Not with me.
So I slap my hands on my chest.
“Get that sweet ass over here, Rusty,” I tell her, and her eyes widen.
I see the hitch in her breath.
The uncertainty.
But I don't want her to feel any of that.
Not here.
Not with us.
Not ever.
“B-but—”
“That's right. I want that butt of yours right here so I can reach that pretty pussy. You want that, don't you? Want me to fuck you with my tongue, Amanda?”
She swallows and nods her head.
Then my brave woman scrambles up the bed and gets into position.
“What if I crush you?” she asks and covers her face.
I can see her blush spreading over her pretty, curvy body, and I couldn’t love this woman more if I tried.
Still, I take her wrists in my hands and pull gently until she's looking right at me.
“You won't. But if you did, it'd be worth it.”
She rolls her eyes and relaxes—just like I want her to.
I kiss her knuckles.
Slowly.
Tenderly.
Because I need her to hear me.
Need her to believe me.
“Rusty, there has never been a moment in my life when you were too much woman for me.”
Her eyes shimmer.
“And there never will be.”
A tear slips free.
I catch it with my thumb.
“You're perfect to me.”
She laughs shakily.
“You're biased.”
“Damn right I am.”
That earns me a smile.
The real kind.
The one I missed for three years.
The one I'd burn down the world to protect.
“Now come here and give me what's mine.”
Then, with my hands on her hips, I pull her forward.
And the reward is sweeter than wine.
Amanda’s head falls back at the first swipe of my tongue across her sensitive flesh, and she moans loudly.
The sound is like an alarm that goes straight to my cock, and I wish I could give myself a squeeze. As it is I know I’m leaking precum everywhere.
I don’t give a fuck.
She starts riding my face.
Bucking her hips with every plunge of my tongue inside her.
I use my thumb to rub her clit, and now her movements are getting jerky, chaotic.
God, I love it.
I love her.
And I know the second she starts to come. Amanda keens. The sound is deep and low. Sultry in a way that only she can pull off.
I lift her up and turn us, pushing my dick inside her so I can feel her climax surrounding me.
She’s so wet. Sopping.
When we move together, the sounds are loud and sexy and so fucking mine.
“Fuck,” I groan, trying not to lose it too soon.
Her pussy is convulsing, squeezing my cock in a near chokehold—but I can’t stop now. I won’t.
“Less! Oh God!”
I rock my hips, grinding against her, and my Rusty holds on tight—another climax rolling through her like a freight train.
I roar as her pussy milks the cum from my body, bringing me pleasure so intense—I swear I almost blackout.
“Wait here,” I mumble when I can finally talk.
My lungs are still working overtime.
My heart too.
Honestly, I don't think I've smiled this much in years.
I press one last kiss to Amanda's forehead before climbing reluctantly out of bed.
“Where are you going?” she asks sleepily.
“Be right back, Sweetheart.”
I hurry to the bathroom for a wet washcloth.
Old habits.
Things that were drilled into me when I was younger.
Respect.
Care.
Taking care of the people you love.
And Amanda?
She's always been the person I love.
Maybe I just took the scenic route figuring it out.
When I come back, she watches me with those beautiful green eyes.
Soft.
Trusting.
And that trust still humbles me.
I clean the mess we made between her legs.
“Mmm,” she murmurs.
Then she snuggles into me the second I rejoin her on the bed.
Like she belongs there.
She does.
Like she was always meant to fit against my side.
“That was intense,” she says softly.
I smile into her hair.
“It was.”
I kiss the top of her head.
“But I guess that's just how I feel about you.”
The words leave before I can stop them.
Because I've spent too many years not saying what I feel.
Too many years running.
Too many years letting fear make my decisions.
Never again.
“Amanda?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
I feel her smile before I see it.
Then she lifts her head.
And there it is.
Right on her perfect face.
She kisses my chest and settles her cheek over my heart.
“Yeah?” she teases softly. “You love me?”
I laugh.
“I'm crazy about you.”
And I am.
Hopelessly.
Completely.
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
The playfulness leaves her expression.
Amanda bites her lower lip the way she always does when she's nervous.
My smile fades.
“We-we don't have to make any promises right now, Less.”
“But I want to, Rusty.”
I cup her face gently.
“I want to promise you right here, right now, that I plan to love you for the rest of my life—”
“Less.”
She shakes her head.
“Please don't.”
My stomach drops.
“What?”
She scoots away.
Not far.
But enough.
Enough to hurt.
Enough to make something crack inside my chest.
“Let's keep it light for now, okay?”
Her voice is soft.
Careful.
Like she's afraid of hurting me.
Which somehow hurts even worse.
“I mean, it's too soon for those kinds of serious things.”
Tears shine in her eyes.
“And the truth is…”
Her voice breaks.
“I don't think I'd survive it if you left again.”
Christ.
That nearly destroys me.
“But that's just it—I’m not leaving, Rusty.”
I sit up straighter.
“Amanda, I want to marry you!”
She shakes her head.
“You say that now, but it’s just the honeymoon phase.”
She climbs out of bed and heads toward the bathroom.
I follow immediately.
“Amanda, please. Listen to me.”
She turns.
And despite everything, despite the tears in her eyes, she smiles sadly.
“Less, I love you.”
Those words should settle me.
They should.
Instead, they make me realize exactly how much damage I did.
Because the woman standing in front of me still loves me.
She's just terrified.
Terrified of getting hurt.
Terrified of trusting me with her future.
“I want to be with you too,” she whispers. “I just can’t—I mean, no promises. Not now.”
“Rusty,” I whisper, because if I speak to loudly I think maybe my heart really will break.
Her voice trembles.
“I need time.”
And suddenly I understand.
Not with my head.
With my heart.
Because this isn't about whether she loves me.
She does.
It's about repairing the damage I did.
It’s about earning trust.
Because that kind of thing isn't rebuilt overnight.
And it’s my fault, because I am the one who broke it.
Not her.
I force myself to smile.
“You need time?”
She nods.
“You have it.”
I kiss her forehead.
Because she deserves patience.
She deserves understanding.
She deserves better than the man who disappeared three years ago.
And I intend to become that man.
“I'm gonna use the bathroom and take a shower,” she says softly. “Excuse me.”
I nod immediately.
“Okay.”
She slips into the bathroom, and I turn away to give her privacy.
But standing outside that door, I realize something.
I don’t get to be upset about this because everything happening right now is my fault, and I intend to be accountable.
After all, I’m the one who walked away.
I’m the one who taught her that forever could disappear overnight.
And now?
Now I have to earn her faith back.
Not with words.
Not with promises.
With actions.
And I fucking will. I vow it.
Every single day. Every minute of my life—I will work to earn her trust.
I will strive to be worthy of her if it takes forever—because that’s what she’s worth to me.
I hear the shower start.
Steam curls beneath the bottom of the door.
And I stand there in the quiet, rubbing a hand over my face.
I told her I'd give her time.
And I mean it.
But space?
Space is another matter entirely.
Because after three years without her, I finally have Amanda back.
And maybe it's obsessive.
Maybe it's unreasonable.
Maybe my therapist would tell me to calm the hell down.
Too bad.
Because I've spent three years waking up alone.
Three years wondering if she hated me.
Of missing her laugh and her singing in the kitchen and the way she steals the blankets.
I'm done with alone.
Done with distance.
Done with pretending I don't need her.
The truth is ugly and simple.
Amanda Perkins owns me—body, heart, and soul.
Always has.
Always will.
So when I finally hear her call softly through the bathroom door, “Less?”
I answer her immediately.
“Yeah, Rusty?”
“Are you coming in or what?”
Relief hits me so hard I actually laugh.
“Always, sweetheart.”
And as I step toward the sound of her voice, only one thought runs through my mind.
I'm never leaving again.