“Do I have permission?” It gives me a new thrill to have to ask, now that he’s established the risk I’ll be turned down. When he nods, I nearly swoon with relief. I get to work, shaky hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. When I finish, his hands quake against me, too.

We kiss, and his shoulders shift as he helps me remove the pristine button-up, lips parting from mine when I pull too hard to free his shoulder from his collar. The loss of contact makes me blink, and I’m suddenly aware that this is the first opportunity I’ve had to see him shirtless.

I rest against the glass to better appreciate the view. With the light coming in from the city, he’s another incarnation of yesterday’s urban Adonis. He is every bit as solid as his topography felt, his trim torso defined but not bulky, with a fine dusting of chest hair. His rib cage expands and contracts rapidly, intercostals shifting with each quick breath.

I press my hands to his sides, feeling the muscles ripple and the rumble of his responding groan. His skin is soft as I glide my palms around to the broad spread of his lats. “You still row?” I ask, breathless.

He leans in, forearms braced on either side of my head, caging me against the glass. His forehead presses to mine. “Five mornings a week.”

“You’re fantastically proportioned. Climbers are all lats.” I bring my hands to his chest, pressing into his pectorals. I watch the flesh give. “They don’t have this.”

His laugh gusts against me, only to be sucked back in through his teeth when I trail my nails down his stomach. My fingertips light at his waistband, and his head drops to my shoulder. Sweat has beaded on his forehead.

“Do I have permission?” My mouth is dry. He nods against my shoulder, his hair tickling along my jaw. I undo the tab, the button beyond, and finally take hold of the zipper below.

I feel every notch in the zipper track as it descends, letting the heel of my hand brush against his hard length. His breath hitches, the same sound that challenged my fortitude in the coat check. I reach into his open fly, molding my fingers to the impressive thickness enclosed in what I hope are boxer briefs.

“Please?” I ask, voice thick.

He picks me up. I wrap myself around him, relishing the heat of his firm abdomen between my legs. He turns to the bed and drops to his knees on the mattress, laying me against the comforter still bound to him. We kiss, the warmth and weight of him making me shake with the need for release. His hand grips my thigh, running along the suspender strap attaching my stocking, and the clip releases.

I break the kiss. “You just did that.”