I stand and work to undo the last few buttons, and then I fling my shirt onto the bench at the end of my bed. I push down my pants and manage to take one sock off before I pounce on her again, just a kiss, give me another kiss, please god.

She bites my lip in punishment.

“Finish,” she says, pushing my shoulders back.

Her skin is pink and marred. Her heavy breasts bear the evidence of my mouth.

I get distracted again and she groans and pushes me back, continuing until I hit the bench and then crawl back up and onto the bed.

It’s the opposite of that Italian pier, her up and on top of me, her body weighing me down. She yanks off my other sock and my boxer briefs.

Now she’s the one distracted. She’s the one with the gaping mouth.

Not so easy, is it, Lainey?

She can’t help but touch. Her small hand wraps around my length, and I tip my head back and close my eyes, savoring all that goodness.

It’s the hand I held in the car on the way home, the hand I worshipped, and now she’s returning the favor. She doesn’t understand how close I am to the edge. Her soft lips skating over my jaw is nearly too much. She works her hand up and down, and I give in to the pleasure of it for a few more strokes then I grip her hand and still her.

“Too much?” she asks with a crinkled brow.

How do I tell her I want her so badly it feels like my heart is splitting open?

Yeah, it’s too much, Lainey. Everything about you is too much.

She lets go of my length and drops both of her hands to my chest. Her position on top of me is such obscene innocence. She doesn’t mean to tempt me.

“Is now a good time to mention that I…” She pauses, clears her throat, starts again. “I’ve never.”

“Okay.”

I work to keep every trace of emotion out of my voice. She’s not telling me so I can pass judgment on her. I don’t give a damn what she’s done in the years we’ve been apart. I don’t want her because of some perceived purity.

My love for her hinges on absolutely nothing.

Her mere existence is enough.

“We can do whatever you’d like,” I tell her. “We can stop here.”

She nods and mulls that over, her eyes roving down my chest.

“And if I’d like to continue…?”

“Then I’d say we’re on the right track.”

She lets loose a gentle laugh, and I know it helps soothe some of her nerves.

“I stopped you just then because your hand felt too good,” I say, trying to reassure her.

Her brows shoot up in surprise. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Would it help you to know that this feels new to me too?”

She looks skeptical, so I continue.