She was still pinning him down by the shoulders, so Seb reached his hands down and popped the button on her jeans, then made quick work of the zipper. He slid her pants down the crouched curve of her ass, and he loved the awkward tug and pull of it. This wasn’t porn. This wasn’t perfect. This was him trying to get as close to this woman as physically possible. It was for pleasure, yes. But it was also because there was just so fucking much to say and language could only take them so far.

She let him shimmy her out of her pants and then she reached down and yanked his shirt off of him. They both laughed when the collar caught on his chin.

What are we doing? This is crazy. We need to talk.

All of that was loud and on the air. But they ignored it. Cast it outside like a stray cat. There wasn’t room for anything in this bright, warm kitchen except for the two of them. He grabbed her by the hips and dragged her forward. He needed to inspect these panties.

Yowza. They were rose pink and everything. “I could eat these with a knife and fork,” he informed her, sliding his hands up her thighs.

She laughed. “And you said I was weird.”

Sebastian’s breath caught as he watched her eyes drop to his chest. As long as he lived he’d never forget Via looking at his chest for the first time. She looked stunned, wild.

“This,” she whispered, dragging one finger over the dips and planes of his chest and stomach. “This. This can’t be for me. You’re too beautiful.”

He let out a strained laugh and looked down at himself, almost expecting to see something different. But he was just the same. Wide and substantial, plenty of chest hair and flat nipples. He shrugged. “Just me.”

“My turn,” she told him and gripped the bottom of her shirt in her crossed hands. His hands chased hers as they rolled up her body, tracing over every inch of skin she exposed. When she tore the shirt off of herself and tossed it to the side, the noise that came out of Sebastian was akin to pain.

She wore a rose-colored bra, lacy and sheer, but it was all that skin that drew his eye. She was perfect to him. The tight little set of her shoulders, the flat plane of her stomach, the toasted color of her Mediterranean skin. She had two knobby little elbows and something about that had a feeling tearing through Seb, bright and tender. He could see her heartbeat banging away behind her ribs, knocking against her body.

He couldn’t help but raise up and press his lips to that little bang-bang-bang in her chest. It was the most important to him. She was skittery and nervous and turned on and warm and alive. She was alive, and her body had a rhythm that it refused to let go of. All that pain she’d withstood. Twelve years old and alone in the world, terrified and young. And still, bang bang bang, she’d kept on living. This was a woman who knew how to be alive, and for that, he wanted to show her every sweet, pleasurable thing he knew how to give. He wanted her to realize that this was her gift for surviving. This. This right here.