It’s already enough that he’s paying my rent. Well, technically, it’s his rent, so it’s his apartment because it’s his name on the lease, but he never makes me feel like a visitor or freeloader. Nate wanted to go all out, get a two-bedroom apartment on the Lower West Side when I first started classes at FIT, but I insisted on a one-bedroom. The square footage is minuscule, but it’s cool in that New York kind of way, everything two people need.

Nate lifts the towel to his face. “All right, I’m done negotiating. You already won’t let me help you with your tuition.” He steps out of the shower, knotting the towel around his waist, low enough for the creases in his pelvis to show, and I want to rip it right back off. “You know that independent-woman thing turns me on, but you’re gonna let me do this one thing for you. You deserve this.” He presses into me, and my breath catches. “That’s it. It’s a wrap.”

His tone leaves no room for debate or negotiation. My eyes flick up to meet his.

“Really? I have no say?” I ask, biting my lip to hide the smile pulling the corners of my mouth.

He brushes a thumb across my lower lip, and my mouth falls apart like my conviction. “Nope.”

Nate leans in close enough to breathe warmth against my neck and then our lips touch, two puzzle pieces pressing into place. It’s barely a kiss, his lips brushing against mine in the most subtle way. He’s so strong, so capable, that I never expect him to be this gentle, but by now I shouldn’t be so surprised. And then his mouth is carnivorous against mine, warm and wet. Our breathing is loud in the small space between us. My hands find the counter as he lifts me onto the edge of the sink, my legs spreading like broken wings. I grip his hair and pull him back. I glance down at his swelling lips, stare up into those deep brown eyes.

“You’re lucky I trust you,” I say.

It almost slipped. The L word. But I caught myself just in time. Nate gives no warning before he slips a hand up the hem of my T-shirt and shoves aside my thong, or when he eases two fingers inside me. I suck in a sharp breath and stare at him, and he watches, fully aware of what he’s doing to me. He knows my body, exactly what I like, what I need. I’ve taught him.

“Nate...” I say, but it’s barely a murmur.

“Like that?” he asks, because he likes to do this; he likes to hear me say it.

I arch into his rough touch. “Yeah.”