She unbuttons the four buttons of my wool sweater. “Yes.” A pause, her fingers going into the open V, touching my chest over the thin cotton of my plain white T-shirt. “More, please.”

I stand up, and her legs latch around my waist, and I walk with her to her bedroom. Stop just inside, assessing her reaction. Her reaction is to reach over my shoulder and swing the door shut behind us.

Then, she slides down to stand in front of me. Pushes up the hem of my sweater, lifts up on her toes to pull it off over my head and my arms, which I raise for her. She takes my shirt with it, and I think she likes me in nothing but my jeans.

She’s wearing a cashmere sweater the same lavender as the daisy on the table at our first and only date. Under it, light wash blue jeans, low-ankle black boots. She’s watching me, waiting for me again.

“Quid pro quo,” she whispers.

I curl my fingers in the hem of her sweater, and she lifts her arms. I peel it off her, and the cashmere is downy, impossibly soft. She’s wearing only a black bra underneath. She spills out over the top of the lacy cups. I swallow hard at the vision of her.

“You’re so beautiful, Nadia,” I murmur.

Her smile is giddy, pleased. Her hands roam my bare chest.

I lean down to kiss her, but she touches my lips with one finger, stopping me. “Not yet. I like this step of the process. If I kiss you, I’ll close my eyes, and I might miss something. I don’t want to miss anything.”

I sing a few bars of “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” by Aerosmith, and she smiles, laughs. “I love how you always have a song for the moment.” She said it, and we both realize it. Her eyes are wide, searching. “I don’t take it back.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to.”

She bites her lower lip. “Nathan?”

“Yeah.”

“Kiss me after all?” she breathes. “I’m nervous to go any further, but I want to. Kissing you makes me feel bold.”

I put my hands on her lower back, warm flesh under my eager palms, and she makes a sound in her throat as my lips meet hers and my hands caress her lower back, over her bra strap and across her shoulders. Her breasts press soft against my chest, and I feel everything inside me rising, expanding, wanting, needing.

She feels it, the hardness of my need standing rigid between our bodies, and she murmurs again, pressing more closely to me. Hips to hips. Chest to chest.