I feather my hands in her hair and brush it back, and I kiss her more deeply, and I hold her back in my hands, and then I grip the straps of bra in my fingers, pause for her to stop me. She doesn’t; she kisses me harder and creates space between our bodies for her hands. I feel my heart crashing in my chest like I’ve sprinted a mile. I unhook the clasps, and she breaks the kiss, and I scrape the bra down her arms. She lets it fall to the floor between us.

Reaching for me, for my jeans, she’s got her eyes dropped, on me, but also out of nerves.

I catch her hand. “Nadia, wait.” I let her go. “I want to look at you.”

She stands up straight, but crosses her arms over her chest. “Nathan…”

I pull gently at her hands. “Don’t.” I give her my eyes. “You’re so beautiful, Nadia. Please, let me see you.”

She lowers her arms, and her eyes fix on mine, nerves and need singing contrasting songs in her gaze.

I devour her body with my eyes. Lush, firm, full breasts. Small areolae, plump nipples standing on end. She stands boldly, now, seeing the adoration and the desire in my eyes, and it strengthens her.

“So fucking beautiful,” I murmur.

I run my palm up her stomach, pause at her diaphragm—I can feel her heart slamming. I cup her breast, and her eyes slide closed soaking up the sensation of being touched. Of having her body enjoyed, treasured. I take my time, and she lets me. Cup and caress, pinch and rub. And then she gasps, once, sharply, as I roll her nipple in my fingers, and she dances backward. A smile grows on her face, a sharp, hungry smile, a needful, eager smile. She stands just out of reach, chin lifted, eyes on me, on the evidence of my desire for her bulging against my zipper. She unbuttons her jeans, lowers the zipper. Hesitates, and then inhales and holds her breath and locks her lower lip in her teeth, eyes wide and on mine, now. She lowers her jeans past her hips, but they catch at her thighs, and she does a little shimmy to loosen them past her thighs, and the shimmy sends her breasts shaking and swaying in a way that is nearly my undoing. I groan, and my hands ache to be filled with the softness of her curves.

Now she’s in a pair of underwear, black lace to match the bra. She swallows hard. I reach for her again, but she shakes her head. “Wait. Not yet.”

“Nadia…”