He braces himself on an elbow and a hip, beside me more than above me, now, and his kiss seems to slow, as if settling in for the long haul. His hand caresses my breasts, his touch deft and greedy and soft. My breasts feel heavy, taut, my nipples sensitive, and his touch draws fire in my belly. And then, the fire in my belly hardens and descends lower, to the delicacy of my folds, the apex of my thighs. His touch moves there. I’m trembling, afraid and eager at once, and I’m grateful he takes his time. He doesn’t just plunge right to touching, but explores me first, and never stops kissing me. He touches along my thigh, over the top, everywhere. And when he does touch me at last, it’s gentle and slow and light, tracing the seam. I hold on to his neck and his shoulder, angled toward him, one thigh flung aside, opening myself to his touch. I’m greedy for it even as I tremble in anticipation, more than a little fear, as a million what-ifs crash through my mind.

Doubts are silenced when he slips a fingertip through me, and then finds the nexus of my need. I moan, and then he follows the trail of my whimpers and lifted hips to discover what moves me, what draws groans from me. He learns me, becomes a student of me. I can feel him memorizing my whimpers, absorbing the knowledge of where and how his touch makes me shift under him, lift, pulse against him.

Despite my desire, my nerves dull the sharpness, and it takes a while. He is patient, pulling back when I need it, racing ahead when I’m ready. He knows my rhythms, somehow. His touch circles, and I’m on the edge. Teetering, unable to topple over.

I’m becoming frustrated. I want to.

He slides a finger into me, gathers wetness. Pauses, there, just like that. “Nadia.”

I open my eyes. “Hmm?”

“Relax.”

“I can’t. I’m so worked up, and I’m getting frustrated because I can’t just…”

He finishes my sentence for me with a kiss. “Just breathe.” I take a breath. “Now look at me.”

I meet his eyes. “This is us. You and me. Nothing else. No pressure. All the time in the world. If you’re not ready, it’s okay.”

I shake my head, and reach for him. “I want to. But I think I’m just so keyed up from anticipation, that I just…”