which we make together, something neither of us has ever done before. There’s burgers fried in a cast iron skillet, puffy whole grain buns, a tossed salad, a bottle of wine.
We’re on the couch, and lately, this is where we kiss, and then eventually she goes to bed and I sleep here, on the couch. Better than alone, in my cabin, far away from her. And I think she likes having me near. It’s a nice couch, comfortable. But I think I’ve also been sensing her coming to a shift.
She has something on her mind, something she’s still chewing on, and I wait her out.
“So…” she trails off, starts again. “I’ve tried to come up with the best way to say this, but can’t make it sound any better. So here goes.”
I touch her cheek with my thumb. “Whatever it is, just say it.”
“I’m ready for the next step, but I want you to lead us there. I know you’ve been waiting for me, and like you said earlier, I think I’m as ready as I can be.”
“There’s no rush, Nadia.”
“I know.” She smiles, takes my hand. “I’m not rushing. I don’t feel rushed. I feel ready, even though I know some part of me will never quite be all the way ready. And I want more. I’m getting impatient with just kissing you.” Another thoughtful pause. “You make me feel beautiful, and seen, and appreciated, and safe. And I want the next step.”
“What did you mean by wanting me to lead us there? I mean, I guess I know what you mean, but…explain it anyway.”
A shrug. “Just…stop holding back your dumb growly male hormones.”
I nod. “I can do that.”
We just sit beside each other for a while. She’s waiting for me, now.
I think she was expecting me to turn half feral or something. Instead, I cup her face and I kiss her. I leave it slow, like the first kiss. Gentle. Exploring her mouth, stoking her desire.
Her hand slides up around my neck and she turns toward me, I bury my hand in her hair. Still familiar territory. Nadia slides her thigh over my legs and straddles me, and except that once, that first kiss, she’s never done that. I like her weight on me, her softness against me, in my arms. I cradle her face in both hands and hold her close, kiss her until we’re breathless, and then we trade breaths and breathe each other.
Now, I let myself explore. I let the ravening beast I’ve kept so tightly chained inside me off the leash, a little. Let my hands drift down her arms, to her hips. She lifts, sitting on her knees, and her hands are in my hair and knotted, tugging, and god I like that.
I don’t anticipate anything she does, because I’ve never done any of this with her, and not with anyone in, now, over four years. The anniversary came and went, and that was one of my quiet, solitary days out on the fishing boat, catching nothing but a day of memory and mourning, and it still hurt as it always will, but there was more to life now and it was okay to put it away again, to look to shore and see Nadia standing on the dock, waiting as I row in.
I let my hands fill themselves with her curves, coursing over the bell of her hips and pausing there, and then rounding over the swell of her backside and she moans as I clutch her butt, and her hands dig into my shoulders.
She settles to sit on me. Pulls away enough to meet my eyes. “This feels good.”
“Yeah, it does.” I hold her gaze. “More?”
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