more times, until I take a step back. “That was . . .”
Definitely not epic.
Not that I expected the earth to move under me, kissing Nick Kelly. And it wasn’t bad, at all. It was . . . “nice.”
But the problem is, it wasn’t anything more than that. Kissing Nick didn’t make me lose myself in him or tremble with desire or go weak in the knees.
I refuse to give up, though.
I’m ready. For real, this time.
“Maybe we should . . . ,” Nick starts to say, but I blurt out, “Let’s take our clothes off,” and pull his suit jacket off his shoulders and fling it onto a nearby chair.
Something works in his throat. “Ada . . .”
“If we’re going to do it, we should just do it,” I say quickly.
He scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t think—”
“Don’t think,” I say. “That’s the key. We can’t overthink this.” I start working on the buttons of his shirt, undoing them, peeling back the fabric to reveal the white tee underneath. “You must have been boiling at dinner in all these layers. Let’s get this off.”
The resistance leaves him. He helps me take his shirt off, laying it gently across the chair to join his jacket, and then pulls his tee over his head. His hands come around to my back, smoothing the fabric of my dress. “Does it have a zipper or something?”
“No, it’s stretchy. It—” I freeze.
It pulls down. And I’m not wearing a bra. I didn’t have anything strapless, and I didn’t want the straps to show.
I take a step back. “Uh, maybe—” I glance at the bed. “Would it be more comfortable if we got under the covers?”
He nods quickly. We both slide under the smooth white sheets, sending a cascade of red petals to the floor. Nick wriggles around and finally tosses his pants out his side, followed by his socks. “I’m going to leave the underwear for now,” he announces.
“Okay,” I rasp. I slide my dress down and off my hips and lay it on the floor next to the bed. Then I turn so we’re facing each other. “Eyes up here,” I bark as he starts to look downward. His gaze jerks up to mine. His eyes in this light are a strange contradiction: warm gray—a color I could make by watering down black and mixing in a drop of blue and then a bit of peachy pink.
He’s looking into my eyes, too. “Hi, again.”
“Hi.”
“This is wild.”
“I know.”
“It’s a lot.”
“Right?”
“What now?”
I think about it. “Maybe we should touch.”
Without waiting, I reach across under the covers and put my hand against his chest. It’s hairless and warm. His heart pounds under my palm.
He sucks in a shuddering breath.
“Now you touch me,” I whisper.
He lifts his hand and then hesitates, his fingers curling into a fist and then uncurling as he decides where to go. Then he closes his eyes and follows the line from my shoulder to my neck.
I let my hand wander down (too chicken to go straight down, of course), moving across the small juts of his ribs to the outside of his hip.
He responds by tracing back down my arm to my waist, my hip, the outside of my leg down to the very soft skin behind my knee.
“Your legs are really smooth,” he murmurs. (They are also splotchy and red and pretty tender, on account of the wax, but he doesn’t need to know that.)
His legs are long and lean and slightly fuzzy.
We take turns touching each other, cautiously, slowly, avoiding any area that feels too private, until I have a moment of bravery and grab his hand and put it on my breast.
His Adam’s apple jerks up and down. “Wow. These are . . .”
“Round?” I supply.
“And soft. And I’m pretty sure they have superpowers.”
He must be feeling braver, too, because he squeezes gently.
I feel a jolt low in my stomach. My breath catches. I am feeling very firmly centered in my body right now. No sense of disconnection. No floating out of myself.
Maybe I’m finally past the fear.
I scoot nearer in order to kiss him. His arm goes around my shoulder, pulling me even closer. Our legs bump, tangle. Our mouths open and our tongues touch tentatively. Heat flares all along my nerve endings.
He makes a sound like a laugh mixed with a groan.
“Can I touch you?” he asks hoarsely.
For a minute I’m confused. He is already touching me. But then I understand what he means.
“Yes,” I