Nathan straightens, eyes heavy-lidded with desire. "Where?"
I nod toward the door across the room, suddenly unwilling to put any distance between us. As if reading my thoughts, he slides his hands lower, gripping the backs of my thighs, and lifts me with a fluid strength that makes my breath catch. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, bringing us into alignment in a way that pulls a groan from both of us.
He carries me across the apartment as if I weigh nothing, his mouth returning to mine, making the short journey feel much longer. I'm vaguely aware of the bedroom door nudging open, of the cooler air inside, but most of my attention is focused on the man holding me, on the press of his body against mine, on the increasingly insistent ache building between my legs.
Nathan lowers me to the bed, following me down until we're stretched out together, his weight partially supported on his forearms. The new position brings us into fuller contact—chest to chest, hips to hips, legs tangling.
I can feel him hard against me through the clothes we have left, and I roll my hips experimentally, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him.
He captures my hands, bringing them up beside my head, fingers interlacing with mine. The position puts him fully above me, a cage of muscle and warmth. "Let me," he says, voice rough.
There's something about the way he says it that makes heat spiral through me. I nod, squeezing his hands in mine.
He releases my hands and sits back, kneeling between my legs. His fingers find the drawstring of my pajama pants, untying it with deliberate slowness. I lift my hips to help as he slides them down, leaving me in just a pair of simple cotton panties—not what I'd have chosen if I'd planned this, but Nathan's eyes darken at the sight all the same.
His hands run up from my ankles to my knees, then higher, thumbs tracing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. My breath comes faster, muscles trembling slightly under his touch. When he reaches the edge of my underwear, he pauses, looking up at me.
"Please," I whisper, lifting my hips again.
He slides them down with the same careful deliberation, his eyes never leaving mine until they're gone. Then his gaze travels over me slowly, taking in every curve, every freckle, the flush that I can feel spreading across my chest. No one has ever looked at me with such thorough attention, such focused desire.
He stands, unfastening his jeans and removing them with efficient movements. His boxers follow, and then he's standing beside my bed, entirely naked and unself-conscious.
I take my time looking, appreciating the power in his thighs, the narrow hips, the evidence of his arousal.
I lean forward and press my lips to his thigh.
His hand comes to rest on my head, fingers threading through my hair. I continue my exploration, lips trailing over his thigh to his hip, feeling the sharp intake of his breath as I move higher, then across to his stomach. His muscles contract under my mouth, his hand tightening slightly in my hair.
"Gloria," he says, my name half warning, half plea.
I glance up, finding his eyes dark and intent. "Come here," I say, shifting back on the bed to make room.
Nathan joins me, the mattress dipping under his weight. He stretches out beside me, propped on one elbow, his free hand tracing idle patterns on my stomach. The touch is light, almost teasing, but it sends shivers across my skin. I turn toward him, seeking his mouth again.
This kiss is slower, deeper, building in intensity as his hand continues its exploration up to cup my breast, down along my side, over the curve of my hip. When his fingers finally slip between my legs, finding me already wet for him, we both make sounds of approval.
He touches me with the same careful attention he's shown all night, learning what makes my breath catch, what makes me arch against his hand.
One finger slides inside me, then two, his thumb circling in counterpoint until I'm clutching at his shoulders, my hips moving instinctively with his rhythm.
"Nathan," I gasp as tension builds, coiling tighter. "I need—"
"I know," he murmurs, his mouth at my ear, breath hot against my skin. "I've got you."
I come with a cry that I muffle against his shoulder, waves of pleasure washing through me as he continues touching me, drawing out every last sensation until I'm trembling.
As I catch my breath, I reach for him, finding him hard and ready. "Now you," I say, stroking him slowly, learning the feel of him, the weight in my hand.
Nathan's eyes close briefly, his jaw tightening as I explore. When they open again, the hunger there takes my breath away.
He grips my hips and pulls me toward him, onto his lap so I'm straddling him. The new position puts us face to face, chest to chest, my knees on either side of his hips. I can feel him pressed against me, ready but waiting.
"Like this?" I ask, slightly breathless at the intimacy of the position.
His hands cup my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "I want to see you," he says simply.
The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest tight. I nod, unable to form words, and lift myself slightly, positioning him at my entrance. Our eyes lock as I sink down slowly, taking him in inch by inch until he's fully seated inside me.
