“Oh.” I didn’t know whether to be grateful or even more ashamed.
“Thank you,” I said, deciding to default to gratitude. “Thank you for agreeing to go slow for me?”
“Forme,” he corrected. “I am too unnerved to finally be here with you. Coming much too fast if I do not go slow is a real possibility.”
I stared at him. Then realized: “Oh, you’re kidding!” I let out a little laugh. “That’s really sweet of you to make me feel like we’re both nervous.”
“You do not think you make me nervous?” He undid the buttons of his black dress shirt to just below his chest and took my hand. “Here, feel, while keeping in mind I most normally maintain resting heart rate under forty.”
He brought my hand up to his impressively slabbed chest, right above his heart. Then he raised his other arm to reveal an analog watch with a second hand.
“Count,” he commanded when the ticking hand reached 12.
I did as told, a little thrill running through me as I reached 75 right before the second hand completed its circle.
“How many beats was it?” he asked, lowering his wrist but not lifting his hand off mine.
“It wasn’t under forty,” I admitted.
“Of course, it is not. As I said before. You make me nervous.” His eyes hooded over the hands still resting on his chest. “We should kiss to slow it down.”
I let out another little laugh. “I don’t think that’s how kissing works.”
“Alright, then, I agree to experiment.” He slipped his watch arm around my waist and drew me in closer. “You will keep monitoring me while we are doing this so we can find out who is right and who is wrong.”
He pressed his lips to mine in a soft kiss. And I was right. I forgot to count, but his pulse pounded underneath my hand, and my own heart most definitely sped up as he gently explored my mouth.
“I will undress you now,” he said against my lips. “Is this okay, Lydia?”
That peculiar warmth swirled through my body and landed hotly between my legs. But I somehow managed to nod.
He skimmed his hands down the sides of my body, pushing the dress over my hips.
My heart thudded so loud, I couldn’t hear the soft rustle of the dress as it slipped to the floor—only the blood rushing in my ears, a deafening reminder that this was happening. Right now. Here. With him. I could barely breathe as he finished undressing me.
Since I hadn’t brought a strapless bra with me to Germany (silly me for not anticipating that my brother would send me on a seduce-and-drug mission), I ended up standing in front of him wearing nothing but the thong the whole nightclub got to see when I fell into his lap.
My first instinct was to wrap my arms around myself, to cover what no one had ever really seen before. But Yom didn’t rush to touch me. He just looked. His eyes lingered on my breasts, the curve of my stomach, and lower, as if he were reading me like a favorite book he wanted to savor. That look made me feelsomething I hadn’t expected—wanted. Completely and utterly desired.
His eyes heated as they roamed over my bare chest. “You are perfect, do you know this?”
No, I didn’t. At least not before. I hadn’t received many compliments, growing up in a mostly White community that hadn’t appreciated my wide nose and not-slender anything.
But here in this hotel room, I felt like the most beautiful goddess who’d ever walked the earth underneath Artyom’s hooded eyes. It was that kind of gaze.
“I want to kiss you again.” His voice was rough, commanding. But somehow, he still came off sounding like a gentleman when he asked, “You will give me permission?”
“Most definitely,” I breathed out, my own voice little more than a sigh.
He cupped a big hand around the side of my face and neck, pulling me forward.
And this time, I could feel the rigid length of him against my bare stomach, hot and pulsing. But his kiss was exactly like before. Sweet. Slow. Completely low-pressure.
No tongue. Just lips moving gently over mine. Until he said, “We will lie and do this for as long as needed on the bed.”
I’d only just met this guy.
But somehow, it felt as natural as breathing to crawl into bed with him and keep on kissing while we lay on our sides.
