Maybe we both have.
“Bedroom,” I manage between kisses.
“Where?”
“Down the hall. Left.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her lips swollen, her eyes dark. “Can you make it that far?”
“I can make it anywhere if you’re the destination.”
She laughs—bright and surprised—and the sound does something to my crotch.
“That was cheesy,” she says.
“I know. I’m nervous.”
“You’re nervous?” She takes my hand and starts walking backward down the hall, leading me. “I’m the one who hasn’t done this in an embarrassingly long time.”
“Then we’re both out of practice.” I stop her at the bedroom door, cupping her face in my hands. “We can slow down. If you want. We don’t have to?—”
“Asher.” She covers my hands with hers. “I want this. I want you. I’ve wanted you since you growled at me in the woods like a feral yeti and I realized I was into it.”
“You were into the growling?”
“And the hair.”
I kiss her again, softer this time, trying to pour everything I’m feeling into it. The want, yes, but also the gratitude. The disbelief that she’s here, in my house, choosing me.
We make it through the bedroom door. The room is dark except for the moonlight coming through the window, silvering everything in pale blue. I reach for the lamp, but Eva stops me.
“Leave it. I want to see you in the moonlight.”
“That’s cheesy, too.”
“We’re even then.” She steps back and pulls her top over her head in one smooth motion. She’s wearing a simple bra, nothing fancy, and she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. So much better than my fantasy of what she might look like. “Your turn,” she says.
I unbutton my shirt with fingers that aren’t quite steady. She watches, her gaze tracking every inch of revealed skin, and I’ve never felt more exposed. When I shrug the shirt off, she moves closer and runs her hands up my chest, over my shoulders, down my arms—learning me.
“You’re shaking,” she whispers.
“I told you. Nervous.”
“Me too.” She takes my hand and presses it to her chest, right over her heart. It’s racing. “See?”
I pull her in and kiss her again. We find each other in the dark, hands and mouths exploring, the tension that’s been building for weeks breaking like a fever.
We make it to the bed. She falls back onto the mattress, and I follow, bracing myself on my forearms so I don’t crush her. The boot makes everything awkward; I can’t move the way I want to, can’t position myself without thinking about it.
“This thing,” I mutter, gesturing at my foot. “It’s going to be a problem.”
Eva props herself up on her elbows. “Can you take it off?”
“I’m supposed to wear it except when showering.”
“Asher. We’re about to have sex. That’s a shower of endorphins, right?”
I groan. “Tell that to my leg bones.” But I do need to take it off to remove my pants, so I sit up and start unfastening the boot, which is significantly less sexy than I’d like. Eva watches me struggle with the Velcro straps, and I can see her trying not to laugh.
