“You can’t say things like that,” she whispered.
“I can stop.”
“No.” She swallowed. “Don’t.”
I slid the first strap down.
Then the second.
The chemise loosened. Nadia grabbed my forearm, not to stop me. To steady herself.
“Still yes?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I eased the silk down her breasts, over her waist, past her hips. It fell to the floor around her socked feet.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Nadia stood naked in front of me except for soft socks, her skin pale in the city light, dark hair loose over her shoulders, breasts full and tipped tight, thighs pressed together as if she could hide from my eyes and still keep me there.
I had killed men with less discipline than it took not to reach too quickly.
I lowered to one knee.
Her breath caught. “What are you doing?”
I picked up one foot and peeled off the sock. “You asked to come to my room. I’m removing another man’s night from you one piece at a time.”
Her fingers touched my hair, then pulled back.
“You can touch me,” I said.
Her hand returned, tentative at first. Then her fingers slid into my hair.
I removed the other sock.
Then I kissed her ankle.
Nadia’s fingers tightened.
I kissed the inside of her calf, her knee, the soft skin above it. Her breathing turned shallow. When my hands reached her thighs, I looked up.
“Open for me.”
She went still.
I kept my hands light. “Not because I ordered it. Because I want my mouth on you, and I want you to let me.”
Her cheeks flushed. “You’re very arrogant for a man on his knees.”
“I will be arrogant from any position you put me in.”
She laughed, startled and breathless.
Then she parted her thighs.
I kissed the inside of one, then the other. Slow. Reverent until she trembled, then less so. Her scent changed, warm and wet, and my grip tightened before I made myself ease it again.
