His mouth lowers, his lips find mine, and when he kisses me, it’s not rough or hard or lust-fueled. There’s a kind of tender desperation in the way he touches me, and the beauty of it steals the air from my lungs, makes my chest ache with need.
There’s not an ounce of hesitation in the way his fingertips slide through the hair at the nape of my neck. No wavering uncertainty as he walks me backward toward my bed. No lingering doubts or dangling regrets when he fuses his lips to mine and kisses me until I can’t breathe.
With every kiss, every stroke, every gasp, he embeds himself deeper in my soul. Until I can’t think of anything but him, of the inevitability of this moment between us. It’s been written in my stars since I was five years old with a crush on the older, off-limits boy next door.
My back presses into the blankets as Nate presses into me. And I know my fingers should be trembling, my courage should be crumbling, but instead of fear there’s only the unshakable feeling that this isright. That he and I were always meant to wind up here together; that his hands were made to touch me, my body built to be explored by him.
“Phoebe,” he mutters against my stomach a few minutes later. I can barely form words, I’m so lost in sensation. “We have to go.”
“Shut up,” I whisper back, fingers exploring his back. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“Phoebe—”
“Less talky, more touchy.”
I hear the smile in his voice. “Phoebe—”
“Don’tPhoebeme! We’re naked. In my bed.” I groan in frustration when his hands fall away from my body. “This is happening.”
“Little bird.” He kisses the sensitive spot between my breasts. “We’re not doing this right now.”
I make a sound — I’m pretty sure it’s a growl. “I knew it! Knew it. I’m never going to have an orgasm. I’m going to die alone with several cats, one perfectly intact hymen, and two shriveled ovaries.”
He chuckles, the bastard.
“Don’t you laugh at me, Nathaniel!” I hiss, staring up at the ceiling and trying to regulate my breathing. “I dislike you.”
His voice is amused. “You dislike me?”
“Yes.” I nod sharply, not looking at him. “Immensely.”
“You’re aware you’ve still got your legs wrapped around my waist?”
I slowly unwind them, glaring at the ceiling. “I still dislike you.”
He chuckles again. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re backing out!”
“Phoebe.” His head finally lifts and when I see the amount of desire swirling in his eyes, my words falter. “I’m not backing out. But I’m also not going to take your virginity in the twenty minutes between now and when we have to be at Gemma and Chase’s place.”
“The penthouse?” I ask, eyes opening to meet his. “Why do we have to be there?”
He hesitates.
I narrow my eyes. “Tell me.”
“It’s a surprise, little bird.” He kisses my stomach again, soft and sweet. “You’ll like it. I promise.”
“But…” My voice is only a tad whiney when I moan out, “Are you sure we can’t skip it?”
He chuckles. “I’m sure.”
“How sure?”
“Very.” He climbs up my body so our faces are parallel. His hands brace around me, holding the majority of his weight so I’m not crushed beneath him, and when he speaks, his voice is full of passion. “Because when I make love to you for the first time, I plan on taking my time. I don’t want twenty minutes. I want hours. I want weeks. I want a fucking lifetime in this bed with you.”
A pang shoots through my chest.