Page 93 of The Cabin
I feather my hands in her hair and brush it back, and I kiss her more deeply, and I hold her back in my hands, and then I grip the straps of bra in my fingers, pause for her to stop me. She doesn’t; she kisses me harder and creates space between our bodies for her hands. I feel my heart crashing in my chest like I’ve sprinted a mile. I unhook the clasps, and she breaks the kiss, and I scrape the bra down her arms. She lets it fall to the floor between us.
Reaching for me, for my jeans, she’s got her eyes dropped, on me, but also out of nerves.
I catch her hand. “Nadia, wait.” I let her go. “I want to look at you.”
She stands up straight, but crosses her arms over her chest. “Nathan…”
I pull gently at her hands. “Don’t.” I give her my eyes. “You’re so beautiful, Nadia. Please, let me see you.”
She lowers her arms, and her eyes fix on mine, nerves and need singing contrasting songs in her gaze.
I devour her body with my eyes. Lush, firm, full breasts. Small areolae, plump nipples standing on end. She stands boldly, now, seeing the adoration and the desire in my eyes, and it strengthens her.
“So fucking beautiful,” I murmur.
I run my palm up her stomach, pause at her diaphragm—I can feel her heart slamming. I cup her breast, and her eyes slide closed soaking up the sensation of being touched. Of having her body enjoyed, treasured. I take my time, and she lets me. Cup and caress, pinch and rub. And then she gasps, once, sharply, as I roll her nipple in my fingers, and she dances backward. A smile grows on her face, a sharp, hungry smile, a needful, eager smile. She stands just out of reach, chin lifted, eyes on me, on the evidence of my desire for her bulging against my zipper. She unbuttons her jeans, lowers the zipper. Hesitates, and then inhales and holds her breath and locks her lower lip in her teeth, eyes wide and on mine, now. She lowers her jeans past her hips, but they catch at her thighs, and she does a little shimmy to loosen them past her thighs, and the shimmy sends her breasts shaking and swaying in a way that is nearly my undoing. I groan, and my hands ache to be filled with the softness of her curves.
Now she’s in a pair of underwear, black lace to match the bra. She swallows hard. I reach for her again, but she shakes her head. “Wait. Not yet.”
“Nadia…”
She hooks her thumbs in the waistband, swallows again and inhales shakily, and then does that same lush, lust-inducing, heart-stopping shimmy again and the black lace joins denim and underwire on the floor of her bedroom. I didn’t think I could feel desire any more painfully, but at the sight of Nadia, naked, for me, I do. I groan, rub my palm over my mouth.
“God…damn, Nadia.”
She seems to melt at my words. “You look at me like…like I’m the most beautiful thing there is.”
“Because you are.”
She steps forward, closer. Eyes on mine. “I hope—I hope you see the same thing in my eyes.”
“I do,” I whisper. Waiting. “Sure do.”
She frees the button of my fly, tugs down the zipper. I press out of the opening, straining against the imprisoning fabric of my underwear. She lowers both jean and underwear in the same motion, shoving them down to my knees so I can toe them off and kick them aside.
My turn to take over. I step into her, and the bed hits her knees, and she sits, abruptly. I follow her, and wrap one arm around her, under her, cradling her head as I lay her down on the bed. One knee on the mattress beside her, and then she scoots toward the head end and I go with her.
“I want to make you feel good,” I murmur.
“I already do feel good,” she says. Her hand slides from my shoulders down my back, to my butt, where she pauses to spend a while.
“Not what I meant.”
Her eyes glitter in the darkness; the only light is from the full moon through her window, and it bathes her with liquid silver light. “Take me there,” she whispers. “Show me what you mean.”
And so, I do.A Song Of UsAt first, Nathan just kisses me. But this kiss is meant to distract, to incite, and god, does he do that. His tongue whips my need into a frenzy, and I realize how very, very long it’s been since I felt anything good, anything this good, and I only dare approach that thought before just flinging myself headlong into simply feeling.
His mouth on mine
His body heavy and big and hard above me. His skin under my hands—I touch his broad shoulders and thick arms, his wide back and taut butt, his hairy, strong thighs. The hard weight of his sex is there, hanging and bobbing between us, but I wait. I want to hold him, stroke him, feel him, but I wait. Not quite yet.
