Most especially, for the gift of her trust.
He reached out to move a thick wave of blond hair from where it had fallen into her face. It sifted through his fingers, sleek and shiny as pale, liquid gold.
“Everything about you is so soft,” he murmured, winding the thick, gleaming lock around his hand. “Soft but strong.”
He released the errant tendril and hooked it behind her ear, exercising a care he never imagined he possessed. “Tonight, I need to see that you’re okay at all times. I don’t want you to hide your reactions from me, no matter how small. I need to know if I’m pushing you too far. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“No,” Nathan said. “I need you to say it out loud. I need you to be clear, Jordana. I don’t want to guess at anything. Not this time.”
She nodded again, then surprised him with a smile. “I understand, Nathan.”
“Good,” he murmured, then he reached down to touch her breasts, rubbing his thumb over one lovely nipple, then the other. “I shouldn’t be your first. Then again, I don’t think I’ve got honor enough to stand aside and let you give yourself to anyone else. Not now.”
“I want this,” she whispered resolutely. “I want you.”
She reached for him as she said it, her hands nearly taking hold of his face before he had the chance to elude them.
A cold panic seized him and he reared back, catching her in a firm grasp.
Her wrist tendons tightened. She gave a small flex of her hands, testing his hold.
He didn’t relent, not so much as a fraction. Uncertainty flashed in her eyes.
“Last night, in the elevator,” he said, trying to keep the hard edge from his voice. “I told you that when we did this, it would be on my terms.”
He could see the question in her eyes now. Apprehension washed over her face, flattening her lips and making her already racing heartbeat drum even harder as he held her, unyielding.
“My terms, Jordana.”
“Yes.”
She relaxed at once. Her hands lay in his grasp easily, her fine muscles loosening, surrendering to him.
He sucked in air, let it out on an approving growl.
Guiding her down onto the bed on her back, he pushed her arms up alongside her head. “Don’t move. I want to look at you.”
He drew back slowly, and simply gazed upon her.
And Jordana didn’t move. She lay there, spread out before him like an offering. Her bare inner thighs were open, warm against the outsides of his legs. Her heat was intense, permeating his combat fatigues and scorching the taut muscles of his thighs.
Need coiled even hotter in him, dangerously close to breaking.
God help him, he wasn’t used to taking things slowly. He wasn’t sure he could now either. She was so beautiful, so arousing.
Everything male in him was hammering hard with the need to take.
To possess.
To vanquish.
He bent over her and drew her robe off her shoulders, letting his palm rasp over the top of her little silk tank. The pebbled points of her nipples teased the underside of his hand as he caressed her breasts. He almost hated to leave them as he skated his touch lower, over the flat plane of her abdomen.
He could feel her strength in every flex and contraction of her stomach as she breathed, sighed, gasped under his fingers. He lifted the hem of her pajama top so he could touch her without the barrier of clothing and feed his craving for her nakedness.
He knew her skin would be as flawless as the rest of her, and it was—as fair and smooth as cream. Her breasts, which felt so incredible under the silk, were perfection unclothed. Round and firm, tipped with rosy little areolas the same shade as her kiss-bruised lips.