Chapter 12
James
“You first,” I command.
Nadine's hands land on her hips. “No way. You first.”
I grin, because I’m already in motion before she’s finished speaking, one hand reaching behind my head to grab a fistful of shirt, yanking it up and off.
I toss it aside.
Nadine's eyes narrow at my now shirtless abs. “You knew I was going to say that.”
“Guilty.”
“Now your turn,” I coax.
She doesn’t move, and we stand facing off in her bedroom.
“The door’s open,” she says prissily.
“Nobody else is here,” I say, with what I think is admirable patience. “Just us.”
“But—”
I anticipate this, too, once again moving quickly, but this time reaching for her shirt, which, thankfully, is a stretchy, striped affair that allows for fast, uncomplicated removal.
“James!” she shrieks.
I toss her shirt into a pile with mine. Success.
Only this time, I’m not quite as cocky.
Because for all of Nadine's fussing about her food baby, or whatever, from where I’m standing, she’s pretty much flawless.
I thought I was prepared for this, but seeing her standing there all narrow waist and full breasts, I find that my mouth is dry and my brain is barely working.
Also, cock hard.
My stunned response to her body, newly shed of clothing, must give her confidence. Her nervousness melts away in front of my eyes, and it’s her turn to smirk smugly.
“Your turn,” she says sweetly, her hands returning to her waist, but this time in a saucy, provocative manner, as her right hip cocks to one side.
My moves aren’t quite as smooth this time.
My fingers manage the buttons of my jeans with ease, but in my haste to get them off, I forget that I’m still wearing shoes and socks, which ends in me having to hobble awkwardly to the bed to disrobe.
Nadine cracks up at my clumsiness, and I grin as I hurl my jeans at her.
I’m horny, yes—definitely—but it also hits me that sex with Nadine might be fun in a way that I haven’t experienced before.
I put my hands behind me, leaning back on the bed wearing only my boxer shorts, as I look her over and her laughter slowly fades.
She lifts her thumb to her mouth and bites her nail.
She’s nervous.
We can’t have that.
I stand up, moving toward her slowly this time until we’re standing face-to-face, chest to chest. Her bra is low-cut and black and lacy, but I force myself to look only at her face.
“Kiss me,” I say.
“Hmm?” She’s staring at my boxers. Or, more likely, the bulge beneath them.
“Kiss me.” It’s a command.
Her eyes jerk back to mine, holding just briefly, as though seeking reassurance. And then she seems to find it, because her eyes lower to my mouth and go smoky.
