“Do you want me to stop? Remember, I want to do what you wish, and if your wish is for me to stop, I will.”

Something occurred to her then.

“Do you want to? Do this? You don’t have to just because I asked.” She suddenly felt ashamed, wondering if she’d forced him with her silly question. Just because debauching was his thing didn’t mean he wanted to do it to her.

He squeezed her hand, which was still entwined with his, and ran his nose up the column of her neck, and Nya was almost offended that even that part of his body could make her skin prick with need.

“Thank you for asking, but I wasn’t clear if you think I don’t want to touch you. Or taste you. I’m not a demigod seeking to grant you your every desire—I’m a man who wants to.”

His eyes were still dark and hot, and she realized in that moment that there was no schnitzel. Or rather, she was the schnitzel. He wanted her, not for forever, but that was fine. He was her friend, and for right now, he would be her lover. It felt natural, like in her games when one response in the multiple choice was so obvious that you’d be a fool not to select it.

“Don’t stop,” she said, and if there had been any doubt in her mind that he was doing this out of pity, it was dispelled by the wicked grin that spread across his face. She expected him to say something witty then, like he always did, but instead his other hand came up to cup her face, and he kissed her.

Nya’s okra kiss had been bumbling and messy, a sneak attack when she’d politely leaned in for a hug after meeting a date for coffee. She now realized that what’d happened before hadn’t been a kiss, it had been a travesty, and one that Johan was doing his best to thoroughly erase from her memory.

His mouth was warm, and his lips soft as they caught hers—that was the only way to describe the motion, like she’d been in free fall until his lips pressed hungrily against hers, holding her in place with the sheer force of his want.

He wants me. That thrilled her as much as his touch, the realization sending gossamer threads of desire through her body.

His fingers flexed, against her face and her hand, and his tongue sought out hers, the movement sleek and innate.

She pressed closer to him, her other hand grasping at the neckline of his tank top as she pulled him forward, pulled him until he rolled on top of her, their lips and tongues still seeking each other out.

His weight drove her into the mattress and she slid her arms around his neck. His weird shoulder-neck muscles flexed beneath her forearms as he rested his elbows on either side of her face and dipped his head to hers. And his hips . . . they’d briefly moved against her before, during their dramatic escape from the wedding reception, but now she could feel the hard length of him through his sweatpants, so close to the need between her thighs. His motions were slowly pushing her sleeping gown up, and she knew what she wanted from him. She wasn’t sure enough of herself to go too far, and didn’t want to just yet, but she could do this over the clothing exploration.

She leaned up to meet his kiss, and her hands slid down to his hips, gripping them as she positioned the V between her legs against his erection. There was the fabric of her underwear and his sweatpants between her mound and the thick, shocking outline of him.

Johan groaned a lascivious sound into her mouth, and it was as satisfying as a purloined sweet.

“Oh là là, Nya.” His voice was low, so low that it vibrated through her body, like he could give her pleasure with that, too. “That’s not light debauchery. Are you sure?”

“I’m requesting the upgrade,” she whispered. “Mild debauchery, please.”

“Comme tu willst,” he growled. One of his hands slipped behind her head, lifting and tilting it back before his lips skimmed her neck. His hips coiled and released as he ground into her, slowly but not at all sweetly. They were both fully clothed, but she felt deliciously exposed as pleasure cocooned her body.

She’d seen as much porn as the next woman, had touched herself before, and knew what her body liked. She’d never seen much need for any help with this particular aspect of life, and none of the men she’d dated before had inspired her to think otherwise. Dating had always felt like something to do just because she was free to do it once she’d left Thesolo—because she was supposed to. Nya had never really been attracted to the men she matched with on the apps, and without that attraction, no pressing need for more than a polite goodnight hug had ever developed.

Sexual touching had seemed like a mildly interesting activity she might enjoy but was probably better in fantasy, like hiking in the Catskills. This was different from how she’d imagined it would be—the weight of Johan, his lemon-and-lavender-tinged-with-sweat scent, the way he looked into her eyes, slowing down or increasing the pressure as he read what she needed from him.

There, with her body feeling both light and heavy with desire, her hips twisting to press her clit harder against Johan’s erection, she realized she wanted more than friendship from him. More than touch.

She pushed the thought away, focused only on the pleasure spiraling through her body and Johan’s labored breathing, his flushed cheeks and the way he stared so hard that she might combust from the magnifying glass heat of his gaze alone.

“Is this good for you?” he asked, his voice rough. His hips were moving slower now, but more emphatically, and she changed her tempo to match his. The new simmering pleasure forced her head back into the pillow.