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His eyes drifted from the nightdress to my wooden toes peeking under the hem, up to the crimped locks that hung to my hips. Did I please him? I should have packed that blasted pink cheek stain.

I fidgeted. The two boys I’d been with had wanted me, but they’d also wanted the novelty of me. They wanted the distinction of pounding the timber girl. They’d wanted that badge.

I’d enjoyed the attention, enjoyed how much of a status prize I’d become.

Aire didn’t want that from me. He wanted something that had nothing to do with my woodskin.

Males had ogled me plenty of times, but they never gazed at me the way he did. Affectionate. Authentic. Like I had faults and strengths. Like he would take it all, the hard bolts and hidden nooks, and hold them close until I asked him to let go.

He took my hands in his, lifted them between us, and let his forehead fall against mine. And that’s when I stopped trembling.

“One of us should say something,” I suggested.

“I desire you,” he whispered.

A deep thrill lanced through me, into recesses I hadn’t known existed. His lilt reached out to seize those places and probe, the center of my thighs responding automatically. I knew the signs when my body adjusted itself, becoming moldable. Only I hadn’t experienced it like this, flushed from a mere string of words.

His hands slipped from mine, his fingers gravitating down the front of my nightdress, along the loose drape of material. This insufficient touch became a stunning touch—barely there, yet the core of me had already dampened.

His grip on my waist had an uncertain passion to it, just like the small snatches of breath coming from both of us.

Were we moving too quickly for him? Was this happening too soon?

“It has been a long time for me,” he admitted.

“We don’t have to do anything,” I said. “If you’re not ready.”

Aire shook his head. “I have been alone for two years, and I am afraid, but I know what you make me feel, and I know my body. I’ve been simmering since before I first held you in my arms. I’ve been floating toward this from the moment we shared swings together. More than touching or kissing you, it was talking with you, and walking with you, and simply being with you that won me over, that brought me to this night. And I want this night desperately. Do you?”

I nodded. “I want to hear what you sound like inside of me.”

He groaned. “I must ask before I lose my wits. What you said about lying with others...” When I nodded again, he continued, “Can you...is there a risk of...”

As far as I knew, there wasn’t. I had a woman’s form and the ability to take a man, but I didn’t bleed. I told him that carrying a child seemed impossible.

After that, attempting dialogue was moot. Anything that came out would be incomprehensible, because as Aire fixed his eyes on me, my acorn heart shattered.

And all else receded.

Our first kiss had been seductive. The second, lustful.

The third was tender. The moment stretched itself out as we moved in. My arms slipped around his shoulders, my fingers weaving into the hair at his nape, hooking onto him there. He encircled me and cradled my cheek with his free hand. He titled his head down, and I tilted mine up, and we leaned in slowly. So slowly.

A sweet pass of lips, ending in a heated peck.

And another. And another.

I nipped his upper lip. It made him hiss, made him hard.

I melted like wax. And maybe we both knew how the other reacted beneath the friction of our clothing, because we gave up. Our mouths fastened, our heads canted to take each other in—into a swelling, leisurely kiss. Our lips splayed, my tongue plying into him, coaxing against his.

On a sigh, Aire clasped me to him. He canted his head at a bolder angle, his fingers skating through the roots of my hair to hold me in place, his jaw working, his mouth folding into mine.

Soon enough, the kiss escalated, hotter and hectic. I heard us breathing harshly and felt an urgent tightening everywhere. He felt it, too.

We pulled back at the same time.

Together, we stripped his shirt over his head.