His hands began to move. They mapped my body as if for the first time, sliding under my sweater, his palms warm and slightly rough against my ribs. He broke the kiss to pull the fabric over my head, his eyes dark and intent on mine.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, the words not smooth or practiced, but halting, as if he were realizing it for the first time. “It used to make me angry, how beautiful you are. How much I wanted you. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I… I corrupted it.”

“Stephano…”

“Shhh,” he whispered, lowering his head to kiss the hollow of...