Page 65 of Dirty Fighter

“Time to open the fridge, huh?”

“If the power’s actually out as long as they’re thinking, we might as well start using up what we can while we can.”

Jason helps me down from the counter, his hands lingering at my hips, my waist, the nape of my neck, the line of my spine while we pull a meal together. We eat, standing at the breakfast bar, the right quadrant of his chest slotting in against the left quadrant of my back.

It’s simple, nonintrusive… deliciously prolonged contact. His knee at my thigh. His biceps at my shoulder.

Every touch adding to my awareness of the man beside me… behind me… brushing my hair from my neck so he can trace the length with his knuckle. Every light graze reminding me of its opposite. What it was like to have him on top of me… inside of me… And so on and so on.

I can’t stop smiling. I can’t stop stealing glimpses of this man I thought I knew but who keeps surprising me at every turn.

“What’s that look about?” he asks around a bite of eggs with spinach, Romas, and feta.

“You.” I point to the space between us or the lack thereof. “You’re unexpected.”

That quizzical look has me shaking my head with a laugh.

“In a good way. It’s just… Pretty sure we’ve touched more in the making of this breakfast than in all the months we lived under the same roof in high school.”

He forks up another bite, then stalls in a holding pattern halfway to his mouth to ask, “You mind?”

“Nope.” I lean into the contact, pressing my hip to his thigh as I smile down at my plate. “I guess, I just… I’ve never been with anyone who…” Okay, slow your roll, Rowan.

“Who can’t keep his hands off you? Because, not going to lie, this?” He circles the air between us. “Is me showing restraint.”

“What?”

Shoveling the bite into his mouth, he chews. Swallows. Gives his head a little wag before adding, “I like touching you. Feels good.”

Wow. “In what universe am I living that Hot-and-Sour Jason is the touchy-feely type?”

He coughs out a laugh, and I pat his chest like it’s going to save him from choking or something. “What did you⁠—”

“But I think what surprises me the most is that… maybe I am too?”

Double brow lift. “You mean… the touchy-feely type?”

“Your hands feel pretty good on me,” I murmur as they slide over my hips.

“Glad to hear it. But before we jump to any conclusions about what type you are or are not… we should probably do some more testing.”

Something about the way he says it has me leaning that much closer, my heart beating that much faster. “What have you got in mind?”

He draws me in, turning me around in his arms so he’s fully behind me again, his stubbled jaw finding the length of my neck as his hands start a slow roam low across my belly and then lower over my thighs. “How’s this?”

I bite my lip, leaning back into his hold. “Nice.”

He reverses his path, skimming up my body and under my T-shirt so I can feel that callused, rough touch teasing my bare skin in a way that starts a low simmer deep in my belly.

“And this?” he asks, his breath warm at my ear as he shapes my waist, my ribs… my breasts.

“G-good,” I stammer as his fingers splay wide and then come together, catching my nipples in a gentle pinch that has liquid heat spilling through my center.

He hums his approval, playing with my breasts until I’m breathless, pressing into where he’s hot and hard behind me. Moaning as he kneads my flesh and gasping as he tests my nipples with gentle tugs and pulls.

Then better still… less gentle.

“Jason.” The intensity of pleasure nearly has my knees going out, but he’s there. Behind me, around me, one hand releasing my breast to slide down my belly and into my sleep shorts.