Page 131 of Last First Kiss

“Don’t sto—” Jamie’s voice cracks.

“What was that?”

“More.”

“Yeah?”

Jamie gives another jerky nod.

Jordan’s fingers work in slow, methodic motions. He studies the deep waves in Jamie’s brow. The path of foamy suds gliding down his cheeks. Lips parted like they were made to hold and kiss and ruin Jordan.

He’s never wanted to look at anyone for this long. Until his eyes sting from not blinking. Until ithurts.

Fingers dig into his waist. That’s when Jordan realizes his hands have paused.

“I need you to trust me,” he says.

“I thought that was already established.”

Jordan huffs a laugh. “I guess it was.”

“I do,” Jamie says with a heavy exhale. “I trust you.”

Jordan’s stomach twists and knots. He smiles helplessly. “Keep your eyes closed.”

Jamie does.

Slowly, Jordan walks him backward under the spray. He rinses out the shampoo. His hand smooths Jamie’s bangs off his forehead. Jamie’s breaths even out. His lashes flutter but his eyes never open.

On his tiptoes, lips against Jamie’s ear, Jordan says, “Let me take care of you.”

There’s a noise that might be a whimper. Jordan’s not sure. The only distinct sound is the water pelting the tiles, the glass door, their bodies.

On a hook under the tiny shelf is a loofah. Jordan pours body wash over it. He inhales. The scent of amber and oak fills his nose, his chest. Fuck, this stupid scent is going to haunt his dreams for the rest of his life, isn’t it?

“Still okay?” he asks.

Jamie laughs softly.

For a beat, Jordan’s confused. Then he replays his last words in his head. Suddenly the voice in his brain isn’t his own, but a hungry, wrecked, blissed-out Jamie hovering over him in the back seat of his Jeep. Jordan’s boxers around his ankles. His body trembling from Jamie’s mouth.

“Okay. Bad choice of words.”

“No,” Jamie says urgently. “Great choice.” He rests his forehead against Jordan’s shoulder. “Best choice of words.Ourwords.”

Jordan’s stomach flips again.

He likes that. Their words. A place of safety. A space of assurance and trust between them.

He drags the loofah over Jamie. Scrubs his back. His other hand chases soapsuds across sinewy muscles. The sharp peaks of Jamie’s shoulder blades. The knobs of his spine. Places Jordan’s never thought about touching like this. But fuck, how couldn’t he?

Garbled sounds build in Jamie’s throat.

“I need to get to,” Jordan says, regretfully maneuvering Jamie until he’s against the shower wall, “your front.”

Jamie bites hard on his lip.

Jordan’s thankful his eyes are still closed. He wouldn’t be able to handle Jamie watching what he does next: