Page 100 of One Touch

I could have watched him for hours. Part of the fun of watching, of course, was knowing what we’d done yesterday.

Sex. Lots of sex. Sex in this bed. Sex out of this bed. On the floor, up against the wall. Even up against the window, as hepressed my body up against the cold glass and made me scream with ecstasy.

But not just sex. In between the orgasms was warmth. Chat. Jokes.

All the things we’d vowed we wouldn’t do, but inevitably had ended up doing.

After he’d shown me just how strong I was by encouraging me into the cold ocean, he’d showed me just how strong we could be together. It tasted so damn good that I wanted more and more. I didn’t want to just dip my toes into this giant feeling that was growing between us—I wanted to dive right in and freeze my ass off.

Ethan had worked so hard to satisfy me yesterday. He’d made me come at least seven times, although if you count the time I came in my sleep last night —yes, it happened again—then it was eight. Technically, it was only fair to count it, since it involved a very realistic dream about him.

No wonder he looked so exhausted now. So peaceful. I loved seeing him like this, his dark lashes fanned out, full lips relaxed. He was completely gorgeous and somehow, miraculously, he was mine. At least for now. Giddiness bubbled up inside me.

I wanted to make this morning perfect for him.

I wasn’t his girlfriend, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make him some breakfast. He deserved it.

Slipping quietly out of bed, I padded downstairs to the kitchen. Luckily, my legs still worked, despite Ethan’s best efforts to turn them to Jell-O last night.

“Now, let’s see,” I whispered as I reached the kitchen. “French toast ingredients. . . .”

I grabbed eggs, butter, and milk from the fridge. Found cinnamon and vanilla essence in the spice rack, and bread and sugar in the cupboard. It was a seriously well-organized space. Ihad dated a bunch of men in my time, but most of them had been like overgrown kids, messy and careless.

I stifled a laugh as I thought about Vlad’s place. Cigarette butts left in stagnant, water-filled whiskey bottles. A fridge rammed full of rancid condiments and not much else. The only edible thing I found the first night I stayed there was a half-pack of ramen noodles and—bizarrely—a pouch of freeze-dried cranberries. Turned out his mom sent him the cranberries every couple of months to get him to eat some fruit.

Vlad was a baby compared to Ethan.

It felt faintly sacrilegious to think about Vlad right now, so, I stopped myself.

I dipped bread in the eggy mixture, then fried up the slices until they were golden brown and steaming. I arranged them on a plate, drizzled them with syrup, and dusted them with powdered sugar and cinnamon. My finest work. A breakfast to remember.

Also—and this was a secret—the only special breakfast I knew how to make.

The floorboards creaked behind me. I spun around to find Ethan standing in the doorway, his hair adorably rumpled, his blue eyes wide.

“You’re still here,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

I furrowed my brow. “Course. Where else would I be?”

Ethan rubbed the back of his neck, gaze darting away. “For a crazy moment, I thought maybe you’d run off. Even checked your pillow for notes.”

A pang shot through my chest. Did he really think I’d just leave without a word? “No way.”

“We broke so many rules yesterday I was worried you got scared off.”

“Did breaking the rules scare you off?” I asked, smiling.

“It was a bit of a surprise.”

Hmm. That wasn’t exactly a no.

“Yeah,” I said. “Felt good though, right?”

“I don’t regret it,” he said, clearly sensing that I was a little upset. “I just—it was unexpected, that’s all. I’ve lived so carefully for so long, and, you know, losing control like that is unusual for me, that’s all.”

“I made you breakfast.”

“Smells good.”

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