Page 62 of Jump or Fall
He pulled away instantly, his cheeks darkening in the low light.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be,” she reassured him. “I’m just a little nervous.”
Gordon rested his forehead against hers. “Nothing has to happen. We can just lie down together, if you want. Being close to you is enough.”
“I’d love that,” she said softly.
He guided her to the single bed. The walls were blank and the only other furniture was a desk, a chair, and a dresser. A small kitchen was off to the right and a door to the bathroom.
“Is this where you live?”
“This is the place I rent from the old bat across the way.”
It suddenly felt even more intimate to be here. His space.
They lay face to face, wrapped in each other’s arms. With her cheek against his chest, she breathed him in, memorizing every note—smoke, armor, gunpowder, and beneath it all, the unmistakable scent of him.
No cologne.
The warmth of his body surrounded her, stirring something deep. A slow, aching need unfurled, growing stronger with every passing second. She wanted more—needed more.
Mara lifted her head to kiss his chin, then up to his scarred cheek. Her lips traced the scar across his face up to his ear.
Gordon watched, unmoving, until their mouths met again.
His movements mirrored hers, never touching any part of her she hadn’t touched first.
Guilt nagged at her. Why did she have to shy away when he touched her back?
She reached down and caressed the hard length straining against his clothes. His sharp inhale sent a thrill coursing through her veins. With each slow stroke, she knew she’d never dread pleasing him. He could have her any time he wanted.
When he still hadn’t made a move to touch her, she took his hand and guided it between her legs. Even through the fabric, the sensation was overwhelming—this was real. Gordon was actually touching her.
He toyed with her waistband. “Do you want this?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
His lips grazed her cheek as his hand slipped beneath the barrier. Mara exhaled sharply as his fingers slid over her delicate skin, settling into a steady circular rhythm.
Flesh against flesh. It was almost foreign.
Rain tapped against the roof. It was so rhythmic.
Count the drips.
One. Two. Three.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Could she count them all?
No.
She shouldn’t waste time on raindrops.
The suit needed to be fixed, but she had no joiner, so it would be more difficult to repair. The smell of the joiner at work took over her mind. Every button and setting.
