Page 32 of Jump

And because I don’t allow my eyes to see, nor can I taste her on my tongue, my hearing grows more sensitive. I can pinpoint exactly where she is in the hall by the sound of her toes on the floor. I hear the rustle of her towel. The soft breathing she works hard to maintain, instead of a nervous mad dash to privacy.

I catalog and store in the back of my mind her every step, her every inhalation, like some kind of fucking creep, but even while I obsess on those things, she’s able to catch me completely unaware, as a soft throat-clearing from my bedroom door surprises me and forces my eyes open.

My heart thunders, and my cock twitches shamefully.

She wears loose-fitting pyjama pants, and fuzzy cotton socks that stretch almost all the way to her knees. It’s adorable in all the best ways, made deliciously provocative because she wears a tank top that accentuates her breasts and shows off an inch of her belly.

It’s an entirely acceptable outfit, especially in the privacy of her own home. But on her, when I’m so accustomed to seeing her in baggy clothes… she could be completely naked, and still, she wouldn’t be as seductive as she is right now.

“I’m sorry to bother you again.” Her cheeks flame, and her eyes flitter between mine. Her throat bobs with anxiety, and when I drag my attention along her torso, I catch the spellbinding movement of her chest rapidly lifting and falling.

I should be more of a gentleman. Less of a pervert. But fuck if the speed of her breathing doesn’t take me back to the night we had together. To the ecstasy on her face when she came, time and time again. To the memory of her cries of pleasure, punctuated by the scores that her nails dug into my shoulders.

I hadn’t been scarred yet, on that night. Axel hadn’t thrown himself out of a two-story window yet, so although Ana touched and explored just as thoroughly as I did, she wasn’t privy to my new battle scars.

Which probably explains why her eyes drop to my shoulder now. The overhead lights beat down on the silvered markings, exposed because of my tank, and draw her attention.

I clear my throat, tugging her gaze back to mine. “Did you need something?”

“Oh gosh. Yes.” Her cheeks burn so bright, I almost take pity on her. “I’m sorry. Yes. I just…” She crosses her arms. But when the action pushes her breasts up, she drops them again and sinks a little deeper into her well of humiliation. “I guess I wanted to talk to you about you living here.”

My eyes narrow to slits, but I turn on my mattress and set my feet on the floor. If I’m gonna be booted again, I’ll do it standing up. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes.” But she catches herself and shakes her head. “No. I mean…” She clasps her hands in front of her body and telegraphs to anyone who knows body language that she’s scared of confrontation. “Um… I actually wanted to talk to you about the kitchen.”

“The kitchen?” I come around the end of my bed and tilt my head. “It’s clean. I always leave it clean.”

“Yes, I know. I mean… and the bathroom.”

“I clean up after myself in there too,” I bite out. “Come on, Ana. If you wanna string me up for something, back it up.”

Her expression flickers with anger. Impatience. And sure as shit, her fussing hands drop to her hips. “I’m trying to say you hardly use these areas.”

Confusion. Insult. Anger. Each emotion passes through my mind at lightning speed. “I shower once a day! Like all normal human beings. And I do it in the mornings, just like you asked. Jesus.”

“No,” she groans. “You’re taking offense.”

“Yeah, no shit! I’m hardly in your space. I pay my rent. I keep my end of the deal. So what the fuck is the problem?”

“I’m trying to say you’re paying too much for what you use!” Her sparking stare halts whatever words I was going to fling back, and stuffs them down my throat.

“You never use the communal spaces, Matt. You tried to sneak into the living room while I was showering, and I still interrupted you. You want to come to the kitchen to get water, and Hannah and I are taking up the space and making you uncomfortable.”

“You’re…” My fight leaves me on a gust of surprise. “You’re mad I’m not in your face more?”

“I feel bad that you pay as much rent as me, but use significantly less space and resources.” She drops her hands and leans against my doorframe. It’s as relaxed as I’m gonna get her, I suppose. “I was coming to insist that you either use more of our shared apartment, or allow me to adjust the rent, so what we each pay is fair.”

“So you want me to pay less rent…” I ask. “Or take over the TV more often?”

“Well…” she rocks on her heels before nodding. “Yes, I guess that’s what I’m saying. We’re, what?” she ponders. “Three weeks into this arrangement, and I don’t think I’ve seen your butt touch the couch once. Literally.”

I glance over my shoulder, as though to check out my own ass, but in reality, it’s to hide the smile that stretches across my lips. To deny her the chance to see she’s amused me.

Why? I don’t fucking know.

“I don’t really watch a lot of television.” Bringing my gaze back around, I study her perfect tits and her proud jaw. The way she pushes the second forward, and tries her hardest to make the first smaller.

Because god forbid someone appreciate her body.

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