Glaring at the shirt held out to me, I take it anyways, making sure to tug it with force from Jax’s grip, then pull it over my head.
Hearing him chuckle, I pull my long wet hair out of the collar of the shirt and narrow my eyes on him, which only seems to make his smile bigger.
“What?” he asks, pulling up a pair of sweats that are loose and hang low on his hips, showing off the well-defined V of his waist.
“It’s not funny,” I growl when he begins to laugh louder.
“Baby, I’m not laughing at you.”
“You’re totally laughing at me,” I say, looking around with wide, dramatic eyes, pointing out there is absolutely no one else in the room, or even the house, with us. “And who does that to someone? Who uses sex torture as a way of hearing what you want to hear?” I ask him, feeling my cheeks heat up at just the thought of what happened in the shower.
“Sex torture?” He laughs louder, and I feel a smile on my lips from the sound of it. When his eyes come to me again, I school my features.
“Sex torture, that thing you did when you…when you didn’t let me orgasm until I told you what you wanted to hear.”
“You’re adorable.”
“I’m not adorable.” I roll my eyes, picking up my towel from the end of the bed.
“You are. Now, are you ready to go have pancakes?” he asks, taking the towel out of my hand and tossing it toward the bathroom on the ground, making me frown.
“I was going to hang tha—”
He cuts me off, lowering his mouth over mine in a brutal kiss that causes my legs to become weak. When his mouth leaves mine and I finally get my eyes open, I find him looking down at me with a very smug smile.
“Now…are you ready for pancakes?” he asks again.
“You’re annoying,” I tell him, taking a step back and turning toward the door, making a point to stomp down the hall and down the stairs. I notice on the way that something looks different, but I can’t figure out what it is. When we reach the kitchen, Jax lifts me onto the counter and starts pulling out the ingredients to make pancakes.
“What happened here?” he asks, stopping in front of me. I absently feel him run his fingers over the skin of my knee, but my eyes are glued to his abs and the outline of his hard-on under his sweats.
“Baby.”
“Hmm?” I mumble in a daze, feeling a tingle in my core.
“What happened to your knees? Did I do that?” he asks, sounding concerned, and my eyes move to focus on his fingers that are once more running over one knee then the other. Seeing the bruise; it’s not huge, but it’s noticeable.
“Mellissa tripped me when I was walking past her at the salon.” I shrug, trying not to make a big deal out of it. She already ruined my dinner. I won’t allow her to ruin our night.
“What the fuck?” he rumbles as I shake my head, pressing my hand against his chest.
“She’s jealous and evil. Honestly, I can’t believe you dated her,” I tell him, moving my hand up to his jaw and running my fingers over it, gaining his gaze.
“We dated in high school,” he explains.
“You still dated her. I can’t imagine she was any different back then.”
“You’re right. She’s always been the same.”
“So why does she think you’re hers now?” I ask. His chest expands on a deep breath, and I can tell he doesn’t want to tell me.
“We hooked up.”
“You slept with her recently,” I clarify, and his jaw begins to tick.
“I hate that you’ve had to see that part of my past. I hate that it keeps popping up, but I can’t change it.”
“I haven’t asked you to change it. I mean, if my ex-sex partners were popping up all the time, coming to the house, showing up at restaurants and your job, you would have to deal, right?” I ask, watching that tick in his jaw turn into a grind, and his hand on my thigh tightens almost painfully.
“Let’s not talk about you being with anyone else,” he grits out.