He made it one step before being lifted onto the counter again, and Harrison was caging him in with his gorgeous, muscled arms.
“Did I say you could move?”
Jett sucked in a breath and held it. He was too shocked to do anything else.
“I’mgoing to cook,” said Harrison, and he leaned into Jett’s space, pinning him. “And you’re going to help me by sitting here and looking pretty.”
Jett could feel his pulse beating rapidly in his sore finger and his dick, a steady thrum both good and painful. There was no way that Harrison couldn’t feel how hard he was, but the man appeared indifferent to the situation.
“Are you hearing what I’m telling you, Fraser?”
He was getting dizzy from lack of oxygen, so Jett let go of the breath he was holding and tried not to sound too breathless when he answered. “I heard you.”
Harrison’s glance at his lips was subtle, but they were standing so close that Jett caught it. “And what did I tell you to do?” Harrison asked, shifting his body closer to Jett to apply the slightest amount of friction.
Jett bit back a whimper and squeezed his eyes shut. “You told me to sit here and look pretty.”
And just like that, Harrison pulled away.
“Good. Give me thirty minutes and I’ll make us chicken and pasta.” Harrison smirked as he strolled to the fridge. “I’m not in the mood for potatoes after everything I witnessed, so let’s switch it up.”
Jett readjusted the bulge in his sweats the second Harrison turned away, in an attempt to preservesomeof his modesty. His head was empty of thoughts and feelings, because the only thing it could focus on was the realization that Harrison wasinterestedin him.
So, he wasn’t imagining things, but there was a difference between being interested and acting on it. Jett knew he had to follow Harrison’s pace, whether it was friendship or anything else, and he didn’t know if a week and a half would be long enough to accomplishanything.
In the end, he would be happy if he walked away with Killinger’s number and a boot-print on his ass when he eventually got kicked out. Sometimes he was still confused when he woke up and realized he was sleeping in Harrison’s guest room, so the flirting and heated looks were blowing his mind.
He needed to get his phone and text Arlo for advice, but he had been instructed not to move, and he didn’t know what would happen if he disobeyed.
Oh god, would Harrisonspankhim?
No. That was dumb. They were barely on a first-name basis right now. He needed to get a grip on his stupid brain and his dumb cock before they began taking control.
“Chicken Alfredo is good, right?”
“Yup!”
Jett’s high-pitched answer earned him a crinkled expression of confusion.
“You okay, buddy?” Harrison asked, and he knew damn-well what he was doing to Jett right now.
“I’m hungry,” said Jett, and he offered no other explanation.
Harrison smiled the entire time he prepped and cooked. He looked so cool and casual, cutting and frying the food, making it look easy.
And because he was an asshole, he made sure to shoot Jett looks when he was opening bottles or cutting chicken, like he was trying to prove how one could accomplish those tasks without getting hurt.
Jett scoffed and kicked his feet because there was nothing else to do. It was either focus on the motion or focus on Harrison, and since his dick had finally settled down, he didn’t want to risk the second one.
“Hey,” said Harrison, sliding himself between Jett’s legs in a way that felt natural. “Can you taste this?”
He was lifting a fork with pasta and sauce toward Jett’s mouth, like a baby in a highchair being forced to eat.
Jett didn’t want to play along, but Harrison wasn’t giving him any choice. He grumbled and opened his mouth, only for Harrison to pull back.
His eyes were locked onto Jett’s mouth with a familiar Killinger intensity, and Jett felt sparks ofwantprickle his skin.
“Blow,” Harrison said quietly.
