His mouth twitches. “Caiden.”
I shrug. “You’ll miss me if I do.”
He snorts softly and turns back to the sink. “You’re delusional.” I lean forward until my chest rests against his back. “You are doing that on purpose,” he murmurs.
“Doing what?” I ask with fake innocence.
He turns slightly, enough that his mouth is near my ear. “Breathing on me.”
“You like it.” I grin.
He shuts the tap off with a sharp twist, drops the dishcloth on the counter, and pivots. Now I’m backed against the counter with his hands planted on either side of me, trapping me without even trying. He’s damp, and still warm from the shower, his skin smelling like soap and heat and something unmistakably Ari. His eyes flick down to my mouth and back up. “You’re provoking me,” he says quietly.
“Yes,” I answer, honestly, because what’s the point in pretending. Ari’s gaze holds mine a moment longer, then his mouth curves.
“Good,” he whispers. And then he kisses me. My hands go to his waist automatically, my fingers curling into the shirt,myshirt, bunching it in my fists to stop myself from pulling it off him.
Ari makes a quiet sound against my mouth, approval, maybe, or satisfaction, and he presses in harder. My back hits the counter properly, causing the mugs to rattle, the kettle to wobble, and I laugh into his mouth, because it’s ridiculously perfect, and he’s so close I can’t breathe right.
Ari pulls back just enough to look at me. “What’s funny?”
“This,” I say. “You,” I gesture weakly at him, “playing house.” Ari’s expression turns offended in a way that would be comical if it weren’t still dangerously attractive.
“I’m not playing house,” he says.
“What are you doing then?”
He leans in again, his mouth brushing my lips. “I am keeping you busy.”
“You’re insufferable,” I tell him, because it’s the only line I have that feels safe.
“And yet,” he murmurs, stealing my words from earlier, “here you are.” I make a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh and shove at his shoulder; he doesn’t move. Instead, he hooks an arm around my waist and lifts me so I’m sitting on the counter like I weigh nothing.
“Excuse you?” I blink at him.
He looks up at me, calm as sin. “Better angle.”
“You’re—” I start, then forget the rest of the sentence because his hands slide to my hips, his thumbs pressing into the bruises he left like he’s checking his work. I inhale sharply, and Ari’s eyes narrow, pleased.
“Mm?” he says, like he’s filed that reaction away for later torture.
“This is harassment,” I manage.
Ari’s mouth curves. “This is you being dramatic.”
“I’mdramatic?”
He leans in, kissing my jaw. Once. Twice. A slow line toward my ear. It makes my brain go blank. “You have two settings. Loud and dramatic.” I grab him by the back of the neck and drag him in for another kiss. This one is messier, clumsier in the best way. Like we’re both trying to devour the moment before it evaporates. Ari’s hands tighten at my hips, holding me still while his mouth takes its time.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathing so hard I'm practically panting. He studies my face like he’s reading something, and I’m suddenly aware of the quiet again. The fire, the wind, the snow, the clock, and the damn countdown to going back to base tonight.
I don’t want to deal with it. Not yet.
“Bed?” Ari asks, like it’s an innocent suggestion. I don’t ask how long we’ve got. I already know the answer, but I want to keep pretending I don’t.
I snort. “We’ve done hardly anything but bed.”
His eyes flick to my mouth. “Yes.”I roll my eyes, and Ari shrugs like that’s not his problem. “Come,” he says it like an order. He sets me down like I’m something fragile — which is unfair — and tugs my wrist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. We make it three steps before I yank him back.
