Page 125 of Resurgent

“And then,” Hunter continues, pointing the knife accusingly at the cutting board, “this morning his dumb ass decides the best way to avoid a thrown dagger, is by fucking ducking!”

“Okay?”

“There were other recruits behind him!”

“Oh shit!”

“Exactly! So now, I have a recruit screaming in pain because they took a dagger to her side—Thank the Gods it missed her vital organs—and another recruit fucking crying because he’s destined to live in a cush little office writing nursery rhymes and playing with his potions and can’t believe he stabbed someone.”

I shake my head as I fill the pot, thankful that somewhere between all the good and bad this kitchen has seen over the last few months, this house has become more of a home to me than the one I lived in for most of my life.

Our plan is simple enough: make use of the leftover chicken Hunter grilled last night while I was out with Sasha and Emily. Chicken, broccoli, something quick and filling before I have to leave for Dragon Riding.

“Anyway, then Jacobs has the nerve to tell me—”

Standing on my tippy toes, I reach into the cabinet for two glasses, my fingers brushing the rim of a glass, when I suddenly notice how quiet it’s gotten.

I begin to lower my hand, and then I feel him.

Hunter's warm body presses against my back, his breath brushing against my cheek.

“What happened to Jacobs?” I ask, though my voice comes out softer than intended.

“Who?” he asks, as his hand settles lightly at my waist.

Then his fingers trail lower, skimming the bare skin of my leg, sending a shiver through me.

His touch is slow, deliberate, torturous as he stops just beneath the hem of my shorts.

I grip the edge of the counter.

“Hunter…”

“Yeah?” He plays coy, though his voice is rougher now.

I turn in his arms, and suddenly we're standing far too close.

His eyes drop to my mouth, the look alone making my pulse spike.

“You were saying something about combat class.”

“I don't remember.”

I smile despite myself.

“Convenient.”

“Very,” he grins as his hand slides back to my waist, pulling me just a little closer. “I almost forgot; I came home to eat.”

I glance toward the boiling water, then back at him. “Lunch isn't ready.”

For a second, he just looks at me.

Then he smiles wide, slow, and knowing…and suddenly I have the distinct feeling that food was never the only thing he came home for.

He kisses me, carefully and restrained at first, but the second I lean into him, something in him snaps loose. His other hand comes up to my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek as he kisses me deeper.

My fingers curl tighter into his shirt.