Page 3 of The Rut in the Road

He chuckled. “Nevertheless, some people find them off-putting.”

“I’m not one of those people,” I informed him.

“You find scars attractive?”

“No. It’s just… a scar,” I replied. “It is what it is. It doesn’t have anything to do with how attractive you are.”

He seemed to find this statement amusing. “Am I?” he asked.

“Obviously,” I replied.

That made him laugh outright. “You’re going to inflate my ego,” he told me, lifting my chin with his fingers.

“Is that bad?”

His smile widened. “Only if you ask Hart, which I am not going to,” he replied, then bent and kissed me softly.

I let my hands go back to his sides, leaning into the warmth of his body. He let out a soft thrumming sound.

“Not that I mind,” he said softly, “but if you stay here, the bacon is going to burn.”

I smothered the sigh that wanted to slide out.

There was always something that made him slow down, stop, or step away. And it was always understandable. Burning bacon, for instance. Or having to get up early for work.

I understood.

I didn’t like it, but I understood.

“Get me a plate?” he asked.

I did as he asked, pulling one down from the cupboard and setting it beside him. “Should I make eggs?” I asked him.

“I was gonna do it in the bacon grease, if that’s okay,” he said.

I nodded. “That sounds good. Toast?”

“Get me the bread, and I’ll fry those, too.” He offered me a smile that I returned, despite my slight sexual frustration.

A frustration that was not really alleviated when, after putting fresh bacon in the pan, Raj gripped the back of my hips and nuzzled his face into the side of my neck, breathing in deeply.

Especially because I wanted him to keep doing it, frustration be damned.

He did keep doing it—off and on in between pans of bacon, several rounds of scrambled eggs with peppers and cheese, and pieces of toast fried in the bacon-and-egg grease.

By the time we sat down to actually eat it, I was hard and aching, although the baggy sweatpants I’d pulled on were doing their best to hide it.

I had to admit, bacon grease did make both eggs and toast considerably tastier.

I even had myself mostly under control by the time we finished our breakfast.

I lost most of that control once I started rinsing the dishes, because he did it again.

I let out a small, strangled noise.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, softly, speaking into my skin.

“No,” I half-groaned. “Never.”