Page 130 of Last First Kiss

Jordan’s also never allowed himself to drink in another naked man before.

The cords of defined muscle under tan skin. Wide, strong shoulders that contrast with the delicate curve of Jamie’s collarbone. His toned chest, brown nipples. The long stretch of his torso is like the soft shores of a beach before sunrise. Toned thighs covered in downy brown hair that matches the dusting between his pecs, the thick thatch of curls surrounding his—

Oh.

“Not… cut,” Jordan chokes.

“What?”

“Um, nothing.”

Jordan shakes his head. He denies his curious eyes a chance to gothereagain. He can’t afford the distraction.

Silently, he guides Jamie into the shower.

The cascading stream of hot water is nice.Relaxing. He only briefly lingers underneath before swapping places with Jamie. Jamie’s hands grip Jordan’s shoulders as he finds his balance, long fingers pressing deep into Jordan’s muscles. Damp hair hangs down into his eyes.

“I look a mess, don’t I?”

“N-no,” Jordan says through laughter.

Water splatters against the tiles as Jamie uses one hand to roughly push his hair back. “This was your idea, Jordan.”

“Was it? I don’t remember that part. You were having a fever dream.”

Jamie smirks. Fat droplets hang like morning dew on his eyelashes. Color finally returns to his skin. A nice flush that spills from his cheeks to his chest.

Jordan watches the water run down Jamie’s muscles. Sinking lower and lower. Absently, his own fingers dig into the grooves of Jamie’s hip bones.

A little groan hitches past Jamie’s lips.

“Sorry,” Jordan exhales out.

“Don’t be. I never said I didn’t like it.”

Jamie signals behind himself to the little shelf filled with body and hair products. “Should I clean up? We’re in here for a reason, right?”

Jordan thinks so. He’s just not sure what that is anymore.

Jamie struggles opening the shampoo bottle.

“Let me,” Jordan volunteers.

It smells sweet. Nectarines, maybe? He doesn’t bother reading the label. Instead, he lathers his hands. Buries them deep in Jamie’s hair, combing through the tangly waves.

A wobbly, broken noise leaves Jamie after Jordan’s fingers drag along his scalp. Jordan adds more pressure, grinning.

Jamie’s next groan catches in the back of his throat. His wet hands slip from Jordan’s shoulders, finding a grip just under his ribs. He squeezes.

Shivering, Jordan continues to work the shampoo through Jamie’s hair. At the nape, he gives a polite little tug.

“Oh, God,” Jamie gasps.

“Okay?”

Jamie nods, eyes closed. Head tipped back to expose his throat. Even in the thickening cloud of steam, he looks like art. Something to be painted, sculpted. Fine lines that take time and patience to perfect.

Jordan’s thumbs massage his temples.