Fiona
I lean back into Ethan when his arms wrap around my waist as I flip the last pancake. His lips brush my neck, and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning as tingles zip through me.
Since we’ve made up, Ethan can’t seem to keep his hands off me. Anytime he’s close, he touches me in some way, just like he is now. Small kisses, rubbing his nose up my neck, squeezing my hip, holding my hand, touching my waist; he never misses a chance.
“Breakfast is almost done,” I tell him, looking back over my shoulder. “Will you grab the plates and glasses?”
“Of course.” Ethan quickly grabs plates for me to put the pancakes and bacon on before grabbing a carton of orange juice and two cups. We both make our way to the table in his kitchen and just as we take a seat, a voice calls out.
“Eth
