The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman 2)

“Why are you eating cold potatoes?” He ducked and kissed me.

My hand pressed to his warm chest. “Because I love almost everything cold. After my dad died, I lived on leftovers. My grandma made huge batches of everything, and we’d essentially eat leftovers for a week. And I was either hanging out with friends or working, so I often grabbed cold leftovers and ate them on the go.” My fingers made a return trip to the potatoes, and I held it up to him.

Fisher wrinkled his nose. “I’m not a fan of cold potatoes.”

“No?” I tilted my head to the side before slowly sucking my finger.

An unhurried grin curled his lips. “Was I snoring?”

I shook my head. “I had to pee. Then I decided I was hungry.”

“I like this on you.” He tugged the strings to his hoodie. “Not as much as I like me on you, but it’s nice.”

Popping a piece of cold turkey into my mouth, I teased the waistband of his briefs with my other hand. “How was Thanksgiving with your family?”

Fisher watched my fingers at his waistband for a few seconds before lifting his chin along with one slightly raised eyebrow. “It was okay. Lots of kids. Lots of everything. My mom gave a sappy toast that was more like a speech about how grateful she was that my life had been spared. It started a cry fest. I’m glad to be alive, but can we stop talking about it?”

I giggled. “How dare your mom express such gratitude for her child on Thanksgiving.”

“I’m just not a fan of being the center of attention. That’s Arnie’s thing. Not mine.”

“Try being an only child. There’s no escaping the center.”

He nodded slowly. “So … you told your grandparents about us?”

“I did.” I smiled. “It felt amazing, like we were real.” I covered the plate with the plastic wrap.

Fisher grabbed the plate and returned it to the fridge. “We are real.”

I reached across the island to grab an apple from his big bowl of them. “You know what I mean. Official.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oof …” I sucked in a sharp breath when he pinned me to the counter, my chest stretched over it with a shiny green apple in one hand.

“I don’t know what you mean, because I heard nothing after you bent over my counter.” His fingers teased my outer thighs. “And I discovered you’re not wearing anything under my sweatshirt.”

“Fisher …” I gulped. It was a compromising position I hadn’t been in before. He restrained me using his body and the counter instead of zip ties, but the effect was the same.

“You can’t be in this position…” he hiked the hoodie up, completely exposing my bare butt “…with callipygian tattooed on your very sexy and shapely ass…” his knee nudged my legs apart a little wider “…and not expect me to fuck you.”

Before I could respond, the head of his hot, wet cock slid between my legs, teasing my clit. I liked the new Fisher too much to spend much time missing the old Fisher, but when he talked dirty to me, letting me know I was going to get fucked, pinned against the countertop, I welcomed the glimpse of old Fisher and every ounce of the forbidden he brought with him.

“Want to come in?” I asked Fisher when he drove me home a little before nine Friday morning.

“I actually have a few jobs to check on.”

I frowned. “You’re making your crew work the day after Thanksgiving?”

“Deadlines, baby.”

“One cup of coffee.”

“Dinner tonight.”

On a sigh, I gave him a reluctant nod. “Here. With my grandparents.”

It was his turn to frown. “Is Rory ready to have me over for dinner? It killed her to ask me to install that bar by the toilet.”

“She adores you.”

“She has coffee and wine with Angie. And she does Angie’s hair.”

“She does?” I narrowed my eyes.

With a tight smile, he nodded a half dozen times.

“Huh. I didn’t know that.”

Fisher’s gaze shifted to the front door as Rory and Rose came out in their sweatshirts, jogging pants, and tennis shoes.

“They must be escaping my grandparents for a walk. I bet it’s a long walk.”

They eyed us as they made a big production of stretching on the porch.

“Call me when you get home.” I reached for the door handle.

“No kiss?”

I shot him a sideways glance. “I figured you didn’t want to kiss me in front of them.”

“I’m not the one getting grounded. What do I have to lose?”

Rolling my eyes, I leaned over the console. “I’m twenty-four. I think my grounding days are over.”

He slid one hand behind my neck and grinned just before kissing me with no urgency to stop, with lots of tongue, and a little moan on his part. “Bye, beautiful.”

Fisher lit up my world in the most spectacular fashion.

“Have a good day.” I climbed out of his truck and strutted my stuff to the front door as Rory and Rose gave Fisher a tiny wave.