He wiggled the butter knife. “What do I do with this?”
“Use the back of it and lightly scrape over my skin.” I made the motion over the edge of my right quad.
“That’s it?”
“I’m not a physical therapist. I’m sure there’s more, but that was what YouTube showed me.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Won’t that chafe?”
“I mean, usually lotion is used, but I didn’t want to get it all over your silverware.”
He set the baggie down and withdrew an ice cube. “We can use this.”
“Won’t that be cold?”
He held my gaze as he cupped the ice cube in his palm and flattened it over my thigh. An electric jolt went through me at the brush of his heated skin and the shocking cold of the ice. I exhaled a shaky breath as my insides went haywire.
“Too cold?” he murmured.
Too warm. His skin was hot, and he was sitting close, his head tilted toward me and his chest only inches away. “No,” I said, more than my voice unsteady.
I flinched again when he put the cool back of the knife against my quad and slowly slid it up and down. He worked like that, his concentration on the task. I raked my gaze over his hair and his broad shoulders. The way his abs crinkled when he sat and the man spread he had going on. Between his thighs was nothing but the dark shadow of his boxer briefs.
Each time he glided the ice cube over my skin, my flinch grew weaker. I began to anticipate it. His blistering fingertips danced over my skin. He wasn’t working with just one hand, but both. When he wasn’t holding the ice cube, he set it next to me. The wet spot shone in the darkness. Desire rippled under my skin, and I was only wearing pajama shorts. My body was primed, ready to have more than my knee worked on by those strong hands.
All he was doing was exactly what I would’ve done upstairs, but his method was utterly different. A slow, sensual float of the ice over my skin, and then his hands on me. The delicate slide of the knife, somehow knowing the right amount of pressure.
I tried to stay unaffected, to keep from trembling over the wanton need to scoot off the table and right into his lap. I pressed my palms into the smooth surface of the table behind me instead of gripping his shoulders or, worse, stuffing my hands into his hair.
What was he thinking? He was quiet, almost studious as he worked.
When he picked up the ice cube again, his fingers splashed into the small puddle left behind. The baggie was still sitting next to me, slowly melting, but he didn’t reach for it. Instead, he put his damp fingers back on my skin. His heat. The coolness of the ice melting. How could steam not be rising?
“How’s your knee feel?” he asked gruffly.
As achy and needy as the rest of my body. “Good.” The word came out breathy.
“Good,” he echoed softly as he brushed his fingers up and down my thigh. “Christ, Maddy. I’m dying to know if you’re wearing underwear.”
“No,” I said before thinking. My brain was scrambled, focused only on where his touch was on me, counting each one of his rough fingertips.
“Fuck, you’re not?” A long, low growl left him and he rose like a cobra, uncoiling to unleash all its power. His hips were kicked back and his forehead was close to mine. “My fingers were inches from that sweet pussy of yours and it’sbare?”
His voice was strangled, matching the squeeze in my chest. He dragged those wicked fingers up my thigh.
“I said once that I wanted you to beg for me, but I can’t let you.” He swallowed hard. “I want to make you feel so damn good, Mads, and I don’t want you to have to beg for it. I’m ready to drop to my knees and plead like the world is going to end if I don’t feel how fucking wet you are.”
My lungs squeezed tighter with each sentence. How had this happened? How was I in the dark with very thin clothes between me and Teller? How could he be so strong but so gentle too?
I licked my dry lips. “We shouldn’t.”
He lowered his head even more. “Why?”
“We’re working together.”
“The only thing this will change is that every time I see you bend over in those jeans, I’m going to want to grab your hips, wrestle those pants down, and thrust inside.”
A quiver shook me. His mouth was close to mine. “You don’t want to get serious, and I’m tired of men not taking me seriously.”
