I open the door to a vision. Her hair is still damp, but pulled back into a ponytail, and her sleep shorts that look like boxershave pictures of little gummy bears all over them, her long legs are pale and bow out just slightly at the knees, and her short t-shirt is tight around her chest but loose around her waist. My cock twitches behind the towel.
Her eyes are still dragging across my chest when my gaze gets back up to her face. When she meets my eyes, one side of her lips tips up, and her voice is soft. “Anyone ever told you that you’re like a buffet of macho and sexy?”
In all my years of chasing tail and zero regrets, I’ve never been or felt like the tail. Until now. The beauty in front of me, standing at my bedroom door, has the same Cheshire cat look I used to get, and it makes me smile. How the tables turn.
How long will she feel that way?
Letting go of the doorknob, I hold my hand out to her. “And you, sugar, are my dessert.”
She takes my hand and rolls up on her tiptoes as she steps up to me. Her lips are warm and soft, but her fingers are cool on my hip. The subtle floral scent of her lotion wraps around me, and I take a deep inhale. “You smell nice.”
With the Tiger Balm still clutched in my fist, I reach around her and push the door closed. Her eyes lock on the little jar, and she watches the movement to see what I’m holding.
Her hand leaves my hip, and she grabs my forearm. “What’s this?”
Looking over her head, I clear my throat and try to tamp down the urge to push her away to salvage my ego. “It’s balm, for my leg.”
Sensing my tone, her eyes lock on mine, and her eyebrows come together as she takes a step back to look down, but the towel is covering my thigh. “Are you in pain?”
The skin over my head tightens, and the wall I’ve put between me and the world in the last year starts to come up. “I’m always in pain.” I didn’t mean to do it, but my answer isclipped. Guilt and my deep feelings for her battle with the self-preservation that I’ve relied on for so long.
For three whole breaths, her eyes volley between mine as I watch various emotions melt into each other. The first is hurt, which cuts deep, but then her lips press together and her eyes narrow - I’m pretty sure this look is tenacity. Her palms cup each side of my face, her fingers are cool. “Don’t do that.” Her voice is clipped this time.
Softening my tone, I say what is bothering me on a long sigh. “I’ll probably always be in pain, and it limits what I can do.”
She’s silent for a moment, her beautiful eyes holding mine captive, before she smiles. “You think you can scare me away?”
Tilting my head, I voice the fear that has its claws buried in my chest. “I just want you to know what you’re in for.” Rolling my head from side to side, she slides her palms down to my shoulders, the tight muscles in my neck pop. “So you can be sure.”
Brushing my lips with hers, her eyes are glassy. “I’ve been sure, Tuck. When you waited for me to get off work to save me from walking in the pouring rain. When you told me you wanted to walk so you could spend more time with me, even if it hurt. When you checked on me at midnight because you thought I was sick.” She tips her head. “When you stood between me and a gun, then helped me breathe through it.”
She sniffs and shakes her head. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” Her eyebrows come up, and she continues. “Will you put enough faith in me to remember that?”
I suspect there will always be a small part of me that will never recover from all my insecurities but hearing her declare her dedication to us soothes the anger that so frequently bubbles under the surface. Who am I fucking kidding? Just her presence does that.
Twining my arm around her waist, I pull her flush against me and nod. “I can do that.”
She smiles and pats my chest. “Good, lay down.”
A smile creeps across my face at her bossy tone, but I don’t move.
She waves her hand toward the bed and becomes more stern. “Lay down.”
I limp to the bed and sit on the edge, my back slumped against the headboard, and slowly lift my right leg onto the bed. Surprising me, she straddles my shins and pushes the towel up my thighs.
When she sees the scar, the only change of expression is her lips pressing together. Tentatively, she gently sets her palms over the scar, her fingers curling around my swollen thigh. With an audible swallow, she looks up to meet my eyes. “I promise I’ll never make you chase me again.”
“It’s okay, sugar, this happens all the time.”
She only holds her hand out, palm up, for the balm I’m holding, and I set it in her hand. “Tell me what to do, and let me know if I’m hurting you.” She says as she unscrews the cap.
For the next ten minutes, she follows my directions and massages the cream into my skin, putting pressure where it’s needed and being gentle where it really hurts. It’s the most intimate moment I’ve ever shared with another person.
It also makes the towel tent over my rock-hard dick.
Her smile gets bigger, her fingers tugging at the edges of the towel to pull it apart. My cock springs up like he’s just been released from prison. “It looks like you’re feeling better.”
Her palms slide up my thighs a few inches, and panic clenches my stomach. “Sugar, don’t you dare touch me with that stuff on your hands.”
