I press my fingers into the muscle and feel him tense beneath my touch. "Relax."
"Easy for you to say," he mutters.
I work in silence for a few minutes. Kneading the knots I find. Feeling the tension slowly release under my hands. His skin is warm. Smooth over hard muscle. I hate how much I want to keep touching him. "You're tight all through here," Isay. Working my thumbs along his trapezius. "Have you been sleeping, okay?"
"No."
"Stress?"
"Something like that," he grumbles.
I move to his rotator cuff, pressing deeper, and he hisses. "Sorry."
"Don't be." His voice is rougher now. "Feels good."
I should not find that hot, the way he moans and groans as I work him over. I work in silence, moving through the routine I've done dozens of times, but it's never felt like this before. Every brush of my fingers against his skin feels charged. Electric. I'm hyperaware of his breathing, the way his muscles shift beneath my hands, the small sounds he makes when I hit a particularly tight spot. "Turn around," I say. "I need to check the front."
He turns on the bed to face me, now I'm standing between his spread knees, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. His eyes are dark as they look up at me.
I press my fingers into the front of his shoulder, checking the joint mobility. "Does this hurt?"
"No."
I rotate his arm slowly. "This?"
"No."
"What about ..."
"Joelle." His hand comes up to wrap around my wrist, stilling my movements. "It's fine."
"I'm not finished."
"Yeah, you are."
We stare at each other, his thumb stroking against my pulse point. I know he can feel how fast my heart is racing. "I should go," I whisper.
"Probably."
Neither of us moves.
Then I step back, breaking the contact, and start packing up my bag. "Ice it for twenty minutes before bed. And try to sleep on your back tonight. Not your side."
"Yes, ma'am."
I move toward the door, bag over my shoulder, my hand reaching for the handle. Suddenly, a hand slams against the door, blocking my escape. I spin around as my back hits the wood. Emmett is right there, caging me in. One hand on the door, the other braced against the wall beside my head. His chest is inches from mine. I can feel his breath on my face.
"You shouldn't have teased me at dinner." His voice is low. Dangerous.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Liar." He leans closer, his lips brushing my ear. "You had your foot on my cock, Joelle. Under the table, with your brothers sitting right there."
I shiver. "You started it."
"And you escalated it." His nose traces down my neck. Not quite touching, just breathing me in. "You shouldn't start something you can't finish."
"Who says I can't finish it?" The words are out before I can stop them.
