"It’ll relax, sorry it hurts at first," she said, palpating the muscles.
He grunted. Then sighed a good sigh. "That’s amazing." He moaned as she continued to work one of the tighter muscles. "I think I like it when you make me suffer."
He said the words, but he practically purred against her fingers. He was going to need to lie down for her to really get those muscles to relax.
"Mach." She turned him, so they faced each other so close she got an up-close view of the divot scar on his bottom lip. Time was such an odd thing when they got close this way—like when they kissed on the beach. She’d never experienced this kind of push and pull all at the same time. This must’ve been that elusive and undeniable attraction she’d always heard about from friends, but never experienced for herself.
"You know that thing we’re doing withLately, Later? Where we feed the beast, so it’ll settle down?" she asked.
He nodded, and with the motion pushed one of the knots more firmly under her palm.
"Maybe we should do that with us," she said. "With this attraction and chemistry we’ve been fighting."
"We’ve been fighting it?" he asked.
"I sort of have," she admitted.
"Do you want to fight it?" he asked.
"No," she admitted, and the air calmed between them. He was barely even breathing. The only movement he made was his chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale.
She trailed her fingers up his forearm, to his elbow.
He sucked in a breath. "Darla, I’m only human. I can’t hold back forever."
She nodded. And the wall was right there, and he was right there, and it felt so natural to do it, so she boxed him there with her body. She wasn’t as good at it as he was with her and his truck. But she did her best.
Which was silly because she probably shouldn’t have done it. His neck hurt and they were both exhausted from the day. She understood that, but her body clearly did not.
She reached her palms to his cheeks and brushed the beard with the pads of her thumbs.
"Your neck still hurts?" she asked as he seemed to pull her tighter against himself. "You should lay down and I’ll massage it."
The hard ridge along his fly pressed against her hip.
She allowed it, even though she should step back and get to the business of relaxing his neck muscles—not brush her nipples against his chest.
"I’m strung so tight I can’t even function." He closed his eyes and dropped his head back to the wall, but his hand stayed at her hip and his fingertips made little circles there.
She swore his dick pulsed in his jeans.
"Get on the couch," she insisted. Twining their fingers together, she pulled him to sit on the cushion. Leading the way, she arranged him where she wanted.
He lifted his eyebrows as she crawled on her knees beside him on the cushion, right up in his business so she could get behind and get to work.
"Scoot forward." She nudged him so she could get better placement behind him.
"What?"
"Scoot forward so I can get behind," she said.
"Behind me on the couch?" he asked, clearly confused.
"Either that or you can go face down. What would you prefer?" She held up her hands. "I’m going to work on your neck."
"What?" He stared at her for a long beat. "You’re. Gonna. Rub. My. Neck?"
"Not if you don’t move, so I can get into position."
