I’ve never thought about my body as anything other than a vehicle for my brain, something I need to fuel and maintain. But hearing Ace describe it, I feel a strange little pang of pride. Maybe he’s just being nice, but he doesn’t sound like he’s lying.
When I risk a glance over my shoulder, he’s staring at my bare ass. Our eyes meet, and he doesn’t look away or flinch. Just holds my gaze for a second, then gives me a small smile.
“Want me to get your back?” he asks. “Can be hard to reach.”
I open my mouth to say no, that I’m fine, but what comes out is, “Okay.”
Ace steps up behind me, and I go rigid. His body heat reaches me before he even touches me. I hear him dip the towel in the hot water and wring it out. Then the warm cloth presses against my upper back, and I suck in a breath.
“Too hot?” he asks.
“No. It’s good.”
His other hand settles on my shoulder to steady himself, and I can feel the strength in his grip. His thumb rests against my neck, right over my pulse. He starts washing my back in slow, firm circles, moving from my shoulders down to the small of my back. His knuckles brush my ass as he reaches the base of my spine.
“You’re really tense,” he murmurs. “All knots.”
“Sorry,” I breathe.
“Don’t be sorry.” Both of his hands move to my shoulders, and he starts working the muscle there, thumbs pressing deep. “Just means you need to relax a little more.”
Every instinct tells me to lean into him, to let those strong hands work the tension out of me, but I stay frozen, too aware ofevery point of contact. The heat of his skin. The scent of him. The closeness of his naked body to mine.
I pray he doesn’t look down and see that my cock is fully hard now, jutting out in front of me. That would be it. That would be the final nail in the coffin of my dignity.
“You know what?” Ace says. For a terrifying second, I think he’s about to mention my erection, but instead he says, “Let’s finish up out here, get dried off, and I’ll give you a proper massage in the tent. You’re so tense you’re gonna pull something.”
He steps away, and I almost stumble at the sudden loss of contact.
“A massage?” My voice comes out higher than intended.
“Yeah.” He grabs a towel and starts drying himself off. “It’s not like we’ve got anything else to do.”
6
It’s a wonder I manage to get inside the tent without tripping over my own feet. My mind is a frantic loop ofwhat is happeningandoh god, don't let him noticeand an insistent, primalyes, touch me againthat I refuse to acknowledge. I crawl inside wearing only my boxers, and Ace follows right behind me in his.
The cave shields us from the worst of the wind. Outside the entrance, the storm rages in thick white sheets. But here, with the fire burning near the mouth of the cave, the stone walls trap the heat. The tent adds another layer of insulation, making the small space almost warm. Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe it’s the burn of my own skin, the blood pumping through my veins.
“Lie down on your stomach,” Ace says, settling onto his knees beside my sleeping bag.
I do, pressing my face into the bunched-up fabric of my fleece, trying to breathe normally.
“Picked up some massage techniques from our team physio,” he says. “After brutal games, nothing better than working out the knots.”
He swings a leg over me, straddling my thighs. The thin cotton of our boxers is the only thing separating us. I can feel the weight of him, the heat of him, the hard muscles of his thighs bracketing my body. My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird.
Then his hands land on my shoulders, and every coherent thought scatters.
“Jesus, you’re tight,” Ace says, pressing his thumbs into the muscles. “What do you do to get this wound up?”
“Stress,” I manage, my voice muffled by the fleece. “All that… research.”
He chuckles, a warm puff of air against the back of my neck. “Yeah. I bet.”
He works a stubborn knot below my shoulder blade, and a wave of pain and relief washes through me. A groan escapes before I can stop it.
“Right there, huh?” He digs deeper, and I arch into it. “Just breathe.”
