“No,” I breathe.
“Yeah.” Quieter. Right behind me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off him. “I knew you could take it.”
Oh my God.
He works the knot loose with methodical, unhurriedpressure. I close my eyes and lose myself to the sensation of it. The roughness of his palms. The way his thumbs sink into me and the way his hand wraps around my calf.
Liquid heat floods my belly. Lower, too.
“Don’t tense up, sweetheart,” he says. “I can feel when you do that. Gonna make it hurt worse.”
I didn’t know I was tensing. I mean, I did, but I thought it was localized to the tensing between my thighs. I didn’t realize it was my whole body.
“Sorry,” I breathe.
“Nothing to apologize for.” His voice is like gravel now as his thumb drags up, achingly slow. “You’re gonna let me take care of you, right?”
I’ve been taking care of myself since I was eighteen years old. I’m good at it. I made it a point of pride. The fact that this man wants to take care of me feels deeply, dangerously good.
“Yes,” I say.
I close my eyes and press my burning face into the pillow and remind myself that Slade Rhodes is my friend. My husband on paper only.
“So tight here too,” he murmurs, hands moving higher, thumbs pressing into the soft sensitive skin behind my knee, and the calluses catch there too, that same rough drag, and I bite down on my lip hard. Make a small sound.
His hands stop instantly.
“Does that hurt?”
“No,” I whisper. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“Good. I want it to feel good.” His hands shift, massaging deep into my muscles. “Does it?”
Other than the fact I’m dying inside, sure. I’m wet now, I can feel the familiar slickness there, and the humiliation of that fact does nothing to dull the pleasure of his touch.
“Yes,” I manage. “So—yes.”
“Mm.” Slade sounds maddeningly calm considering he has me melting into a puddle.
The fire crackles in the hearth. Outside the ranch is dark and quiet and it’s just us in the firelight, and his hands moving on my bare skin, and the slow steady sound of his breathing while mine is anything but.
I would give anything for him to not be my friend right now.
My face is on fire. My eyes are closed and I can only hope that what’s going on inside my head isn’t showing on my face.
He works back down to my ankle and wraps both hands around the joint. His grip is sure, his thumb pressed to the inside of my ankle where my pulse is hammering.
Please don’t feel how fast my heart is racing. Please have no idea what you’re doing to me.
“How’s that?” he asks.
“Good,” I whisper. “So good.”
A pause. Long enough that I open my eyes to look at him to see if something is wrong.
His gaze is trained on my bare legs. His expression is opaque as always, but when his eyes lift to mine I can see his eyes are very dark, the green almost entirely obscured by his pupils. The reflected firelight dances in their dark depths.
The man is literally smoldering.
