He stepped up to the bed.
Unscrewing the bottle, he poured a little oil into his palm and rubbed his hands together. His hands seemed to tingle in anticipation as he placed his fingers on either side of her neck.
Her scent filled his nostrils, that unique smell that he found so appealing and that drove him to distraction. Unable to stop himself, he leaned close to speak directly in her ear. “Let me know if I go too deep.”
She shuddered. Nick smiled a little and began massaging, pressing his thumbs into her trapezius.
He found her muscles tight. Progressing downward slowly, he worked methodically, finding each knot and insisting there, paying attention to every square inch of her back. This was standard aftercare, and he usually performed it mechanically and mindlessly. Not so this time. Then again, nothing was ever normal for him around Jannie.
After a while, he switched to long strokes, flattening his palms.
“That’s nice,” she said.
But instead of feeling her relax, she was tensing up more and more under his hands.
He paused to oil his palms again. Returning to stroke her now-heated, slick skin, he leaned close. “How are you feeling?”
“Good.” Her voice was low.
He flicked the hook-and-eye closure of her crisscross-back sports bra. “You would feel even better if I didn’t have to work around this.”
Jannie was silent.
Nick ran his fingertips over the straps, which converged at the closure. “May I undo it?”
Requesting permission, for fuck’s sake. He no longer recognized himself.
“Yes.”
That one word went straight to his groin.
It was going to be hell to continue this, but if it eased her pain, he would endure his own.
He unhooked the bra, parting the fabric to give him access to the middle of her back. Her skin was rosy now under his palms, and he ran them up, then down again, his heart rate increasing with every long, slow stroke.
The urge to grip her gorgeous ass was overwhelming. Yet Nick gritted his teeth, keeping it nonsexual as he moved on to her lower back.
With his thumbs, he pressed and circled gently, careful not to apply too much pressure in case she had pain there. Drawing patience from a place he didn’t know he possessed, he worked her, clenching his teeth against the temptation to succumb to his urges.
Back and forth his fingers glided, right above the elastic at the top of her leggings.
He sensed a change then. Subtle at first, but then she started shifting her hips in rhythm to his hands, until she was clenching and unclenching her glutes, and he had to pause a moment to regroup.
“Don’t stop.” Her voice was husky.
He exhaled, then resumed the exercise in self-torture; the sight of her thrusting into the mattress nearly broke his resolve. He visualized hooking his fingers into the tops of those leggings, yanking them down, hauling her up by the hips, and burying his face in her.
He forced himself to go back up, away from her obliques, using the heels of his hands to push into her lats.
She shook her head. “Lower.”
He stopped. Flattened his palms on either side of her spine.
She moaned, clearly frustrated.
His gut clenched at the sound, an electric current racing straight to his aching groin.
What was she asking of him?
