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Kova lifted the hem of my shirt until it reached the bottom of my butt. His hands expertly kneaded my inner calf, working their way up the back of my thigh, then down to the arch of my foot, where he pointed and flexed it. With each stroke, his fingers manipulated the tight muscles and worked my injured Achilles tendon to get blood flowing. I gasped a few times. I hadn’t realized I needed this so bad.
"That hurts a little bit," I grunted out.
"Deal with it."
"I don't think I’ll be able to walk after this." Let alone drive. But I'd figure it out.
"You will sleep here."
"I don’t want to."
"It is not up for discussion," Kova stated as if we were done with the conversation, which only angered me. Grabbing his cell phone, he put on music. Hinder played in the background, "Lips of an Angel," a song that I actually loved. In the quiet I listened to the lyrics clearly and understood why he liked it too. It could have been our anthem. Wanting to remain faithful to the one you chose versus yearning for the one you wanted. It was us wrapped up in a heartbreaking ballad.
"You can't make me, you know," I said, blocking out the rest of the lyrics, but he didn't answer. He was lost in the song and using the music to ignore any word that left my lips.
His hands actually felt good on the backs of my thighs and I softened inside. Now this was the kind of massage I could get used to. Much to my surprise, he never breached the professional line, but acted every bit the qualified specialist he was.
Kova stepped out of the room for a few seconds and came back with a white towel.
I was beginning to hate that color.
Our gazes locked as he took another sip from his glass. His green eyes bore into mine over the rim of the crystal, shooting through me with what felt like contempt. I didn't like it.
Putting the tumbler down, he walked over and draped the warm towel over my butt, then tugged the shirt up in a conservative manner so no skin would show. I shifted, knowing where he was going with this, and carefully pulled the shirt off before laying back down.
Before he started, the tips of Kova's fingers grazed the hairs at my neck. He stood right next to me but felt so far away as he gently brushed the loose strands to the side so they fell over my shoulder. He whispered to himself, lost in his own mind, but I heard every word.
"What is it about you that I cannot let go? I am a fool for you, as you are for me. There is nothing I would not do for you."
I closed my eyes, his words sinking through his fingertips to my skin, painting the truth. Lotion on his hands, he started on my shoulders, digging and pushing and pinching every muscle. I was so tender is some spots and Kova's hands were unforgiving. He slid down my spine, his thumbs running over each vertebrae to my lower back. His hands spread out and his fingers slipped under the towel and over my hips and around my pelvis. He repeated the motion so many times I lost track, then he went over my legs again, and then worked on my arms with calculated measure and strict control.
"This feels good," I all but moaned. The next song came on and I felt like it was a message. "I didn't know yo
u liked Bruno Mars."
Kova remained quiet. With each bout of silence, I shut down a little more. I didn't like being ignored. The whole point of agreeing to come to Kova's house was to rid myself of the deafening hush hush and loneliness I received in my condo. He was giving me a dose of my own medicine and it hurt way more than I could have ever imagined. It made me think about how I'd treated him over the past couple of months. I refused to feel guilty for my actions, though, not after how everything went down, but this was a horrible feeling and I decided I was going to change my ways.
I sighed. Maybe he didn't hear me. He did seem to be in the zone.
"Okay. You are finished," he said.
I glanced around. "Do you know where my shirt is?" Kova walked behind the table and bent down. He picked it up and handed it to me, then he reached for his glass and finished the remaining contents. "Thank you," I said.
Sitting up, I covered my chest with my arm and quickly slipped it on, but I didn't need to. Kova had already given me his back.
I climbed off the table, a little wobbly and lightheaded, but I brushed it off. I hadn't eaten anything today and it was already late in the afternoon. My stomach growled embarrassingly loud, but a searing headache erupted behind my right eye and I gasped. Kova spun around and eyed me up and down. I leaned against the table and dug the heel of my palm into my eye socket and rubbed in circles.
"Let us get you food."
"No," I grunted in agony. Fuck! I hated when a headache like this happened. "I'm just gonna grab my keys and go home."
"You will not find them," he said like he was telling me he was going to water his lawn. I glanced up with one eye open. "I hid them."
I blew a heavy breath through my nose. Not this shit again.
"You have to be kidding me. Kova, I am not in the mood for your antics right now," I said, my voice low and lethal. "Give me my damn keys."
"What do you want for food? Borsch. Zharkoye. Stroganoff…"
