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Chapter Thirty-Three
Malik
“Hold still.” I adopted a stern tone even if a wriggly Avery in nothing but a towel generally was pretty freaking adorable.
“Or…” He stuck his tongue out, which would have tempted me to kiss his smirk away if I wasn’t holding a razor.
“Or it will hurt.” I glanced pointedly down at his towel-covered ass. He’d asked for my help getting a close shave, a process that was turning out to be surprisingly sexy. And maddening. “I trust myself not to cut you, but you might not want to go writing checks your ass can’t cash.”
“Ch-ching. Maybe I’m okay with the price tag.” He preened in the mirror of his small apartment bathroom.
“And maybe I’d like to be on time for your parents and siblings.” I kept my voice firm but patient. He’d done nothing other than come up with reasons to delay since we’d arrived at his apartment to get ready for the engagement party for his sister.
After a few days in Denver to recuperate, we’d flown back to LA the day before and slept together at my place before making our way to Avery’s tiny studio. The plan had been for him to shower, shave, and locate the apparently one shirt that would pass familial muster.
“You’re no fun.” His shoulders slumped, but he finally held still long enough for me to finish the shave. “We haven’t fooled around in days.”
“Poor, baby.” After washing off my hands and the razor, I patted his ass. He wasn’t wrong, but we’d both been exhausted, wrung out by the fire and the aftermath, and as it turned out, cracked ribs were a major deterrent to sexy times. “You’ll just have to wait until after the party for your reward.”
“There’s a reward?” He perked up considerably as he pranced toward his closet.
“You’ll have to stick around to find out.” A follow-up doctor appointment the other day yielded some Kinesio tape that was working to mitigate the rib pain enough that I could contemplate orgasm without wincing. And Avery wasn’t the only one antsy, but as usual, I was the more patient one.
“Or I could blow you right now, take the edge off…” Pausing with dress pants in his hand, he backed me and my cane against the closet door. The same orthopedist with the new tape had also let me exchange the crutches for a cane, which I rested against the wall to study Avery more closely. In addition to his usual impishness, there was something else in his eyes, a wariness or hesitation almost begging me to give him an out from the party.
“Avery.” I held up a hand before he could sink to his knees. “Are you that horny? Or that nervous?”
He groaned. “Both? Can’t the answer be both?”
“Everything’s going to be fine.” I pulled him to me, giving him a soft kiss. “You’ll see.”
“You have no idea how frosty my parents can get without saying a single mean word.”
Chuckling, I held him close and stroked his still-damp hair. “Well, that beats your dad trying to tackle me…”
“Too easy with the football jokes.” Groaning, he rested his head on my shoulder before pushing away to resume dressing. “And I guess we can always leave early.”
“We can. And any time you start to feel…chilly, I want you to think about what I’m going to do to you back at my place.” I waited for him to put on his prosthesis and pull on the crisp white dress shirt before I helped him with the buttons.
“We’re not coming back here?” He glanced over at the bed positioned under the window. It barely classified as a full and had an alarming sag in the middle, to boot.
“That bed couldn’t hold two action figures, let alone us, for what I want to do to you.” I leered at him before putting on my own dress shirt, a gray linen one my mother had pushed on me in Denver after one of her downtown excursions. “And your reward might be back at my place.”
“Tell me.” Dressed, Avery breathlessly looped his arm around my neck. “Can’t I have a hint?”
“I think you keep angling for me to add a spanking.” Now that we were both dressed and heading for the door, I could be more playful, adding a wink.
“You wouldn’t be wrong.” Avery’s grin lasted long enough for me to give him a firm swat at the door.
“And you wouldn’t want to have to squirm around during dinner because of your smart mouth. To the car.”
Grabbing my cane, I pointed at the hall, which led to an elevator to the basement parking structure. We took Avery’s sporty little car because that was more set up for his driving needs with the prosthesis, and we managed to arrive in Malibu more or less on time.
“Here goes nothing,” Avery muttered as we walked up the long, curved drive of the gated estate, me leaning on the cane I’d need a few more weeks until the walking boot came off.
