by Shaye Marlow
“Are you okay?” Thea called.
“Fine,” Rory croaked. He gingerly touched his scalp, investigating his new, silver dollar-sized bald spot. And Zack was still laughing at him.
Before the inevitable could happen, I pulled Thea back into my arms, turning her away from the idiots I was related to. She didn’t see Rory run at Zack and head-butt him, she didn’t see them hit the ground, or their subsequent struggle for the torch.
But she heard the grunts, the cussing. She peered over her shoulder. “Are they—”
“They’re fine,” I told her. “Just working things out.”
“But they’re—”
“They’re brothers. It’s what they do,” I said.
“But they might hurt each other.”
“They probably will. But, wounds heal. Anything short of death heals, really…” My voice trailed off as I realized I probably shouldn’t have been talking about dead brothers so soon after Thea’d told me about hers.
I turned her away again just in time to miss Rory gouging at Zack’s eyes. “Violence is a part of life,” I said.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“I disagree. It’s an excellent notion—kumbaya, let’s all get along—but in reality, there are assholes out there. Crazy people who want what you have, or just plain want to hurt you. Wars are necessary to keep the peace. Force must often be used to restrain criminals. For some people,” I said with a glance toward my tussling brothers, “pain is the only thing they’ll understand.”
“But you’re talking about international politics, criminals, and sibling relations. What you did in the coffee shop—there was no good reason, no excuse for you hitting Pierre.”
I clenched my jaw. “You were touching him,” I repeated.
“I touch lots of people!”
“But he was enjoying it.”
If we hadn’t still been moving to the music, I got the sense she would’ve stamped her foot. “They’re supposed to enjoy it.”
“He was enjoying it too much.”
She made a cute little sound of frustration, which drew my gaze to her lips.
“Also,” I added, wanting to make her smile, “he’s got offensive ears.”
It worked. “Offensive ears?”
“Yeah. They’re huge. Elephantine, really. Haven’t you noticed? He pretty much has to turn his head sideways to fit through a door.”
She looked like she wanted to laugh, but firmed her mouth instead. “J.D., you shouldn’t make fun of others when you look like you do. It’s really not fair.” She’d gotten my attention, but plowed on. “A physical deficit is not an excuse to hit someone. That’s like saying you’d drop an ugly baby.”
I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. But I wasn’t gonna let her off the hook. “When I look like… what?” I asked.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “I’m sure you’ve looked into a mirror.”
“Maybe I have. But have you?” I countered, catching her off guard. “Have you seen what I see?” I asked, lowering my voice as I spun her gracefully around.
She shook her head. “Hopefully nothing you’d want to punch me for.”
My grip on her tightened. “I told you, I’d never hurt you. Never.”
“How can I trust that?” she asked. “You seem to hit everyone else pretty freely.”
I couldn’t believe my luck. This woman, the one I wanted to impress the most, was focused on the worst of me—and it was the part that usually got women wet! “I know you’re not going to believe this, but I’m usually very even-keeled. It’s just… the past couple months have been hard.”
“Why, J.D.? What the hell happened?”
I blew out a harsh breath. What if I told her the truth, and she hated me for it?
“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked, her voice quiet.
Dammit, she’d told me about her brother. She’d shared a very personal part of herself with me, basically poured her heart out, and if I wanted this relationship to go anywhere, I needed to respond in kind.
Looking down into her eyes, I decided to take the risk. “I threw the fight,” I said. “The fight where I was injured. My coach told me to throw the fight, needed me to throw it, and I did. I didn’t try, and Wreck beat me.”
“Why would your coach do that?” she asked.
“Same as your brother: He owed some people money, and had run out of time to pay them. They saw an opportunity, one last chance to make their money back before they killed him. They bet against me, I threw the fight, and voila.”
Her hand had tightened on mine. “They were going to kill him?”
“That’s what he said. He kept saying, ‘I have kids. Please, I have kids.’” It was not a good memory: Jim on his knees, begging me.
“Then you didn’t have a choice,” Thea said.
“Sure I did,” I said, glancing away.
“You didn’t.” She grasped my chin, and made me look at her. “You’re a good man, J.D.,” she said, surprising the hell out of me. “You saved that man’s life.”
Her eyes were liquid brown, so dark and beautiful, and full to the brim with understanding, and compassion. There was no censure there. She didn’t think I was a coward, or that I’d failed.
“You’re beautiful,” I said, changing my grip on her hand, rubbing my thumb in her palm, “inside and out.”
Her breath stuttered. She stopped, gazing up at me, just standing in my arms. When she spoke, her breath wafted over my lips. “Would you… like a massage?”
“Oh yes,” I whispered.
She turned and started walking.
I followed. I had to.
She’d kept ahold of my hand.
Chapter Eleven
THEA
“I’m not trying to seduce you.” I’d paused before opening the door, and looked up at him.
J.D.’s handsome face stretched into a startled smile. “Okay. Not trying, got it.”
“I’m not seducing you,” I said, trying to be a precise as possible.
He nodded. “You’re massaging me.”
“That’s right. You’ve got a frozen shoulder, and I’m trying to help you with it.”
He was still smiling down at me, and I realized I was still standing there, hand on the door, blocking his entrance into my cabin. I took a deep breath, and pushed the door open. “Bed on the right,” I said.
“Is yours?” he asked, walking past me. “Nice,” he said, looking around.
“You can’t mean that.”
J.D. turned. “But I do. Compared to where I’m staying, this is very nice. Homey.” He glanced down at the bed. “You don’t have a massage table?”
“I do. You want me to go get it?”
“No, no, this is fine,” he said quickly.
My lips twitched. “Then… take off your shirt, and lie down.”
He pulled his shirt off, tossed it to the foot of the bed, and then rolled onto his back. The action was hypnotizing, all controlled motion and grace. J.D. did not ‘flop’.
“It smells like you,” he said, smiling.
“Friends,” I reminded him. Me, as much as him. “And I want you on your stomach.” I couldn’t handle him looking up at me with those knowing eyes, not at this exact moment. I was cooling down from my 7, was still simmering around a 5. Maybe offering a massage had been a bad idea.
He turned over. I gazed down at his muscular back as he settled, at his tight, perfect butt under black pants that accentuated their toned curves perfectly, and steeled myself as I squirted oil into my hands.
Then I climbed on top of him. He made a sound of surprise as I straddled his lower back.
“So,” he said, arranging his arms on the outsides of my knees. “This is an approved massage technique?”
“I needed to reach your right shoulder,” I said, sliding my hands up over his back, spreading the oil. I moved into the first light strokes, marveling at what a pleasure he was to work on. His skin was smooth, but not overly so, r
esilient, stretched over layers of well-developed muscle. His shoulders were wide, narrowing to a waist I was able to straddle with relative ease.
“No wonder your customers expect a happy ending,” he muttered.
“I don’t do this to them,” I said, digging in around his scapula, working the knots I found there.
“Well, thank god. You only do this to your friends, then?”
“Correct. Yes. Friends.” My excitement seemed to center between my legs, on the spot suspended over that lumbar dip in his spine. Realizing my fingers were wandering, smoothing lower and lower with less and less purpose, I refocused, kneading at his shoulder.
“That feels amazing,” he said. “All of it.” He shifted his hips, lightly rubbing my inner thighs, and I stifled a whimper.
“Tell me about you,” he said. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
I was silent, drawing a blank as I reveled in the feast of firm flesh below me.
“What kind of food do you like?” he asked.
“Anything cooked by somebody else,” I answered, tracing the long bands of muscle along his spine.
“If someone were to take you to a restaurant, what type of food do you like? Pizza? Chinese?”
“Indian. I’m a sucker for Chicken Tikka Masala.”
“What about desserts? What’s your favorite dessert?”
“Hmm. That’s a tough one, but maybe… baklava.”
“Huh. I’ve never made that before,” he said.
“You cook?”
“Some,” he allowed. “When did you get the chance to fall in love with baklava?”
“My first year of college, I had a Greek roommate. She loved to cook. I kept her in ingredients, and she kept me in baked goods. I gained ten pounds that first semester.” My hands paused. “I am torn, though.”
“Oh?” His fingertips had found my ankles, brushing light caresses over my bare skin. Shivers rose from the contact, chasing themselves up my legs.
“I’ve always adored a good cupcake,” I confessed.
He snorted a laugh.
“I love the way they’re individually, cheerfully decorated. The way they’re little works of art,” I said, stroking my hands over him. Admiring him. “And how you can unwrap each one like a little present, before trying to fit it in your mouth.”
J.D. cleared his throat. Shifted.
“But, I’m an equal opportunity dessert devourer. Flan? Sure. Rice Krispy treats? Yes, please.” Any dessert that tasted the way J.D. smelled: Hell yes, and I’d eat it naked.
Since we were talking about food… “You don’t drink coffee, do you?”
He made a noncommittal, distracted sound. I thought maybe his sides were ticklish. And, maybe I’d explore that later.
“You haven’t drunk anything I’ve given you,” I mused. “You dumped out the latte that first day—I don’t even think you tried it—and you gave Rory the peppermint hot chocolate.”
“He took it,” he insisted.
“Just admit it,” I said. “You don’t drink coffee.”
He sighed, nodded. “I don’t.”
I went back to his shoulder, tracing his trapezius up and around, working the firm mass of his deltoid. “Tea?” I asked.
“Some herbal types. I try to stay away from caffeine.”
“Why?”
“Raises the heart rate,” he said.
“Ah.” I put my weight into the massage, digging into his tight muscles.
His breath hissed, and like it had in the boat, his hand closed on my ankle. As I let up pressure, so did he, and the arousal I’d been trying to beat back flared to life, even stronger than before. My breath shuddered as I tried to ignore my response, as I tried to stay focused on the task at hand.
“I dreamt about this,” he said.
“You did?” I knew I shouldn’t ask, knew if he said something in that low, lovely voice of his, anything—but especially something sexy—at this moment, I’d be in trouble. But I so badly wanted to know. “What happened in your dream?”
He cleared his throat. “You were on top of me like you are now, massaging me… but you were naked. You had me all oiled up, and you pressed your breasts to my back. I felt your nipples dragging all… the way… down. It was… fantastic.”
My heart was thumping in my ears, and it took a great effort to keep my voice normal. “Mmm, that’s quite an active imagination you have there,” I said, getting more oil. I spread it over his back, slathering him with it, making his skin shine.
“You have no idea,” he muttered into my pillow.
“It’s pure fantasy, really, that a professional like me would do something like that to a friend.” I pulled off my shirt.
“Yeah. I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t offend you. I really don’t want to do anything to mess up our friendship. It’s just… you have gorgeous breasts,” he explained. “A man can’t help but dream.”
Grinning, I unclasped my bra, and tossed it aside.
“What was that?” he asked, head turning to follow the sound.
I rocked forward, planting my hands to either side of his head.
He peered over his shoulder at me as best he could—which was to say, not very well.
I kissed his cheek. “Promise me something,” I murmured.
His hands tightened on my ankles. “Anything.”
“You won’t move. No matter what happens, no matter what I do, you won’t move.”
I could see him thinking about it, see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “All right.”
I smiled against his skin, then lowered myself so that we were pressed together, my naked chest to his back.
His whole body tensed, lifting me, his breath hissing, toes pushing us both up the bed. Then he shuddered, and groaned. His reaction was all that I’d hoped, and more.
I lifted up a bit, feeling naughty beyond belief, lifted until just my hardened nipples were touching him. Slowly, deliberately, I began to drag them down. “How does this compare to your dream?” I asked, my voice husky. I could not believe I was doing this. I was teasing him, playing with fire, but it felt… so damn good.
“It’s better,” he said, hands fisting in my sheets. “Jesus, Thea…”
I did a gentle swoop around his lower back, then slithered my way back up. “So, J.D., on a scale from zero to ten…”
He laughed breathlessly. “Ten,” he said without hesitation. “I think of you and I’m at a seven. You’re nearby, and I’m at an eight. You flash me those eyes, lick your lips: Nine. Dragging your nipples down my back? Easy ten.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I swung my leg over, dismounting. “Roll over,” I said.
He needed no encouragement. And, as he went sunny-side-up, my gaze was caught by the huge bulge in the front of his pants.
“Oh, wow,” I breathed.
His chest was moving fast with his breaths, and his eyes were alight. “As a professional, you’re supposed to tell me it’s a normal physiological reaction to…” He trailed off, eyes widening as I threw my leg back over.
Hovering over him, I slowly, deliberately, licked my lips.
“Ah-ah-aah.” I caught his hands halfway to my breasts, and pushed, pinning them to the mattress to either side of his head. “You won’t move,” I reminded him.
Glancing from my face, to my breasts, he made a helpless sound.
I leaned down and kissed his nose. Then, his chin. As I lowered myself further, my nipples brushed his chest. Sensation shuddered through me, sizzling my nerve endings, tightening into a knot in my belly. I went for his mouth.
He lunged up to meet me, and captured my lips with his. His mouth was hot and eager, his tongue like velvet as it came out to play with mine. I moaned, rubbing against him, loving the residual slickness of the oil, the slight friction of his dusting of chest hair. The pulse in his wrists throbbed under my hands as his tongue plunged into my mouth. His hips curled and rocked, seeking, and I couldn’t help myself. I wanted it, too.
I pre
ssed down on him, and we both groaned. Our lips broke apart long enough for him to whisper my name, then his chin lifted, and he was kissing me again. He sucked my bottom lip, tugged me down, and then his tongue was back in play. Licking and plunging, exploring and claiming. Deeper and deeper he stroked me, making me want more. Making me feel empty in other places.
My blood caught fire. I ground down against his erection, riding it as my nails dug into his wrists.
“Thea, Thea…” He was saying my name whenever he got the chance, over and over, his tone like chocolate. Like chocolate, I couldn’t get enough. But, I also couldn’t afford to let him kiss the sense out of me. Couldn’t let this go too far.
I pulled my mouth away to begin a long, slow, sensuous drag down his chest and tensed abs. He lifted his head, eyes feverish as he watched. Arousal twisted like a live thing in my belly, just feeling him, having him under me.
I kissed his chest, slowing as my nipples tripped over the fabric of his waistband. I shivered, arms aching with the strain of holding myself up as I ventured farther, as I moved over that hard bulge of his. I dragged the tip of my breast slowly up up up, feeling the texture of his pants and the heat and steely hardness beneath. His cock surged, pressing into my breast, making my pussy clench. I repeated the treatment with my other breast, circling his erection, torturing us both before moving further down, trapping his legs between mine.
I kissed his belly, dabbed with my tongue. “You know what I dreamed?” I asked.
“No. Please tell me,” he rasped.
“I dreamed the devil’s club never happened,” I said, watching his gaze flicker with uncertainty. “I dreamed you tackled me, pinned me to the forest floor…”
Those blue eyes of his heated, darkening to navy.
“You kissed me. Touched me with those strong, callused hands. Teased my breasts,” I whispered, tracing his rippling abs with delicate flicks of my tongue.
“You got me so hot, I was clinging to you, desperate to have you inside me. We tore my clothes off. You wanted it so badly, too. And then, right there in the woods…” I gave him a slow, wicked smile. “…you fucked me.”
He reached for me.