She put a hand to the soft over-washed cotton and his shot out to stop her. “You’re going to find out the effect you’re having on me the minute you lift this quilt.”
Oh my. She tossed the quilt aside. The mass of angry bruising on his hip was a minor distraction from his very pretty erection.
“We don’t need to do anything about that,” he said.
A sound came out of her that let him know she wasn’t simply playing nurse anymore and very much thinking about what she could do about that. She passed a gelled hand gently over the red marks on his thigh and he flinched again, his skin goose-bumping.
“Am I hurting you?”
“I’m feeling no pain.”
She didn’t know at what point this became less about her awkwardness and Zeke feeling ticklish and more about arousal, but she was all in. She lost the T-shirt and sat over his thighs.
He groaned. “That’s not fair.”
“You asked for it.”
“I’m dazed and confused and so fucking sensitive to your touch right now.”
“Only now?”
“Fucking always.”
That was like an X-rated love letter sent express messenger. “I’ll take that into consideration.”
He laughed and draped his arm over his face again. “Do your worst.”
She worked the arnica into the hideous mass of bruising on his hip with the fingers of both hands in gentle circular movements, watching his stomach dip and his abs harden at the contact. He had red marks on his ribs, and as she eased up his thighs to reach them he grunted and bit his bottom lip.
There was a straight line between Zeke struggling to lie still, those teeth in his lip and her pounding need to have him inside her. She had to close her eyes. She had a mission to complete despite the fact she was at sensory overload. She shouldn’t be thinking about how incredible he was spread out like this at her disposal, how powerful his body was when he was beaten up.
How unbearably hot it was that he was turned on and trying to fight it.
Or that her breath was all chopped up, her nipples were aching, and she could feel how wet she was.
She dragged a finger gently down his cock from crown to balls, making him grunt in surprise. “If I want to do something about it?”
“Totally up to you,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m in your hands.”
Oh for that quip he earned another gentle stroke and her reward was the swoosh of air he exhaled.
It was only needing to treat the rest of his cuts and bruises that stopped her doing with her tongue what she’d just done with her finger. She dealt with the scrapes on his forearm. The scores on his wrist from a plastic tie were sobering.
“Give me your other wrist.” The one he was still hiding behind.
He lifted his arm away from his face. His expression making her gasp. His eyes were half-lidded, heavy with desire, his cheeks were flushed. “You can have my wrist if you wriggle on up a little more.”
A little more and they were two heartbeats off fucking. “Bargaining.”
“A desperate cry for help.”
“I’ll hurt your hip.” It must’ve hurt him before, but then sex was a great analgesic.
“Nothing on what my poor disappointed dick will feel.”
She laughed and took his hand, settling over him; his shiver traveling right through her; his groan feeding her whimper. The pot of arnica was forgotten because she couldn’t not move on him, her wetness making it easy to glide on his length.
“Is this real?” she said.