I exhaled deeply, my shoulders dipping slightly in a moment of sheer relief. It was only ten, which meant I had every chance of getting a solid eight hours or so before morning skate. If Skye slept all night—which had been about fifty-fifty the past week or so—I’d be ready to kick some ass for the second game of the series tomorrow night.
After listening for Skye for a minute or two in the hallway, I headed downstairs to the kitchen and found Fiona shutting the dishwasher and pressing the start button.
“I told you that you don’t have to do that,” I lectured, going around the kitchen island to the refrigerator. I’d managed to keep my hands to myself for the past two and a half weeks by maintaining at least five feet between Fiona and I at all times...or at least whenever possible. At home we were in pretty close confines, and there wasn’t much we could do about it.
That kiss. Fuck me, that kiss had been on replay in my head every time I’d jerked off for the last couple of weeks.
Not just a kiss.
I swore I could still taste her tongue, feel how slick she was against my fingers—
“And I told you that I don’t mind,” Fiona countered, saving me from falling down the rabbit hole of fantasy.
“We have a housekeeper.” I lifted my brows at her and grabbed two bottles of some pink drinks that had electrolytes. “Remember?” Shit, had I really said we? Yep. Truth was, this house felt like it belonged to both of us. Fiona only spent one night a week at her own place, even on the nights when I didn’t have ice in the morning.
She was fucking fabulous and I wouldn’t have been able to survive this long without her.
“Who only comes once a week, remember?” She grinned and took the offered drink. “Thanks.” She rolled her shoulders and winced.
“What hurts?” I drained the bottle and threw it into the recycling.
“My back is a little twingy.” She shrugged. “Nothing to worry about.”
My eyes narrowed on her lithe frame, as if her body would tell me more than her mouth.
“It’s fine.” She brushed me off with a wave of her hand. “Skye is growing like a weed, and keeping her strapped on for hours at the game—well, she can get a little heavy.”
“Little heavy?” I winced. “That girl has already hopped up to the seventy-fifth percentile as of last week.”
Fiona grinned, and my chest went tight. “Guess she gets that from her daddy.”
I huffed a laugh and turned to the nearest cabinet, breaking eye contact. Shit, that woman had no clue what she did to me...or maybe she just didn’t want me to do it to her again. That was fine, of course. Hell, I’d crossed so many lines that I was pretty much a walking lawsuit after our little romp in the kitchen. I opened the cabinet and stared at bottles of massage oil I kept on hand for nights I’d been too tough on my legs.
Don’t offer. Do not do it. DO NOT OFFER. What I needed to do was take my sexually frustrated ass upstairs and get some sleep while there was sleep to get.
But shit, she hurt because she’d been carrying my kid all evening, and maybe I was a dick, but I wasn’t a big enough dick not to help her out when I was fully capable.
“Want me to rub your shoulders down?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral. Say no. Save us both and just say no.
“You’d do that?”
Fuck. “Absolutely.” I pulled one of my favorite bottles out—the one that smelled like citrus, and flashed her a tense-as-shit smile.
She swallowed hard.
“I mean, as porny as it sounds to ask if you need a backrub, I’m really just offering—”
“A back rub,” she finished with a nod.
“Exactly.” Holy shit, when had I gotten so fucking awkward? It was a straight up middle school dance in here.
She nibbled on her lower lip, clearly thinking over her answer, and I clenched the bottle of oil so tight I half-expected it to burst open like some rom-com metaphor for how badly I wanted this woman.
Yeah, that was one of the reasons I wasn’t out at Scythe right now, working off my post-game buzz with a willing puck bunny. I only wanted Fiona, and that realization was fucking terrifying.
“Let’s do it,” she said with a decisive nod.
My dick jumped.
I cleared my throat. “Okay. Living room?”
Five minutes later I sat on my leather couch with my knees spread as Fiona dropped down in front of me, sitting crisscross. Her shoulders were bare with the exception of two very thin tank top straps and the strips of bright red satin that I refused to think about being connected to her bra.
Nor was I thinking about the sight of those perfect breasts. Nope. Instead, I was pouring a small amount of massage oil into my palm and praying on every deity ever worshipped to help keep me from embarrassing myself.
“Tell me if I go too deep,” I managed to say, rubbing the oil between my hands.
“Oh, trust me, it’s never too deep,” she teased, flashing me a smile over her shoulder.
And now I was hard. Awesome. I needed to find a way to cut the tension, and fast.
“Now, Ms. Andrews, we here at Demon Massage want to make sure our customers are always comfortable and fully satisfied,” I teased.
“Then by all means, proceed.” Another smile. Another reason for my dick to make its needs known.
I started on her neck, working my thumbs into the tense muscles.
She hummed a little in appreciation.
Once the muscles in her neck were relaxed, I continued down her trapezius.
A moan fell from her lips.
I paused for the length of a heartbeat, sucking in a breath. That was the same exact sound she’d made while I’d had her up on the kitchen counter.
“Sorry, it just feels so good.” She let her head fall forward slightly.
“Like I said, we aim to please.” My voice was about as smooth as a gravel pit.
I kept my touch professional, working the muscles I’d spent hours studying in undergrad until her knots loosened. But damn, those little moans and sighs? They were innocent, but my mind turned them positively indecent.
“Here, will this help?” She tugged her straps down her shoulders.
“Sure.” All that creamy skin made my mouth water.
“You are so damn good at this.” She leaned into my touch.
“My bachelors is in sports medicine.” I found another knot and it melted under my fingers.
Quiet moments passed while I rubbed the tension from her shoulders and arms, never letting my hands sink farther south than her bra-strap.
“I think that’s about all I can help with,” I said, my voice strangled. More like it was all I could handle before my touches turned to caresses.
She rolled her shoulders and sighed, coming up on her knees before turning toward me.
Fuck me, she was level with my dick. I shifted my hips and hoped like hell that she wasn’t checking out what was going on beneath my athletic shorts.
“I’d say thank you, but we always end up…” She flushed. “Well, you know.”
“Yeah.” We did seem to have a thing for getting overzealous with the thanks.
“How about I do you?” she offered.
I clenched my jaw, biting back my instant agreement to her suggestion.
She reached for my side, her breasts brushing my knee, and grabbed the oil. “I’m definitely not as good as you with my hands, but I’m a fast learner.”