His side was sore, and even the light touch was a little uncomfortable, but the longer her warm hands brushed softly over his skin, the more his muscles eased.
“Okay?” she said, her voice soft and breathy. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking caused by the heat roaring over his body at the way she was taking care of him.
“Yeah.”
Just above his hip bone, she settled into a rhythm using both hands, her thumbs swiping low in the back, her fingers rubbing under the loose denim in the front.
“Do I want to know why you and Beckett were fighting?”
A few ins and outs of his breath passed before he decided whether to answer. “He’s pissed I haven’t been a better friend, and he’s right.”
“Well, no matter what you did, you didn’t deserve to be attacked in your own home. I meant what I said to them, Nick. You’re going so far out of your way for me. I’m not letting anyone abuse you for it.”
There she goes again. As if each massage, each squeeze, and each soothing caress weren’t ratcheting up his arousal enough, her rising to his defense had him absolutely throbbing for her. Her warmth was all over his back from her hands and her breath and her nearness. It was too much. It wasn’t nearly enough.
Goddamnit, he wanted her.
It wasn’t just her hands on his body, or the relief flooding through him, or the lateness of the hour, although all three played a role. It was more the bone-deep solace he felt in her presence as her light and her warmth seeped into him. The way she seemed to anticipate what he needed, even if he would’ve been the last one to acknowledge it for himself. How she’d given him a purpose again after all these long months, one he hadn’t realized how badly he needed. And it all made him want.
Nick wanted to claim her and possess her and climb so far inside her heat that he’d forget about all the shit in his head. He wanted her writhing under him and boneless with pleasure and crying his name out loud. He wanted her seeking safety in his arms and comfort from his hands.
He spun the chair around to face her. She reared back on her knees and her gaze flew up to his. He shook his head, competing desires warring inside him. To possess her and protect her. To be honest and shield her from hurt. To do the right thing and do what felt right.
Damnit, he needed her.
On a groan, he reached out, grasped her neck, and hauled her up to him.
Rixey consumed her with the kiss, pouring every bit of his gratitude and desire into the movement of his lips, his tongue, his hands. She moaned in surprise, and he devoured that, too. God, she smelled of warm vanilla and tasted of mint. Little needful whimpers and sighs and gasps spilled out around their lips, and he reveled in every last note of her pleasure, of her desire. He pulled her closer and penetrated her more deeply with his tongue. The damn backrest separated them, but he couldn’t let her go long enough to rectify the problem.
“God, sunshine, what are you doing to me?” he rasped around the edge of a kiss.
Her fingers dug into his hair, pulling, grasping. He loved the bites of pain against his scalp, evidence of her loss of control.
If he didn’t stop soon, he was going to lift her into his arms, lay her out on his bed, and cover her with his body. And there would be no going back.
Get a friggin’ grip, Rixey. Now.
Panting, he pulled his lips away from hers, his hands cupping her cheeks so she didn’t dive back in for more. Foreheads together, he let himself bask in a moment more of her heat, her scent, her touch. He kissed the corner of her mouth, because he was the one struggling to resist, and stroked his hands over her hair. Finally, he pulled away. “It’s late,” he said, hating the words but needing them.
Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I know,” she whispered, peering up at him with midnight blue eyes.
“Come on.” He pushed up from the chair and gave her a hand at the same time. Miraculously, his muscle aches were more diffuse than before her massage. As if he needed another reason to want to kiss her. “You should—”
“I don’t want to be alone, Nick.” She shook her head and ducked her chin. “Can I just . . . maybe, stay out here with you?”
“Becca—”
“Please?”
The pleading slayed him. He grasped her hand and led her to his dark bedroom.
“Get in,” he said at the side of the bed. “You need sleep, and you’re not going to get it sitting up out there.”
“But—”
“I’ll sleep here, too.”
“Really?”
The obvious relief did a number on him. It felt damned good to be needed—too damned good, so he played it off. “It’s a hardship, but for you, I’ll make the sacrifice.” He swatted her butt, and his cock rose up and took notice. “Get in.”