Page 46

“All good,” I say as he lets up.

He starts at my ankle again, repeating the motion, but this time his fingers slide over the back of my knee, up a little higher. He uses both hands to massage my thigh, each pass feeling better.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

My brain feels weird. I don’t want him to stop. I want him to keep touching me like this.

I shake my head; I can’t breathe. My cock aches, and it takes everything in me not to grind against the table.

I laugh. “Didn’t think I’d need a safe word for therapy.”

The words are taunting, sarcastic. I expect him to give me shit or make some quip like he usually does when I make a comment like that, but he doesn't.

His voice is curious.

“You ever use one?” he asks carefully.

“Huh?” I look at him over my shoulder. His shoulders tense as he uses both hands to massage my leg. He digs into the muscle then releases. Dig. Release. It feels so good.

I hadn’t realized how tense my muscles were until now .

“Anyone ever make you tap out?” he asks, sounding interested in a way that isn’t sexual, and I don’t know what to make of that.

I think about his question, because the nature of it feels too personal, even for him.

But I can’t lie to him. There’s something about Jordan Mackenzie that demands me to be honest. To be real.

I shouldn’t talk about this sort of thing with him. Not because I’m ashamed of my sexcapades but because the last time I was honest with someone about my experiences and my past, I paid heavily for it. I also think about Britt’s advice—about letting people in.

Mack knows me. He’s always had one foot in the door, and he’s seen me at some low points. So I guess I can at least be honest with him.

“Yes,” I say, trying not to recall the memory, but it’s no use.

His grip is always tight, but tonight it’s different.

I feel like I’m actually choking. I open my mouth to call out my safe word, but I can’t. His thumb is crushing my throat.

Vance tightens his grip, and I struggle to breathe. So I do the next best thing. I grab his hand, digging my nails in and smack my other hand on the ground. One smack. Two smacks. And then he lets go.

I cough hard as I choke out one word over and over. The only word that can pull me back from the edge.

Vegas.

Vance shoves me down as I catch my breath.

“Fuck—what the hell, V?” I say between coughs. “You trying to kill me?”

His footsteps echo as I rub my throat, watching him walk away without apology.

But that’s what I wanted, right?

I catch Jordan’s heated expression. “So you do have a limit.”

I bite my lip. “Everyone has a limit to what they can take.” I push the memory away. I should have left Vance then: the first time he hurt me for real.

Jordan moves to my other leg.

“I guess that’s true,” he says, clearing his throat. He smirks, which melts some of the bad memories away.

“Sometimes you just don’t know until you hit it,” I lament.

“Head down. Keep your spine straight.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, the words leaving my mouth humorously. “You’re the boss.”

It’s only a flash of a second later that his hand finds my neck and he pushes my head down between my arms where I have them crossed. It’s not harsh or painful. It’s firm, but gentle.

I like it more than I should.

“Damn right I am.” His voice darkens. “You better remember that. ”

My cock weeps with precum.

Fuck.

He laughs as he moves back to my leg.

Just when I think we’re done, I move to get up, and once again, his palm holds me down.

“Stay,” he says, his voice raspy and dark. He slides my shirt up, exposing the small of my back. He presses his thumbs there and I hiss.

“Got a lot of tension back here,” he says. “Probably should work on that.”

Before I can answer, his hands knead the tension there, and I can not keep the moan from escaping my throat.

He chuckles. “Guessing that doesn’t hurt?”

I shake my head. “Fuck no. That feels amazing.”

His voice shifts just the slightest. “Good to know I can make you feel good.”

I want to tell him he’s always made me feel good. Doesn’t he know that?

I’ve been chasing the high Jordan Mackenzie gives me ever since he grabbed me by the throat and kissed me, since he wrapped those large arms around me and held me close.

Nothing and no one has ever felt as good as he does. Not even close.

But before I can say anything, he continues his onslaught, his hands sliding up beneath my shirt. Higher and higher .

I’m half tempted to ask him if he wants me to take my shirt off. It would be easier, no doubt.

But I also don’t want to break whatever is happening between us.

On some level, I know massage is part of the whole therapy thing, so what he’s doing isn’t out of the ordinary. But his focus should be on my injury. My back is a long way from my fucking knee.

“Good lord, when’s the last time you had a massage? You’re tight as hell.”

I think about it. “I don’t know. A couple years, I guess.” He continues to work my knots and it’s painful, but also it feels amazing.

But if someone walked in here and saw us? This wouldn’t be professional. There’d be no refuting that. The idea of someone walking in on Jordan and I has my cock throbbing.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asks. “Am I hurting you?”

I hang my head, shaking it.

If only he knew how fucking hard he’s made me.

Yes, you’re hurting me, Jordan.

You hurt me so fucking good, I can’t stand it.

“Nope,” I lie.

He runs his hands down my back.

He taps the small of my back, letting me know he’s done .

“Time’s up,” he says.

I look up at the clock, realizing it’s been an hour.

A full hour of him touching me.

My cock is still hard as a rock, and when I get up, he’s going to notice. Fuck.

I look over my shoulder, noting his heated gaze. He smirks.

“Take your time getting up,” he says as he grabs his iced coffee, unlocks the door, and leaves me alone.

I bang my head against the table.

It takes me a couple minutes to soften and get up. When I leave his office, he’s outside with a knowing look, eating his donut.

“See you later,” he says with a grin.

He fucking did that on purpose.

When I get back to the house, I tear my clothes off. It’ll be a few hours before Jordan gets off work, and therefore, I’ve got enough privacy to do what I need to without interruption.

Though, as I find my cock and wrap my hand around it, my thumb sliding through my precum, I think if he walked in on me and found me jerking off on his couch, it would only make me harder.

I do love to give a good performance, after all.

It doesn’t take me long to come. Just the thought of him walking in on me, watching me, jerking off next to me, has me coming in seconds. I stare at the ceiling, catching my breath when I notice how beautiful they are. I bet a chandelier would look bitching in here.

I let out a heavy breath as I get up and head into the bathroom to shower. Afterwards, I grab my keys and head to the store to see if I can find a chandelier—I do.

It’s big and ornate and bright as hell, all dark grey and metal with shards of glass that look sharp yet pretty, and masculine enough I think Mack will love it. Plus, it’ll light up the whole room.

When I get back, I swap out the simple, round light and replace it with the chandelier.

It takes a couple hours to make sure everything is hooked up right, because I take breaks to rest my knee, but I get everything where it needs to be.

I take a step back to look at my handiwork.

The light refracts off the glass and I grin.

I check my watch and realize Jordan will be home in an hour, which is just enough time for me to throw something together for dinner.

I collapse on the couch as the food cooks and stare up at my work, getting lost in the beauty of the glass and the ornate vine-like metal that shimmers from the light.

It’s dark and twisty, but pretty as hell, and it looks fucking gorgeous with all this natural wood panelling, but it’ll look even better once I get the kitchen done.

I get lost in the sight so much that I barely hear the door open. I sit up straighter, noticing Mack standing in the doorway, staring at me .

“Hey,” he says, eyes lifting to the chandelier just as the oven goes off.

“Yes! Dinner’s finally ready!” I say as my stomach growls. I get up and hurry to the oven, but his firm grasp on my wrist stops me.

I stumble backwards, falling into his proximity.

I think he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. His thumb slides over my wrist and those amber eyes fixate on my mouth.

I think he wants to kiss me.

My gaze drops to his pillowy lips. I want to kiss him so badly, but I know how this ends.

The first time was bad enough.

The second time was bad, too.

Do I really have it in me to go another round with Jordan Mackenzie?

Can I handle the fallout if I know it’s coming?

Yes. I can take it. I can take him.

Fuck, I want to take every bit of him in more ways than one.

I lick my lips, wanting nothing more than to taste him, to push him against the counter and devour him. Something tells me he wouldn’t fight me one bit if I did that.

But maybe I want him to kiss me. Maybe I want him to run those hands over me and make me feel good. Maybe I want to see what he’s willing to give me .

Hypothetically, of course.

The oven timer keeps beeping like a damn fire alarm.

I lean in just a fraction, and I wait for just a second, watching his gaze drop to my mouth before I pull away.

“Better get that before it burns,” I say, my voice much darker than I mean it to be.

I pull my wrist free of his touch and head for the oven, but I can feel the heat from his gaze on my back as I walk away.