Page 71 of On Merit Alone

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Merit

“I’m going to need you to say something.”

This was Ira’s stern response to my fifteen minutes of sheer silence after the events of the night.

I guess in the grand scheme of a comeback, there were bound to be ups and downs. I just hadn’t expected this down to be so close to the one at the beginning of the season.

After winning back-to-back games over the rivalry weekend, the Dynamite had gone on to take a three game lead. We were on fire, hot with the adrenaline and magic of a winning streak and riding it out to the bitter end.

But all good things eventually stopped being good, and our hot streak was no exception. I knew the fireworks would eventually fizzle out, I just hadn’t expected it to be quite so soon. Or catastrophic.

It wasn’t just that we lost. That we’d been losing… again. The way we played brought me back to the beginning of the season, and the way I felt at the beginning of the season brought me back to a person who’d felt trapped and scared and was fighting for her life.

A lot of those circumstances had changed since then, mainly because of the man kneeling in front of me. But I still couldn’t help but be afraid of those feelings coming back. Haunting me. Plaguing the rest of the season. And being frustrated as hell that they might return.

A sigh from the tall form at my feet had me seeing Ira clearly for the first time since I sat in his locker. “Alright, Six. Up. And strip.”

I started.

After the game, I was a zombie during the huddle and the post-game meeting with the coaches.

I hardly put up a fuss about sneaking into the men’s locker room to meet Ira, just walking right in and not caring if anyone happened to see.

And when I got here, Ira started on his usual routine of undressing me.

Not like that . Of taking off my gear and massaging my ailments as he tried to talk to me about the game.

I was usually quite good company during this, and I don’t ever think I’m great company.

But after games—win or lose—I can’t help the animated word vomit that came out of my mouth.

I actually looked forward to these debriefings with Ira now, and he didn't seem to mind them either.

But today I didn't have it in me to say anything. Not about the game, and not about the frustrated feelings I had brewing in my chest. Nothing. I’d left Ira in silence for nearly twenty minutes now.

But that still wasn’t enough to prepare me to hear the words “strip” leave his mouth in a downright order.

I cleared my throat. “Excuse me?”

He narrowed his eyes. “For a shower, Jones. Get your head out of the gutter.”

More throat clearing and suddenly the room was much hotter than before. “Oh, uh, I don’t have a change of clothes.”

“I have extra. You obviously don’t feel like talking, but the hot water will do you some good,” he said.

I thought about arguing but then realized there was no point. He was right. I was frustrated, and hot water couldn’t hurt .

Moments later, I was stepping under the steaming spray of the identical-looking stall of the men’s locker room showers. Ira had instructed me that the middle stall got the best heat and pressure before fishing out a bundle of his own products from the seat of his locker.

He didn’t try to talk to me while I was inside and I appreciated it. I don’t think there were many scenarios in which I would rather not talk about basketball, but for some reason even bringing it up right now was riling up this crazy frustration in me that I couldn’t sate.

As I appeared in the doorway fifteen minutes later, Ira looked up from where he was arranging a stack of clothes for me and raised an eyebrow—effectively asking about the status of my headspace without even speaking.

I sighed and slumped against the wall like standing and worrying about this was too strenuous.

“Rationally I know it’s not that bad,” I started from the doorway. “But what do you call it when you know that, and you’re still pissed off?”

“You’re frustrated. It’s normal,” he assured from his spot on a stool. “Did the shower help?”

I nodded.

“You still don’t want to talk about it?” he asked.

I shook my head.

He eyed me, his gaze traveling over my body dripping in a towel.

Something in the way his lids lowered in his appraisal made my mouth pop open, thoughts wholly inappropriate for a team locker room slipping out.

Making me hot and causing me to squirm as the need to press my legs together became strong.

His next words, all husky and low, seemed like they held more possibilities than normal as his eyes lingered blatantly on parts of my body that were not my face. “Need help with anything?”

I swallowed. Then I raised my shoulder, the motion stiff and rigid. I don’t know what about that was amusing, but I noticed a soft corner of his mouth twitch. “Come here. You’re dripping.”

I squinted at him and that smile broke free. Wicked this time. “Your hair , Six.”

I rolled my lips into my mouth. Oh yeah.

He was right about the shower loosening me up.

So right that as soon as the warm spray hit my coiled muscles, I couldn’t resist stepping fully underneath, even getting my braids wet.

Now they were heavy, full of water and needing a good dry before I put on any sort of shirt, otherwise it would be soaked through in minutes.

Ira was already prepared for that, an extra towel waiting on his knee and another stool now sitting in front of him. He patted it, beckoning me and I didn’t hesitate. Sitting down in front of him, I almost sagged with relief as his hands started combing through my hair.

Using his fingers, he took his time pulling all the heavy wet strands to my back. Taking care to massage little circles into my scalp before he grabbed the towel and started wringing my hair dry.

Minutes later, it was probably as good as it was going to get, and again Ira anticipated it.

Discarding the soaked towel to the side before working his hands through my braids to comb them all up into a pile on top of my head.

He secured it with an extra-large band and I had to wonder where he learned how to do all this.

The thoughts left my mind when the pads of his strong fingers began working into the back of my shoulders. I gasped breathily and groaned as the massage hit home right away. Working my sore muscles free from their tight hold on each other.

“You’re tight, Six,” he said, voice that same gravel as before. It brought a zing of awareness between my legs, the material of the towel suddenly scraping against my nipples as they hardened underneath it.

“My shoulders?” I asked .

His chuckle was dark and sultry and I know for a fact he was thinking the same thing as me. “Among other things, I presume.”

I hummed, deciding to lean into the feeling of his fingers as they dug into my muscles. I swallowed my moans as best as I could when they moved along my back and neck, covering my collarbone sometimes and running up and down my arms too.

It was no use though. Minutes in and I was breathing harder. My nipples felt strained against the towel wrapped around me and it was officially uncomfortable to sit with this amount of heat beginning to pool at my center.

Ira was turning me on. Did he even know it? God what was wrong with me? I was just pissed and now I?—

“You know, if I’m a snuggler, you are too,” he said. “In your own way.”

“Oh?” I asked. Not able to form any actual sentences as Ira’s hand trailed up the back of my neck and squeezed gently again.

“Mhmm,” he said. “You’re touchy. Or at least, you want to be. Whenever I get my hands on you, you melt.”

“Oh,” I said, a little breathier this time. I wasn’t expecting that. Not that and not what touched my neck next.

His lips.

“It makes me wonder how else you’ll melt for me. Where else I can touch you and feel your body become mine,” he murmured into my skin between kisses that weren’t quite such. Just a perusal of his mouth along my body.

“ Oh ,” I said again.

He laughed. “Do you have any other words to offer, Merit?”

“No.”

“Then nod yes or no for me, sweetheart.”

I nodded, “Okay.”

A shiver racked up my spin as Ira’s lips found the base of my throat at the same time his hands fell to my towel clad hips .

“If I asked you to drop the towel right now, would you?” he asked.

I shook my head. Not ready to bare myself fully for him in his team locker room of all places.

“If I asked you to spread your legs would you?”

I moaned, hesitating, but slowly I nodded.

“Do I still have permission to touch you whenever I feel like it?”

“You’re touching me now.”

“No,” he said. “To touch you, Six.”

I knew what he meant. My voice turned to rocks in my throat. “Here?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Preferably.”

“Why?”

“You’re tense,” he said, sucking the skin on my neck in a way that couldn’t be mistaken.

Those hands on my hips squeezing and scooting me back so that we were damn near sharing a stool as he tucked my ass up against his groin.

His heavy member pronouncing his intentions before he said it clearly himself.

His gruff whisper put all the wondering to rest. “Let me ease you up, baby.”

I think I whimpered, snaking a hand backward so that I could grasp his neck and anchor his mouth on my body.

He chuckled. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you. Just open up for me, alright?”

My legs fell open, his words like a key for me as his hands roamed my body, gripping the inside of my thighs hungrily as he set me where he wanted me.

Right on his hardness. We both groaned at the contact there and then he went right back to devouring my neck, his hands eating up the expanse of my body over my towel.