King's Wrath (Sydney Storm MC 5)

Shit, shit, shit.

King stretc

hed his neck from side to side. “You finished?”

“No,” I blurted, taking hold of his neck to stop his movement. “Sit still.”

He pulled away from me and stood. “We’re done,” he said, his tone signalling that this wasn’t up for discussion. He didn’t know me, though. Everything was always up for discussion. Especially when I knew I was right.

Straightening my shoulders, I said, “We are not done, King. Your neck and shoulders are so hard and tight. I’ve got something to rub into them that will help with that.”

He glanced down at my bag sitting on his table. “How much shit do you carry in your bag?”

“Clearly lots of shit that you need.” I couldn’t work out why he was being so bloody difficult about this. “Look, I’m just trying to help you because you seem to be in a lot of pain. Are you always this obstinate when someone tries to help you?”

Scrubbing his face, he muttered, “Fine,” before sitting back down.

Finally.

Getting him to do what I wanted was almost as frustrating as getting Zara to do something.

I grabbed my hot pepper muscle stick out of my bag and unscrewed the lid. I then placed my hand on his shoulders and gently massaged him through his shirt, feeling for knots. He needed more than this muscle stick.

“You need a massage,” I said, figuring I was wasting my breath.

“I don’t have time for a massage.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that, but you should make the time. You’d be a new man after a few massages.”

“Fuck, Lily, can you just get this shit rubbed on so I can get back to work?”

I could have seriously throttled him and his moodiness. Instead, I decided to get this done and get the heck out of there. Tapping his back, I said, “Take your shirt off.”

He took a few moments, but he did what I said, pulling his black T-shirt over his head and dumping it on the desk. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw next. A huge tattoo covered his back, the same image of a skull and wings that I’d seen on this building. It wasn’t the tattoo that caused me to falter, though. The scars on one side of his back caused that. Some were hidden under the tattoo, but there were many that weren’t. It looked like someone had taken a knife to that part of his back and tried to slash it to pieces.

What had King lived through to end up with so many scars on his body? My heart hurt just to think about it.

Pulling myself together, I ran the stick over his shoulders and upper back. The heat from it would help relax his muscles. I would have preferred to place a warm towel over his back after applying it, but I figured I had zero possibility of getting him to agree to that. So instead, I used my hands and massaged the balm into his skin, trying to get extra heat in that way.

As I worked my way up his neck, he dropped his head forward and groaned.

Holy shit.

That sound coming from King did things to me.

Really freaking good things.

If he didn’t really need this, I would pack up and leave right now.

I did not need him to be doing those really freaking good things to me.

But he needed this, so I stayed.

He ended up allowing me to massage him for a good ten minutes before growling, “That’s enough,” and abruptly standing. Grabbing his shirt, he threw it back on before facing me. “Pack up your stuff and I’ll walk you out.”

I frowned, unsure why he was being so brusque with me. This was different to the crankiness of earlier. It was like he couldn’t get me out of here fast enough. “Did I do something wrong? I thought the massage was good.”

His features hardened. “I’ve got shit to do.”