Brogan (Carolina Reapers 9)

“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.