Do Your Worst(28)
Using the side of her hand, she worked at a knot in his back, coaxing the muscle to relax, slow and steady. She didn’t have to hurt him to win.
Curse breaking was hard on the body. She knew about muscle systems, about pressure points. What to feel for, how to coax the response she wanted.
After a bit, Riley felt a shift, a release, as she unlocked a sequence down his back.
Clark groaned, letting his head fall forward on his chest, breathing like a wounded lion.
Only because he couldn’t see her behind him, Riley smiled a little. “You okay?”
“Grand,” he said as the tips of his ears turned pink.
She scritched at his scalp in a way that wasn’t strictly about releasing aches, luxuriating as she ran her fingers through the thick, silky strands of his dark hair until Clark sighed, tipping his head back into her hands.
Riley liked him like this, liquid, easy, quiet. It was more difficult than she’d care to admit to keep her thoughts from straying to other noises he might make for her. She squeezed and released where his neck met his shoulder, applying the type of firm pressure he seemed to prefer.
Suddenly, Clark stood up, bringing the couch pillow with him. “I think that’s enough.”
Riley blinked, coming back to herself. “Was there something you wanted to admit?”
She wasn’t born yesterday. Even if he hadn’t reached for camouflage, she could see now that his pupils had blown wide, his bottom lip carrying tiny indents from his teeth. He was affected.
But fuck. Seeing him so worked up was almost a worse temptation than getting to rub her hands all over him. Getting to breathe in the scent of his body.
Suddenly, she wanted her mouth everywhere her hands had been, wanted to strip off her own clothes and press against him, to have him reach back and yank her into his lap, to writhe while he told her she was right, of course she was right, he needed her desperately, had barely been able to sit still, to keep from howling for how much he had to have her.
She didn’t want to stop, Riley realized with mounting horror, even if that meant being right, so she had to get out of here. Now.
“No. Thanks,” Clark said, practically shoving her out the door. “For the massage, I mean. I’m much more relaxed now.”
“Me too,” she called back over her shoulder. “I’m so glad we’re not attracted to each other.”
As soon as the door swung shut, Riley ran.
Chapter Eight
“This is the worst idea I’ve ever had,” Clark said aloud to the empty room as he tossed the pillow back on his sofa and thumbed open the button on his jeans.
He didn’t feel like he had a choice. The only parts of his body that burned hotter than the places where Riley had touched him were the ones where she hadn’t. He sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth as the cold air of the room kissed the flushed skin of his hard cock.
Wrapping a rough hand around himself, he squeezed at the base, trying to hold off the sensation that had been building from the moment Riley’s eyes had drunk in the sight of his naked chest. She had looked so caught, so helplessly wanton, watching him undress just so she could put her hands all over him.
Clark sank down onto the couch, his knees already jelly, one hand gripping his thigh, the other gathering precome and working it down in loose, easy pulls. Was he really going to do this? Get himself off to the idea of a woman he couldn’t tolerate?
His abdominal muscles clenched. One who made him so angry, so senseless, so bloody out of control.
She’d worked him over like a goddess merely to prove that she could. Each stroke of her strong, capable hands its own sweet torture. Riley had coaxed his muscles to unclench one by one, her hands moving without hesitation from his neck down his spine. The steady pace she kept unrelenting. Every tender ministration bringing him another breath closer to his undoing.
Clark shouldn’t fantasize about someone who loathed him. It was wrong. Bad.
Hadn’t Riley gone out of her way to tell him she didn’t want him and never would again?
Just let me know if you want it harder, she’d said, teased.
The silky strands of her hair brushing against his bare back as she leaned over him. Her hot breath falling against the sensitive skin of his nape.
Clark bit his already abused lip so hard he tasted blood, trying not to whimper for her, not to thrust his hips up into his calloused palm. He fought himself the way he’d battled not to beg for Riley’s touch to slide lower than his waistband. Or worse, for her to let him touch her—anywhere, everywhere—in return.
Nothing but a lifetime of ruthless, well-honed restraint had kept him playing statue with her hand on his neck, his own breath gone ragged in his ears.
Fuck, fuck.
He squeezed on the upstroke, lengthening his pulls, swiping his thumb across the glossy head. He was so hard. His balls tight, sore. Clark hated how good this felt. How helpless he was to deny himself the terrible indulgence.
Even the way she worked made him want to scream. Had he ever seen anything as sexy as Riley Rhodes with a pen in her pouty, porn-star mouth? Studying like she was ravenous for it. Making connections in seconds. Diving in like she’d conquer any problem, just watch her and wait.
God, he would if she’d let him. Clark was a sick bastard who could come just thinking about how her whole face went rosy with pleasure when she thought she’d solved something.