(Stuart & Mariska)

© TLM Productions, 2014

Mariska

If you asked where this sudden surge of bravery came from, I’d have to be honest. I had no fucking idea. Stuart rode into the barn looking like sex on two legs… very tired sex on two legs, but sex on two legs all the same, and I made up my mind. After the way he kissed me yesterday, I didn’t care what type of bullshit line he tried to spin, Stuart Knight was in the same space as me. He was fighting hard, but he wanted this.

Now I was in his bedroom ordering him around, and he was actually allowing it. Humoring me, more like it. Not for one minute was I suffering from the delusion that this man took orders from anyone. Still, for whatever reason, exhaustion or simple curiosity, he let me take the lead.

Once his shirt was off, I couldn’t hide the hitch in my breath at the site of his lined torso. Ridges crossed his abdomen, lines stretched across his broad shoulders and down his arms. He lay on his stomach across the mattress, and it was all I could do not to run my tongue over every inch of his beautiful body. Instead, I quickly took off my boots, and for increased mobility (yes, that was my excuse), I removed my denim shorts.

Lightly I smoothed my palm across his lower back, trying to remember the touches I’d learned in the few massage therapy classes I’d taken. Why hadn’t I taken more? Kneading a little harder, I knew I had to get lower, down into the pelvic area to give him relief.

“Do you mind if I remove your boxers?” My voice was breathless and trembling. Those snug, dark briefs didn’t hide much, but I knew once I saw that ass, I’d be a goner.

“No.”

One word. He’d sounded almost as cautious as me when he said it. Closing my eyes, I shook myself. Now was the time. This was my man. If I was going to make it happen, if I was going to make any of this make sense, from the day I left Bayville to this moment, I had to go for it. Fate had dropped this opportunity straight in my lap.

Inhaling a quiet breath, I gently pulled the waistband out and lowered it down his legs. I knew what was on the other side, pressed between his pelvis and the mattress, and I didn’t want to hurt him. Miraculously, I got his underwear off, and

Oh.

My.

God.

Square and tight, with palm-sized indentations on each side… For a moment, I could only stare at his backside. Perfect and golden as the rest of him.

Climbing back onto my knees, I took the quietest deep breath in the history of recorded time. It trembled going in, and my hand trembled reaching out. I touched him. He seemed to breathe at that exact moment as well—almost as if he’d been holding his breath, too.

Pressing with my palms and circling with my thumbs, I kneaded the tightness out of his left side. Moving down that perfect curve of muscle, I went to his hamstring and repeated the process moving back up. Thumbs circling, palms pressing, more circling, more kneading, and I moved to the other leg to repeat the process, down then slowly working my way back up to that perfect ass.

He let out a few quiet groans throughout, and after ten minutes that felt like a mixture of ten seconds and ten hours, I’d done all I could do. I was finished.

Sitting back on the bed, I looked at the sculptured physique lying before me.

“You should take an ibuprofen to head off any pain tonight. Massage releases lactic acid, and you might actually feel worse at first. It’ll be a lot better in the morning.”

His head turned, and smoky hazel eyes blinked under thick lashes. He was tired, but he was still so handsome. “That felt really good.” Husky voice. The man was pure sex. “Thanks.”

Dropping my chin, I looked at my hands. “Glad to help.”

Neither of us spoke. He didn’t move. My work was done, and it was time for me to go. I had to go.

My insides twisted, and my stomach cramped at the thought of walking away from him, at the prospect that he might not follow. Still, I knew Stuart Knight, and I couldn’t be easy. He had to decide what he wanted. He had to come after me.

Clearing my throat, I turned and slid off the bed, scooping my shorts from the floor. “I hope you feel better,” I said before heading to the door where my boots lay next to the jack.

He didn’t speak, and from what I could tell, he hadn’t moved. He was letting me go. Heat blurred my vision, my stomach ached, and I started moving faster. I would not cry—at least not here. I’d run all the way to the other side of the house, to my room, before I lost it.

Reaching for the door, I’d just turned the knob and started to pull when it flew from my fingertips and slammed shut. The noise made me jump, and a boot dropped from my arms, hitting the floor with a loud thump. Stuart’s arm was over my head. He’d pushed the door closed, and my bottom lip sucked between my teeth when his hand slid slowly down to turn the lock.

Lined stomach, broad chest, strong arms, he was naked before me. I wanted to look lower, but instead I cautiously blinked up to his eyes. They were hot and angry and desperate and hungry, and my heart ricocheted all around inside my chest. He was losing the fight this time.

“Stay.” His voice rumbled low, and my arms went slack.

I dropped my other boot, my shorts, and stood in front of him waiting, ready for whatever was coming.

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