by S. R. Jones
I’m lost for words at how good it feels. He digs into the muscle of my buttocks and oh, God, who knew you could store so much tension there.
And as he digs and soothes, and kneads my tense muscles, I become aware that it’s moving other parts of me. And that movement feels nice. More than nice.
“Spread your legs a little for me, Cara.”
I’m boneless. Languid and soothed, but also strangely het up and turned on. I could almost fall asleep, but my clit is throbbing, insistent and demanding. I’m not sure though how far I want this to go. I do as he says, but stop is hovering on the tip of my tongue. I can always take care of myself later.
Expecting him to pull my knickers down, I give a squeak of surprise when his fingers find my core through the thin cotton.
They start to massage me right there, pressing against my aching clit and giving me the relief I crave.
“Is this okay?” he whispers in my ear.
I should say no. Tell him to stop. End this weird thing between us right now, but I can’t, because even through the sensible cotton of my pants, even with us both fully clothed, he’s making me feel more than any other man ever has.
I close my eyes, and can’t hold back the moans as he works me like he’s got a degree in my body.
My orgasm starts to build and I grab his other hand, resting near my head on the pillow, and he squeezes it as if reassuring me. That’s all it takes, and I tip over the edge with a cry, pushing back against his fingers. Tears slide out of my eyes and I pray he can’t see them. It’s too intense.
When it’s over I want to hide my face in shame.
“Do you feel relaxed after your massage, Ms. Toulson?”
The way he says my name isn’t mocking, not like it used to be. It’s throaty and sensual.
I nod, face aflame.
“Hey, don’t hide from me.”
He brushes the damp hair from my cheek, and I come to myself, and realize I’m being rude and selfish. I need to take care of him. I sit up and reach for his sweatpants drawstring, but he pushes me away.
I frown, and he smiles and takes my cheeks in both big hands as he kisses me, closed mouthed, but oh so sexy.
When he’s done, he says, “Why don’t you get under the covers, and get some sleep?”
“No, let me take care of you. That was…” I wave my hands, trying to find a suitable adjective.
“It was fucking beautiful is what it was. You gave me a gift tonight, Cara. So why don’t you get under the covers, and get some rest?”
He’s an enigma, so coarse on the one hand, so dominating at times, then at others…caring.
“What about you?” I point to his bulge.
He laughs. A real, open laugh that makes him so beautiful it hurts.
“I’m a big boy, and I don’t have to always get a happy ending. Anyway, I’ll get one tonight when I touch myself thinking about you as you came.”
I blink at his raw words. “Oh, erm, okay.”
He kisses me again. And then he’s heading for the door, leaving me more than a little confused. Maybe he doesn’t want me anymore. But then, why the remarks about thinking about me while he comes? When he reaches the door, he pauses and looks back at me.
“I’m not done with you yet, Ms. Toulson.”
Then he’s gone. I hear him jog down the stairs. He shouts up that he’ll lock the door and post the keys through the letter box, and when I hear them hit the mat I fall back onto the pillow and put my arm over my face.
What even was that?
***
I wake up with a start, my eyes sticky and my head throbbing. Ugh, I’d been experiencing a horrible nightmare. In it the men who attacked us were kicking me over and over again. Laughing at me, their faces looming out of the darkness. But then Tristan joined in with them, helping them. I should go back to therapy. My distrust of the male species is spreading to a guy I used to consider my best friend. Maybe the whole weird vibe I’ve been feeling between us is all a trick of my neurotic mind.
Then again. Mags doesn’t like Tristan, and she’s as unneurotic as one can get.
I roll over, swallow, and nearly yelp. Oh, God, it hurts. My whole body aches. A million times worse than it did last night. I think back to the previous evening and Luka’s sexy massage and I groan. What was I thinking? I’m going to lose my job at this rate, and no sexy time is worth that, no matter how good. And it was oh-so-good.
Much as I’d like to, I can’t stay in bed all day. I have a prison class at ten. Getting out of bed turns into a bit of a struggle, though. My skin is raw and sore, as if I’ve been rubbed all over with gravel. My bones ache, too.
I force myself to push the covers back and get up, and decide I’ll have to do without a shower today. I don’t have the energy. I head to the bathroom for a strip wash in the sink, and by the time I’m done my whole body is shaking. Shit. The thought of going out of the house makes me want to cry. My heart’s hammering too, and I put my hand to my face and pull it away in shock at the heat in my cheeks. I slide open the bathroom cabinet and root around until I find the thermometer.
Five minutes later, I’m back in bed, and I’ve called the Warden at the prison. I think I’ve got flu. Proper flu, not the take-two-paracteomal-and-you’ll-be-fine flu, but the nasty, stay in bed because you cannot do anything else, kind.
I stay stuck under my duvet for three days. Only venturing out to have a pee, get some more meds, or eat a cracker washed down with cool water.
At six in the evening, on my third day of suffering, I’m reading a book when my phone buzzes.
Hi, Doll. Are you feeling any better? I think you need someone to care for you, Cara. Do you need me to come look after you? You’re not in a good place at the moment and I think you need to take care of yourself better, or have someone else come take care of you. Let me know when I can come.
T
I sigh and am about to reply to Tristan, when I hear a loud bang on the front door. I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and stumble down the stairs, a spectacular head spin making be grab the bannister on my way down.
The tall, dark figure through the glass throws me for a loop. I was expecting to see Mags, or Laura. Pausing for a moment to hack up half a lung, I pull open the door.
“Hey.” Luka looks at me and the smile on his face turns into a frown. “I knew you were sick when you didn’t make class today, but wow, you’re sick.”
I nod. And note the running outfit. Oh, my God. Has he turned up for a re-run of the other night?
I’m too sick for that sort of stuff. Although even in my flu-ridden state, my body gives a little hum of remembered pleasure.
Luka pushes past me and into my house, and I can only watch him, mouth half open at his audacity.
He walks into my kitchen and places a carrier bag on the butcher block in the middle of the room. “I bought you some supplies. Flu meds, lemonade, vitamin C, shit like that.”
Why is he here? In my house, bringing me wonderful things like lemonade?
The thought of a glass of cold, fizzy pop on my dry throat is heaven. I’m softening to him, after spending the last three days deciding I’d never do anything with the guy again, or even be anything other than polite and professional with him. Now he’s here, looking astonishingly gorgeous in my kitchen, as he acts like my friend.
Maybe he is a good guy. But then Dane started out that way and turned out not to be. And Tristan is my friend, but he makes me feel…suffocated at times. Controlled. And when I try to back away he gets huffy and petulant. And now Luka is in my house being all take-charge.
“What would you like? I got you some ice cream, too. Good for a sore throat.”
I shudder, I feel too sick to eat ice cream, but the lemonade sounds heavenly. “I’d like a glass of lemonade please.”
He frowns and looks around my kitchen, so I wave at the far cupboard in the corner and he gets my drift and grabs a glass, filling it with sweet, fizzy goodness.
As I ta
ke a sip, Luka frowns.
“You look rough as hell.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I can’t resist asking. “So, the person they brought in to replace me, are they good?” I wonder if they can take the job if indeed I do leave.
“He’s useless. The group took the piss out of him all morning. He couldn’t get them to sit down and keep still.” He shakes his head.
“Were you okay?”
“Me? I sat back and watched.” He pulls a bar of chocolate out of the bag, Strips the paper from it efficiently, breaks off two chunks and pops them into his mouth, biting down with perfect white teeth. “Of course, if things had gotten out of hand I’d have done something about it.”
“Like some sort of Army Superman move?”
“Yeah, something along those lines.” Luka’s full lips twitch up into a smile.
“So…you happened to be jogging by my house again?”
“I do run this route a lot, but I made sure to come this way, wanted to see if you were okay.”
I sneeze three times in quick succession and it hurts my raw throat. “Bloody cold.”
“It’s more than a cold.”
“I know. I think I’ve a genuine case of flu.” I smile. “Maybe you can stay the night and nurse me.” I mean it as a silly joke but Luka frowns.
“I don’t think so. I will only disturb you.”
“Oh.” I look at the ground and feel stupid for making the joke in the first place.
He sighs. “I have dreams, Cara. Nightmares. To use the medical term, night terrors. I sleep with a lock on the door at home. I shout out, sometimes act things out. I’m fine during the day, no flashbacks or anything. But at night, that’s when I get these fucking dreams.”
He looks at me and there’s a tiny spot of color staining both cheeks. I realize this confession is hard for him to make.
His words make me ponder how complicated getting into anything with Luka might be. Do the dreams make him violent? I know some people can be violent with these sorts of nightmares.
“Hey,” he says. “How about you go on up to bed and I fix you up one of these?”
He holds up the flu powder. “You’ll sleep better with some decongestant in your system. I can bring it up and tuck you in.” He waggles his eyebrows. “No funny business, I promise. Once you’re safely tucked up, I’ll jog on back home.”
I nod and push myself off the stool I’d been perching on, and shudder as my feet hit the cold ground. It gives me a whole-body chill.
“Go on. Bed.” Luka almost shoos me out of the room. Lucky for him, I don’t have the energy to protest and simply shuffle off down the corridor and towards the stairs.
Five minutes later, he comes into the bedroom, tray in hand. He settles it on the bedside table.
“Okay.” He places the tray on the bedside table. “That should set you up for the night.”
He bends down and kisses me on the forehead. The action shocks me, and it brings tears to my eyes, which I hastily hide by pretending to have a sniffling, coughing fit. No one has cared for me with such a tender gesture since Mum died.
He pulls the covers up to my chin, with a smirk. “Told you I’d tuck you in.”
“Get out of here, before you catch this. It’s not nice, I promise you.”
“I never get sick. And I want you to get better.”
“Why?”
“Firstly, because I’m a fucking humanitarian. Secondly, because I told you, I’m not done with you yet, Ms. Toulson, and I can’t have my wicked way with you when you’re sick.”
I almost choke on the lemonade I’m sipping at. “Who says you’ll get your way with me when I’m better?”
“You do.” His eyes darken as he looks at me. “Or at least your body does. You want me as much as I want you.”
“Not a good reason to go there. I’m a mess. Some…things happened, and I’m not over it yet. And you have your own issues. We’d be a catastrophe together.”
“Maybe. But we’d be an epic catastrophe. You don’t get chemistry like we have often. Be a fucking shame to waste it, but it’s your call.”
He smiles at me. “Not going to lie to you, Ms. Toulson. I want you. But I’m not here for those reasons tonight. I’m here as your friend right now. Or a colleague, whichever way you want to look at it.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, right. You’re here as my friend. I see. Nothing to do with buttering me up to get into my pants.”
His jaw tightens and a muscle ticks under his right eye for a split second. I brace myself, but he only shakes his head at me. “This isn’t about me wanting to fuck you. I don’t play games. And you don’t owe me a thing for this. I’m a bit insulted you think I’d try to bargain my way into your knickers with a packet of flu meds and some throat lozenges. How cheap do you think I am?”
Great, I’ve offended him. Again. And I can get why. I basically accused him of being some nasty sleaze who brings a sick woman meds to try and get his wicked way with her. Since when did I become so jaded?
And why did I let Tristan boss me around for ages, before I began to pull away, and yet I push back at Luka relentlessly?
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “It’s fine. I get you don’t have the highest opinion of me, and I’m not out to change your mind and make you think I’m some amazing guy because I’m not.”
“You’re selling yourself here.” I laugh, but he doesn’t.
“I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m saying we’ve got some sort of messed up chemistry. An itch between us we can either ignore until it drives us crazy, or we scratch it. Your choice.”
“I need some rest.” I hope my voice sounds firm.
“Tomorrow.” He pulls the door closed behind him, and I sigh deeply as I push down under the covers and close my eyes.
He’s basically told me he only wants sex, nothing more. I should be relieved because it gives me the perfect reason to tell him to get lost. But I don’t want to.
I want to scratch that itch, too.
Chapter Eight
Luka
I went back to Cara’s the next day as I promised, and she’d gotten worse. She ended up having ten days off work, and the first day she came back to the prison, she looked shocking. The men were all keen to see her though, after having to put up with her useless replacement.
We worked well together in the class, and she thanked me at the end for helping her out. I sensed her unease though, not of me, but of being there, in the group, and it makes me worry about the classes she has when I’m not there.
And then I start to worry about why I even care. She’s nothing to me, she’s not ever going to be anything to me. Other than a pleasant sexual interlude. I hope.
I don’t even know why I’m bothering with that. I could go into town tomorrow night and have my pick of women. Not being big headed, simply a cold, hard fact. Women love me. I’m like fucking catnip to them.
I sit up in my chair, where I’ve slouched right down, and stare at the computer screen. I’m at the office with Liam, Thor, and Ethan, my new colleagues. Thor’s real name is Reece, but he looks like the blond fucker out of the comics, so the name stuck. I’ve done fuck all work the last hour or so and I shake my head at myself.
My mind’s whirring away, and I’m trying to avoid thinking about the Cara issue, as I now call it, and instead focus on what I’m doing.
We’re setting up some seriously underhanded spyware in some rich bastard’s London pad. It seems Liam’s branching out into a few different areas with this operation of his. The guy we’re spying on is something to do with the Russians, which is weird, because Ethan had his own run in with some Russian goons a while ago. And now the authorities in the UK want Liam to spy on some banker who has links to the Bratva.
So, we’re going from protection work to fucking spy work, and I’m not sure how it sits with me. But, I’m only helping set the spyware up. Liam and Reece are the ones who are going to b
e digging deep into the laundering stuff. It makes sense, Liam did some serious off the books stuff in the military back in the day. Reece is hard as fuck, built like a brick shithouse, and fluent in five languages, including Russian.
“How’s it going?” Ethan nods at the screen and I shrug.
“Okay, I think. Trying to get a lock on the signal.”
Ethan watches me with narrowed eyes. “What’s your problem? You’ve been acting like a depressed sloth for days now.”
“Nothing.” I stretch and yawn, cracking my jaw.
Ethan’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he takes it out, an annoyed frown on his face until he swipes the screen and then his frown turns into a smile.
Isla. The idiot’s only gone and fallen in love…hard. He’s over the fucking moon for the girl. Can’t say I blame him. She’s gorgeous, and nice. Not in a bland way, but genuinely nice and kind. Not many people these days are.
Cara is though, a little voice deep inside says. She’s got harder edges on the outside than Isla, but deep down, Cara is as good as they come. Idealistic maybe. A pain in the ass at times, too, but she’s good.
She’s also prim, and buttoned up, and a bit pious, and I want to fuck all of that out of her.
Oh, for God’s sake. Here I go again with the one-track mind.
Maybe the reason I want Cara so badly is because she’s hard to get. She’s not playing at it, either. I can tell she’s genuinely torn. She’s attracted to me. She wants me, but she doesn’t want to want me. And there’s a big chance she’ll tell me to go to hell. Perhaps, I need the challenge.
Nope. All I need to do is fuck her and get her out of my system. Then I can go back to my regularly scheduled life of nothingness. The way I like it. Or did. Sat at home staring at the television while a load of shit plays out on it that I’m not even watching.
My phone beeps. I stare at the screen, totally amazed when I see it’s a message from the woman in question.
Cara: Thanks for being such a good nurse. How about I repay you with dinner this weekend. What say you? A proper date? Wear a suit and meet me in the town center at eight, outside Marks and Spencer. Xx
