Page 21 of Fire & Ice

“I’m extremely pleased with you, Tripp,” he says. “If you’ll roll over onto your stomach, I’m going to retrieve some juice and some lotion, and then I’ll be happy to show you how much.”

As Leander makes his way over to the armoire that houses his mini-fridge, he chances a glance over his shoulder and finds Tripp already on his stomach, watching. He flashes Leander a sleepy smile and then yawns, and Leander’s heart nearly stops.

Damn, but he is so, so fucked.

Chapter 3

Tripp is fucked.

And not only in the literal, obvious way that’s currently making his throat and ass ache in equal measure, although that’s true, too. Ironically, that’s also the one thing between him and Lee that’s going very, very right.

Alright—fine. Tripp’s man enough to admit that it’spossiblehe’s being a little dramatic, in that respect. After all, he and Lee are technically fine, at least as far as Lee has any idea. Tripp is the one that’s messed up in the head, the one who’s feeling guilty for enjoying this whole “aftercare” thing a little bit more than he should.

It’s just that Lee gave him a free pass to press up against his chest and to tangle their legs together. To lean into Lee’s caressing fingers as they slip through his hair while another soothing hand runs down his flank. Doing so is definitely not assuaging his mental turmoil, but it isn’t like Tripp’s turning it down, either.

No, he’s definitely doing this to himself, but at least his cover is solid. If Tripp’s going to lie here risking his sanity just to revel in getting Leander’s affection exactly the way he’s always dreamed of having it, he can at least take comfort in the fact that this is technically what he’ssupposedto be doing. As far as Lee is concerned, Tripp is simply taking what’s on offer, accepting the care thatLeebelieves he needs following their scene. The end result—cuddling on steroids—is both the worst and best situation he could imagine, and it wouldonce againtake a stronger man than Tripp to turn it down.

Another complicating factor is that Tripp is so damn new to this whole scene. By default, he isn’t familiar with what“aftercare” normally involves or should entail, and he’s been relying on what Lee has told him and what he’s read about online to gauge his own boundaries and limits. He can guess, but he really wouldn’t know if he was going too far or being too obvious about his secret desires in the first place.

Regardless, Lee clearly believes that everything he’s doing is important—necessary, even—which kind of makes it easier to accept. That’s definitely something to fall back on, should the guy ever become suspicious of Tripp’s intentions and motives. The whole, “Shit, sorry, I dunno what I’m doing here, man,” dumbass shuffle is as perfect an excuse as Tripp could hope to keep in his back pocket.

Push comes to shove, though, Tripp’s fairly certain that these internal conflicts—the things he can’t stop himself from wanting or from taking when they’re offered, no matter how much guilt it piles on his conscience—aren’t even blipping Lee's radar.

The guy isfocused,Tripp will say that much. While he was busy basking in the afterglow, toes still tingling from the mind-numbing orgasm gifted to him, Lee was practicallyjumpingoff of the bed and back into action. He was adamant about rubbing Tripp down thoroughly, meticulously working even thememoryof strain from his shoulders and arms, and he spent nearly an hour following their scene doing exactly that.

Not that Tripp is complaining—far from it. Hell, it was one of the best massages of his life, and he enjoyed every damn second of what felt like pampered luxury. Lee's hands are magic, and the weight of his body, his knees bracketing Tripp’s hips from behind—well, Tripp would be hard-pressed to think of any other place in the world he’d rather be than the meat in that thick-slice sandwich.

And then there was thetouching—that was nothing to sneeze at, either. As if he could sense Tripp’s needs, Lee barely left him alone on the bed. Less than a minute, in fact—only as long as it took him to grab a pack of clean-up wipes, a bottle of juice from the little playroom fridge, and some massage oil. Then he was back, and ever since, some part of his skin has been in constant contact with Tripp’s. It’s impressive, how careful and thoughtful Leander can be, how healwaysis when it comes to Tripp.

It’s just that—well, Tripp can’t help but suspect that most of those things were items Lee had on hisagenda.Things he planned for and was prepared to deliver in advance. They don’t amount to anything more than a BDSM checklist, stuff Lee felt like heneededto do, not because they were specific to Tripp’s wants and needs or rooted in actual concern and affection.

Leander performs aftercare because it’sright,and necessary.

Perform is a good word for it. Unlike Tripp, Lee’s post-sex, post-scene actions aren’t based on any emotional desires or a desperate need to touch, to hold Tripp close in the same way Tripp himself craves being held. He knows that, but with the orgasm hormones raging, it messes with his head a little. He has to repeatedly remind himself that Lee is hisfriend,andhe does care in his own way. Even if it’s not the way Tripp wishes he would.

Those intrusive thoughts kept popping up during Lee's rubdown, annoying and preventing him from relaxing completely, and to Tripp’s chagrin, Leander took notice. Fortunately, he assumed that the uneasy discomfort was related to Tripp’s pain level, force-feeding him a handful of ibuprofen and setting him up with alternating ice and heat forhis shoulders, no matter how vehemently Tripp protested that he wasfine.

Tripp has been learning rather quickly that Dominant Lee isn’t someone you argue with. Not for fun and definitely not for keeps, and in the end, it seemed patently easier to just let Leander fuss over him. So Tripp gave in, allowing himself to savor the touching and the attention, and to be fair, the pampering wasn’t anything approaching terrible. If Tripp’s being honest, he might even admit that he liked it more than the sex.

Hard to regret.

While Tripp was laid up with his ice packs—definitely unnecessary, but it did feel good—Leander ordered them delivery from Tripp’s favorite burger joint. He brought the food into the playroom spread out on a fancy-looking lap tray and plated with real utensils, like he was trying to mimic a five-star restaurant. At Lee’s own insistence, he hand-fed Tripp the entire meal, kissing his mouth between bites and praising him generously, as though by opening his mouth and chewing Tripp was doing something difficult and burdensome, not literally being finger-fed like a spoiled, lazy prince.

Aftercare that was arguably as intense as the actual scene initially made Tripp feel somewhat uncomfortable, but Leander won him over. He just seemedsopleased, so damn into what he was doing, that Tripp couldn’t help but follow the vibe. He found himself (slowly) relaxing into it, enjoying himself, smiling dopily and kissing Leander back without overthinking it. Despite his lingering embarrassment over just howmuchaftercare Leander apparently thinks he needs, Tripp has to admit, it’s not the worst feeling in the world—being cared for so thoroughly.

Almost like he’s special or important, words he struggles to apply to himself in any way outside of this liminal space.

Here, Leander’s easy way of making moments like that feel natural, his fierce determination to treat Tripp with care and respect—it spills over into Tripp’s inherent ability to accept those things for what they are. And maybe,maybea tiny part of him can admit that he wants to do precisely that, but only inside his own head.

Hey, Rome wasn’t built in a fuckin’ day.

At the end ofthisday, though, here Tripp is, laid out on Leander’s playroom bed with his belly full, his mind and muscles sated and relaxed, staring aimlessly up at the ceiling and feeling borderline euphoric. At some point, Leander slipped on a pair of sweatpants, but Tripp hasn’t bothered. He’s enjoying the feel of crisp, clean sheets against his back and the gentle airflow from the overhead fan whispering across his bare skin.

Leander is sitting propped against the headboard, his legs crossed casually at the ankles and Tripp’s head in his lap, where it’s been for at least the past half an hour.

All told, they’ve easily spent twice the amount of time recovering from their scene as they did engaging with it tonight, and Tripp wonders somewhat absently whether that’s normal or not. It’s not like he has any frame of reference to know, and he’sjustabout to open his mouth and ask when Leander clears his throat, thighs shifting underneath his head.

“How are you feeling, now?” he asks, one hand moving down to smooth over Tripp’s chest before cupping his chin. “Still sore?”

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