Page 83 of If Only In Our Dreams

“Relax,” Robin urged as I tensed up, pain buzzing as he pushed at the knot. “I gotta push to release it.”

“Mmm,” I replied stupidly as I finally felt the knot loosen, and the pain melted into pleasure. My dick was hard. It was impossible not to be hard in this situation. Robin was sexy as hell, especially when he was comfortable. “Harder, please,” I hummed. “Harder than you think you need to push.”

The tissue was damaged enough, even now, I needed a little extra push.

Robin didn’t second-guess my words. His hands were capable and rough—guitar calluses probably. He dug in harder, just like I’d requested.

I was putty beneath him.

“How’d you hurt your back, anyway?” he asked, skimming his fingers up and down my sides and making me shiver.

I knew he wasn’t asking about the night I’d spent on the couch or the falls we’d shared outside today.

“Car accident in my twenties,” I explained, voice low. “Tore some ligaments. Fractured a disk. Most of it’s healed but it still acts up. Especially when I—oh fuck.” Robin found another knot. He pushed, his sweet thumbs working it loose as I groaned again. “It was worse when it first happened. Most days it’s this annoying dull ache that never goes away. But on days when it gets bad, it gets…frustrating? Because I can’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about the pain, and being annoyed that it won’t go away.”

I hadn’t meant to say all of that.

I’d honestly never talked about my chronic pain to anyone but my physical therapist. But there was just something about Robin that made it easy to be vulnerable.

“It can make me irritable,” I admitted, my most private, most intimate shame. “On the days it hurts the most.” I sucked in a breath. “I like to think I’m a very calm person. But even I sometimes…break.”

“That’s okay,” Robin said softly, hands still digging in. “It’s okay to be frustrated, especially when you’re in pain.”

“It makes me feel like I’m not myself. Which is almost worse than the pain itself.” Again, admitting something I’d never said to anyone but my therapist. I sighed, melting a little more as my secrets slipped free and Robin accepted them easily, as though they weren’t dark and ugly at all.

“That has to be upsetting.”

“It is,” I agreed, because it was. And it was nice…to talk to someone about it. Someone who very obviously cared. “Staying active helps.” God, that felt good. “And I’m usually good about doing my physical therapy but lately I—Jesus.” Pleasure buzzed beneath my skin as Robin dug his fingers into my shoulders and rubbed. “I’ve been too busy.”

“Too busy to take care of yourself?” Robin tutted like he wasn’t a walking hypocrite. “For shame, Benzonatate.” I coughed out a laugh, which was apt—seeing as Benzonatate was a drug used to help with coughing.

“Where did you learn that one?” I asked, amusement rumbling deep inside my chest. Robin seemed to like the rumble because he wiggled his narrow hips and his soft dick nestled against the small of my back.

“Google,” he replied, sounding way too proud of himself.

“Did you Google ‘medicine with the name Ben in it’?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Duh.”

I laughed but my laughter quickly died when Robin’s magic hands worked their way up my neck and into my hair. Scratch, scratch, rub. He wiggled his fingers, squeezing tight as shock waves danced through my body.

“Mmmm,” I sighed, nothing but a happy puddle beneath him.

When he finished, he capped the lotion he’d borrowed and set it on the nightstand beside my pile of books. I was surprised he could reach, considering his size. I was always considering his size, if I’m being honest. There was something about how small he was that really did it for me.

I’d never thought of myself as a particularly kinky person.

But Robin certainly made me feel that way.

I’d never wanted to torture someone the way I wanted to torture him. To pull at his nipples till they were pink and puffy. To rub his sweet little cock till he spilled and spilled and spilled again. So oversensitive all he could do was dig his nails into my shoulders and beg. To pull his cheeks apart and spit on his hole. To play with it till he left drool on the mattress, and all he could do was twitch.

Most of all, however, I wanted to fuck him.

It was a primal thing, probably. Similar to the books I wrote, but different too. Because there was no beast inside me aching for release. It was simply me, sadistic—apparently—and needy, with a dick so hard all I wanted was to shove it inside whichever one of his holes was closest, and show him exactly who he belonged to. To breed him till his ass dripped.

Unfortunately for me, Robin’s magic touch had relaxed me to the point of near incoherency. It’d been a long time since I felt this good. My body was relaxed, my bare back exposed as he ghosted his fingers up and down it, and my eyes began to droop.

I wanted to get him off.

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