Page 22 of Benji

The front door opened and closed, then the sound of keys on the kitchen counter and quiet footsteps before he appeared at the door with a bag in his hand.

“Hey,” I said, putting the remote control down.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d still be awake.”

“Yeah, my little nap earlier fixed me right up. I’ll be awake for half the night now.”

He came in and walked to my side of the bed. “How’s your back?”

I resisted sighing at his over-concern and decided to allow myself this one luxury. “It’s really not so bad.”

Nolan sat on the edge of the mattress, near my hip, and he reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of Sprite. “Thought you might like one of these.”

Oh man.

“Hell yes,” I said, slowly sitting up.

Nolan took my arm and helped me. “You okay?”

I nodded, taking the bottle. “I haven’t had real Sprite in so long. If I get anything, it’s just the cheap home-brand stuff. Which is fine, but it’s not the real thing.” I cracked the lid and took a quick sip. “Ah, it’s spicy.”

He chuckled. “Spicy, huh?”

“Proper Sprite is spicy. Trust me.”

Smiling, he took a tube from the bag. “I also got some of this,” he said. It was some heat rub for muscles. “And some more salve for the grazes on your back. If you lift your shirt, I can put it on for you.”

Oh.

“Ah, sure,” I said quietly. I tightened the lid on my Sprite and set it next to my phone, then pulled my shirt up to expose my back.

Nolan moved up and, with the gentlest touch, he applied the salve first. “It doesn’t look deep or anything,” he murmured, his voice soft and deep.

And I was all too aware of how close he was, how his touch was more of a caress, how his voice felt like a velvet brush over my bare skin.

Fitch’s words echoed in my mind.

Tasted his dick yet?

You better be getting railed . . .

My body was hyperaware of him now. His warmth, his size. God, how I liked a man with a decent build.

“How does that feel?” he whispered.

I turned my head in his direction, half looking over my shoulder, playing into the whole damsel-in-distress thing. If he wanted to care for me, and I wanted to revel in it, then why not?

“Much better,” I purred. “You have great hands.”

His hand stilled, his breath caught, and it was a full few seconds before he pulled his hand away. “Now for the heat rub,” he said, not whispering this time.

Did he not want to play this game?

He applied some cream to his hand, and I could smellthe liniment immediately. It reminded me of locker rooms and half-naked footballers... and now my body was on board.

“Love that smell,” I murmured.

“Hmm,” he said. “Whereabouts on your back?”

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