Page 21 of Sully

“I think one of the prospects put that in to fuck with me, knowing I wouldn’t get my ass up there to change it. But the light in the bedroom was alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I think you’re alright. But I might check in here and there with the same questions. And you should tell me if you’re feeling any of them.”

“I will,” she said as I swiped a little triple antibiotic on the cut before reaching to separate her hair into thirds. “What are you doing?”

“Braiding your hair, so it doesn’t keep brushing against the cut,” I told her, starting a few inches below the wound.

“Are youFrenchbraiding it?” she asked.

“I am. Handy skill to know.”

“You… braid a lot of women’s hair?”

“If you’re asking that literally… not really. If that is figuratively asking if I fuck a lot of women, the answer is more of a yes on that.”

“Oh, um, I meant it, you know, literally,” she stammered as I finished the end of the braid, then reached into one of the drawers. “Oh, I have some ties in my bag.”

“No need,” I said, finding the little jar full of them, popping it off, and grabbing an elastic.

“You have hair ties?” she asked, glancing back. Where she found the second drawer of my cabinet. Full of all the shit overnight guests of the female persuasion could find themselves needing: hair ties, tampons, pads, mini deodorant, spare toothbrushes, makeup wipes, lip balm, and dry shampoo. “Wow,” she said with an airy little laugh.

“Gotta be prepared,” I told her, putting my hands on both of her shoulders to signal I was done. The move made her instantly tense. But instead of pulling right away, I went ahead and let my fingers sink in a bit, pressing into the tightened muscles of her neck and shoulders. “Honey, when is the last time you had a massage?” I asked, not sure how she didn’t have a constant headache with as many knots as she had.

“Oh, I don’t like having strangers touch me, you know, without my clothes on. I don’t know why they don’t offer a clothed option.”

I had a feeling that even if they did, she wouldn’t go anyway.

“Want me to stop?” I asked.

“No, it’s… okay,” she said, voice small again.

And, fuck, if I was getting permission, she was getting the best back rub I’d ever given. She’d had a bomb strapped to her chest for me, for fuck’s sake; it was the least I could do.

I moved across her shoulders, then up her neck, before moving downward.

Once the knots—and the pain associated with them—were worked out, I could have stopped. But I didn’t. There was something intoxicating about the way she relaxed, inch by inch,about how her breathing went slow and deep, her head lolling a bit to the side.

When my thumbs pressed up the sides of her neck, though, a little mewling sound escaped her.

I felt that shit in my stomach.

Fine, lower.

But given the situation, and this woman’s clear discomfort around… any and everyone, admitting even to myself that my cock was stirring to life felt wrong as fuck.

I went ahead and ignored it, pretended it didn’t happen. What I didn’t do, though, was stop. Neither did she. And those little sounds were conjuring up all sorts of fantasies about what other sounds she might make if I was touching her somewhere…

No.

Nope.

“What can I get you to eat?” I asked, resting my hands on her—much looser—shoulders again.

“What?” she asked, sounding all dreamy, like she’d been half-asleep.

“You said you haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. What can I order you? Got just about everything in town.”

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