Page 45 of Snow Storm

Claude’s body felt like it was vibrating with anticipation, and he breathed through it as he heard Harley moving around for a few more moments. Then, there was stillness.

And then came a soft, tentative touch between his shoulder blades. “So, I watched some videos.”

Claude chuckled into the blankets. “Yes. You said.”

“Informational ones on how to massage people with spine injuries without hurting them. Most of the ones I could find talked about quadriplegics. Um,” Harley coughed. “Which I know you’re not. But I wanted to make sure I could do this without making anything worse.”

Claude pushed up on his forearms and looked at Harley, who was standing beside him with a worried expression. “My injury is years old. Decades. You’re not going to re-break my spine, mon ange.”

Harley’s cheeks pinked at the nickname, and he nodded shyly. “No, yeah. I figured. But I want to make sure I’m taking care of you. The videos said sometimes you can be really sensitive in places near where you were injured.”

Claude felt his ears heat. Hewasmore sensitive there. He just hadn’t told Harley about that yet. There was a line right above where his spine had broken that could feel very,verygood or very,verybad depending on the type of touch and on his mood.

Right now, he was pretty sure Harley could bring him right to orgasm if he wanted to.

He cleared his throat and reached one hand behind his back. His fingertips pressed around until he felt the familiar zing. “Right here.”

“You have scars,” Harley whispered.

“Surgeries,” Claude told him. “Seven in total. And right here is where my spine was broken and my spinal cord was damaged. Right above it is where I feel…a lot.”

“Good or bad?”

“Both,” Claude admitted. “Just maybe be careful right there.” Not that he didn’t want to feel Harley playing with his body and bringing him over the edge, but he knew this wasn’t about sex. This was something else—something important and, dare he say, precious.

Harley hummed in thought, then bent down and pressed a kiss just above that tender spot. Claude felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Fingertips brushed lower, over his scars. The sensation was dulled, mostly just pressure, but he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him there.

Even Daniel avoided that spot.

“And here?”

“Anywhere below is fine. My legs don’t feel much, but pressure on them is always amazing,” Claude said. His voice was rough and ragged from need, but he didn’t want Harley to think the moment was cheapened by him being absurdly horny.

Harley was trying to give him a gift, damn it. The sex could wait.

Claude felt the bed shift and then the barest, barely there press of a kiss somewhere below his hips. “Can you feel that?”

“A little. Not sure where you kissed me, but…”

“Here.” Harder pressure now. Harley’s hand was right above the curve of his ass.

Oh. The intimacy of it all was overwhelming. Claude’s face heated, and he wasn’t entirely sure, but he had a feeling if he rolled over and looked down, his cock would be a little thicker. He shifted, rubbing his nipples against the sheets, sending tendrils of teasing pleasure up his spine.

Thiswasn’tjust a massage, he was coming to realize.

“I’m going to start. Let me know if I get anything wrong.”

“Okay,” Claude said, lying through his teeth. Even if Harley put him in agony, he wouldn’t say a word. How could he after this? This was a gift no one had ever given him before. A gift he wasn’t sure he could live without.

He felt pressure against his legs, weighty and pressing. Harley was straddling his calves, and then he smelled clove and orange from his favorite oils. His eyes closed against his will, and with the first pass of Harley’s hands, he was in heaven.

He groaned loudly, trying his best not to arch into the touch, but God, it was too good. Harley’s hands were powerful and strong, seeking out all the tense spots, almost like he could sense them through his skin. He worked at knots gently, slow, careful circles, unknotting muscles that had been bunched up since before Harley set foot on the property.

“If you ever quit writing, I have a suggestion for your next job,” Claude said from behind a groan.

Harley laughed and leaned down, speaking into Claude’s ear. “I would only do this for you. Would you take me on as your private masseuse?”

“Masseur,” Claude corrected absently. “It’s French.”

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