Page 36 of If You Were Mine
“Well. You seem to be in pain. And I don’t know, if you need someone to massage your leg, I’m here.”
I had no idea what I was saying, or why I had even blurted it. He was probably going to laugh at me, pat me on the head, and walk right out with a fruit tart in his hand.
Instead he met my gaze and swallowed hard. “Okay.”
The silence in the living room was deafening, but before either one of us could think better of it, I reached forward and slid my hand over his thigh.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed again, and I slid my other hand closer before massaging gently. I had taken a semester of massage therapy, mostly because I had been in enough pain as a teen that I liked knowing how to take care of a body. But I knew I wasn’t remembering a single one of my lessons in that moment.
His thigh hardened underneath me, and I did my best not to go too high. Because if I did, I’d accidentally glance at the zipper of his jeans, and all would be lost.
I didn’t look up, didn’t want to see his face.
When he slid his hand over the back of my neck, his thumb sliding through my hair, I gasped.
He didn’t stop touching me. Instead I moved my hand up and down his thigh, trying to ease the aches. He groaned, and we both stiffened. I looked up at him then, at the way his mouth parted, at his widening pupils.
“Where’d you learn that?” he asked, his voice breathy.
I licked my lips, and his gaze went right to them. “I took a semester of massage therapy.” It was to help my own health issues, but I didn’t tell him that. I couldn’t break this moment.
“Well, good job.” He coughed.
And without thinking, I did the one thing I shouldn’t. I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his.
He froze for an instant, and I nearly pulled back, wondering what the hell I was doing. But then his hand went to the back of my neck again, and I was lost. My lips parted, our tongues sliding against one another. When he groaned, I arched slightly, my breast pressing against his arm and chest. He slid his other hand over my side, squeezing my hip, and I put my hands on his chest, aching for him. He deepened the kiss, both of us gasping into one another. He tasted of sugar, coffee, and Dorian.
I had dreamed of doing this before, of wanting this. And yet I hadn’t thought it was possible. Instead, it felt as if everything was frozen in time, and it was all I could do to hang on to him. Because as soon as this kiss ended, reality would settle in and it would be over.
And it seemed he had listened to my thoughts, because suddenly he was on the other side of the couch, his chest heaving, and his eyes wide.
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
I licked my lips, knowing they were swollen, and I lifted my fingers to them.
“I didn’t push you away,” I said honestly.
“Wellesley.”
But before he could say anything, I gasped, my chest seizing. I bent over, hands on the couch, as I tried to catch my breath.
One. Two. Three.
I just needed to count, to catch my breath. This had happened before. I had just overexerted myself today.
“Wellesley? What the fuck?”
And then I was in his lap, and he was rubbing my back as I tried to catch my breath.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine. I just lose my breath sometimes.”
He scowled, as if trying to connect the dots of exactly when this could have begun, and I didn’t know what he knew. After all, Joshua hadn’t told him everything from the time we had been separated. But instead, he ran his hand over my back as I finally caught my breath.
“I’m okay,” I gasped.
“Stop talking,” he ordered, his voice a rasp.
