Page 105 of Bleacher Report
I shift, thinking.
"Probably better if I lie face down," I mutter. "Take the pressure off."
She nods, and I roll carefully onto my stomach, resting my cheek against the armrest.
A second later, Peyton climbs up onto the couch and straddles the backs of my thighs, settling low on my ass.
The weight of her—warm, solid, real—sinks into me like a brand.
I bite back a groan as her fingers start working into my shoulder, slow and careful.
"You’re good at this," I mumble into the cushion.
"Tennis has its own injuries," she says, her hands pressing into the tight knots of muscle. "I’ve had my fair share. Had to learn fast."
I grunt, half in pain, half in pleasure.
"Right. Of course," I say, my voice rough.
The movie plays quietly in the background—Kat Stratford telling Patrick Verona he’s not as badass as he thinks—and Peyton's hands work magic on me.
Slow, confident, devastating.
After a few minutes, she leans down close to my ear.
"How does that feel?" she asks.
“Better, but can you reach here?” I squeeze the inner part of my shoulder and bicep.
“Not from this angle. Can you turn over?”
I turn my head to look at her, my heart beating somewhere up in my throat.
"Yeah," I say hoarsely.
She shifts, and I carefully roll onto my back, grimacing as my shoulder twinges. And just like that—Peyton ends up straddling my hips, her perfect ass sitting on top of my pelvis.
My cock reacts immediately, thickening beneath the thin fabric of my sweatpants.
She notices. There’s no way she couldn’t in those thin leggings she’s wearing.
"You’re smooth, Reed," she says, laughing softly.
"You’re not moving," I point out, my voice thick.
She just smiles, wicked and beautiful, and leans forward to start massaging the front of my shoulder and down my arm.
Her touch is lighter now, more teasing.
Every brush of her fingers feels deliberate, and it’s driving me fucking crazy.
"Thanks for doing all this," I say, voice low.
She glances up, confused. "All what?"
"The movie. The pizza. The ice. The massage." I shift slightly, sliding my hand to the curve of her hip. "I’ve been on my own a long time. I guess I forgot what it’s like...having someone have your back."
A soft look crosses her face—sweet and a little sad.
