“What? Point out my injury?”
“Act like thirty is old.”
I sighed. “Sadly, it is in the world of professional dance.” I shook my head, flexing my fingers in the cast that was splayed on Braden’s chest. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I think now, I guess. What’s done is done.”
“I think it was amazing. I’m proud of you.”
Braden leaned up then, kissing me sweetly, that familiar mint and lavender scent brushing my nose as he did.
It was Tuesday, rest day, and I was curled up with Braden like a cat pretending nothing else in the world existed. He was supposed to be resting, but rest was the last thing on either of our minds when I showed up at his door last night after we both finished up at the stadium — him with meetings, me with practice.
Because we had a list to check off, and we weren’t even halfway through it.
Ice play had been fun — the way he teased me by dragging the frigid cubes along my skin as they melted, the way I held a cube in my mouth as I tasted him, torturing him with the mixture of discomfort and pleasure.
Before that, we’d masturbated together — which was hotter than I ever imagined it could be. I’d been so wet just at the sight of Braden with his cock in his hand, with the hungry way hewatched my hand moving between my thighs. I thought it would be kind of awkward, but nothing was with Braden now.
He was so fucking comfortable he might as well have been a La-Z-Boy.
Even now, I was fighting against this strange ache in my chest at the way he looked, the way he felt. Thick navy sweatpants hugged his hips, and he was bare from the waist up, his ridiculous muscles like a million-dollar painting of mountains and valleys. His mahogany hair was a tousled mess, the scruff on his jaw deliciously inviting, the permanent smirk on his lips lazy and carefree.
He was so different from the man I’d met that day at auditions. He’d been so buttoned up then, so scared of living.
I liked that he looked different now.
I liked to think I might be the reason for that devil-may-care vibe he wore so effortlessly.
“Thanks for watching that with me so I didn’t have to do it alone,” I said.
“Thanks for asking me to.” He thumbed my jaw, his eyes ping-ponging between mine. “Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
“Let me cook for you.”
It wasn’t a question, and my stomach flipped with the little demand of it, with the sure way he said it — as if he knew I wouldn’t say no.
“Okay,” I breathed, smiling. “I’m just going to do a little stretching and then I’ll join you out there.”
“You and your stretches in bed,” he growled. “Going to be the death of me.”
Braden covered my smile with another long, slow, lazy kiss, one that had us both moaning and inhaling deep before he rolled me off him and smacked my ass for good measure.
“Don’t, or we’ll starve.”
“We could just bring the food to bed? Idohave that on my list,” I confessed.
He balked. “Eating while you fuck?”
“No,” I laughed. “Food play. You know, whipped cream, chocolate drizzle…”
Braden scrubbed a hand over his face, revealing his bottom lip pinned between his teeth when he let the hand fall against his thigh. “So what I’m hearing is Tuscan chicken for dinner andyoufor dessert.”
“If you insist.”
I smirked as he shook his head, pointing a finger at me as he made his way out of the bedroom. “Still Trouble. Capital fucking everything at this point.”
My smile climbed as he swung out of the room, and I took ten minutes to stretch, bending my body into every juicy and delicious yoga pose I felt like I needed until I reluctantly peeled myself from his bed for the first time in hours. I was nude, my panties ruined from how he’d teased me when I first arrived, so I dug through his drawers until I found a pair of boxer briefs, rolling the band twice once I had them on. I slipped on a shirt that said North Boston Rebels next, clutching the fabric to my nose and inhaling like a lunatic before I joined him in the kitchen.