He caught her wrist. “Zyah. Look at me. You don’t believe that.”
She didn’t answer him. She wasn’t going to get into an argument. Actions spoke far louder than words, and so far, he could barely stand to look at her. “Let go. I have to get the washcloth cold again. You’re burning up.”
He swore again and pushed into a sitting position. She really avoided looking at him because he was all corded muscle. No one should have that kind of muscle. She remembered tracing every single one of them with her tongue. Ashamed, she turned away from him and slipped off the bed. Ordinarily, she hurried to the bathroom, so she could make his skin cooler, make him more comfortable. Now, she took her time, not wanting to get back to him so fast, needing a few moments to get herself back under control.
She could do this. She was strong. She repeated the mantra to herself over and over. She just had to get through a few more days. His brain injury was healed. It was just the nightmares. She had to find a way to stop the nightmares and the migraines. If she could do that . . . He was getting stronger, although as long as he was there, her grandmother was safe. She had to keep that in mind. Torpedo Ink stayed close because they stayed near Player.
Player had a pillow behind his head, but he was sitting up, sheet pulled up to his hips. She tried not to look at his body. He wore something, she saw the edging just above the single sheet covering him. It wasn’t much, and one leg was out. She knew his body. Every inch of it. Still, she averted her eyes and handed him the washcloth rather than wipe his face, neck and chest the way she normally would have.
“I’ll get a towel.” She was suddenly aware of her own lack of clothing. What if he thought she was coming on to him? She always wore a racerback tank and little shorts. Long pants twisted around her legs and drove her nuts when she slept. Mostly, she slept in the nude. Not that she’d do that with Player in her bed, and anyway, she was sitting up in a chair most of the night now.
“Zyah.” He tried to catch her wrist and missed. “For fuck’s sake, sit down next to me. You have been every damn night. What you’ve been thinking is pure bullshit, and it doesn’t even make sense. So, for the love of God, will you stop making my head hurt worse and get your sweet little ass over here before I have to get up and get you?”
She stood in the middle of the room frowning at him. “You are an ass. A complete and utter ass. I have no idea why I ever thought you were anything but an ass.” She had to do something to save herself, because after seeing his childhood and spending every night with him for four straight weeks, she was so in love with him she couldn’t stand herself.
He threw back the sheet and was out of the bed so fast she barely had time to turn to sprint for the door. She even squealed like a little girl, but muffled the sound with her hand just in case she woke her grandmother, which was unlikely since she was downstairs.
Player caught her around the waist, tossed her over his shoulder so she was upside down and marched back to the bed. She should have protested, should have done something, anything at all, to stop him, but a million butterflies took wing. Her sex clenched, wept with sheer need. She wanted him. She’d wanted him every time she thought about him. It was a sin. It was so wrong. He was her obsession.
He threw her easily right into the center of the mattress and came down on top of her before she could move, pinning her down. Zyah went very still. He might have had a brain injury, but Steele had somehow miraculously healed him. Now the rest of his body was working just fine. She knew because she felt every single inch of him hard and tight against her. She knew his body, all those defined muscles, the wide shoulders, the deep chest that went into that impressive rib cage and narrowed into his hips. His cock was beautiful. She knew because she’d worshipped him with her hands and mouth. With her body. She could still taste him. Feel him inside her.
At night, when she was alone, she still felt him sliding into her, pushing through her tight folds, his piercing blue gaze staring into hers like he was seeing into her soul. He’d been a miracle, a feast of pure pleasure she hadn’t thought possible, and there was no forgetting the many ways he had taken her, shocking her at times but always giving her such pleasure, she had been more than willing to repeat the experience again and again with him.