Lady and the Champ(3)By: Katherine Lace
“If the game’s over, can we go ahead and turn the TV off now?” I ask him.
“It’s not over. They just tied it up.” He lowers his torso to the table again. “Go ahead. I’ll hold still.”
“Sure you will,” I mutter as I replenish the massage oil on my hands. His back and shoulders flex, and I’m caught for a moment, watching the big muscles move under his skin. He’s got a light tan specked here and there with freckles. For a second, my hands just hang in the air, fingertips inches above his lats, and I can feel the heat coming off him. It seems to enter through my hands and wash through my body, settling between my legs.
I clench my teeth. I’m not sure now if I’m more irritated with him or with myself. You don’t like football players, I remind myself. Again. Not to mention that he’s off limits. He has to be, if I have any intention of keeping this job.
“Maybe you should just sit up,” I say suddenly, realizing there’s another play about to start in the football game. He’s just going to lurch up off the table again, and that leads nowhere good.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, still focused like a laser on the television.
He shifts around to sit up, sending the blanket moving in ways I didn’t anticipate. Suddenly there’s a flash of naked thighs and bare belly, a hint of a happy trail leading down to…
Oh my God. If he moves another inch, what am I going to see? Every bit of my professional objectivity flies right off the tracks into a deep, dark ravine where I’m never going to get it back, and I shamble backward so my line of sight is blocked by the rest of his big body which, in all honesty, isn’t much less distracting than his naked thighs.
Of course at that exact moment, there’s another roar from the televised crowd, and Austin’s whole body responds as he lets out a whoop. Somehow his leg tangles up with one of mine and I lose my balance.
Everything is in slow motion for a few seconds as the room tilts around me. I’m falling—I’m going to faceplant on the floor.
I don’t. Austin moves fast enough to catch me before I actually hit the table or the TV or the wall or the floor. And I’m grateful. I really am. Except…
It’s not so much the fact he catches me as the way he does it. Because I don’t so much faceplant as titplant. With both boobs. Right into Austin Sherwood’s open hands.
I stare at my hands, at the way they’re curved around Chloe’s breasts. They’re nice tits—not like I haven’t noticed—but they fill my hands a little better than I ever would have imagined. Her nipples have gone rock hard behind her bra, poking eagerly into my palms. And I just keep staring.
I try to convince myself it’s because I’m mortified to look her in the eye after this, but honestly I just can’t stop looking at her tits. They’re gorgeous. And I’ve had women fall right into my hands before, but not like this. Not, you know—literally.
“Those aren’t handles,” she spits at me, and finally I look into her face. Her cheeks have gone crimson, like she just experienced an unfortunate sunbathing accident. Her blue eyes are flashing hot with fury, but there’s something else there, too. Humiliation? I jerk my hands back like her tits are blazing hot.
Actually, they are. In fact, all of her is pretty fucking hot. She’s got an hourglass figure that fills out her tight gym clothes, bee-stung lips, and long, straight black hair. There’s no question that she’s sexy. I’d take her home in a heartbeat. I’m not sure what I did to be so lucky as to have her doing my off-day PT, but it must have been good.
“I didn’t mean to grab you like that. I saw that you were falling and uh…yeah. I really am. Sorry.”
Not that sorry, to be honest.
The palms of my hands are still hot from the contact. I can still feel the imprint of her nipples. And just to make matters worse, I’m getting hard again. If she sees that, she’ll probably bounce me out of here on my ass.
She tosses her head, her bright eyes cutting into me. “If you would hold still, it wouldn’t have happened!”
Does she want me to grovel? It was an accident. “I apologize.”