Page 121 of None Of Your Business

“Just stiff.”

The last few days have been relentless. A flare wouldn’t surprise me. Neither would Rowan borrowing energy from tomorrow just because she feels okay today.

“You don’t have to do the stretches,” I tell her.

“I know.”

Her fingers thread through the damp hair at the nape of my neck. She leans down and presses her mouth to mine.

The kiss starts soft, then deepens as she tilts her head. My hands slip beneath the hem of her loose shirt, trailing up the warm skin of her lower back.

A faint tremor runs through her hands, so I ease back to look at her.

“You can touch me,” she whispers.

“I am touching you.”

“You know what I mean. You’re thinking about it every time.”

She’s right. I’ve been avoiding the places that bruise easily, supporting her weight instead of pulling, watching how she moves before deciding how to move with her.

She lifts one leg and carefully swings it over mine, straddling my lap. I immediately slide my hands down to brace her hips, taking the strain off her joints.

Her mouth curves into a faint smile. “Still monitoring?”

“Always.”

She leans in and kisses me again. Her hips tilt forward, grinding down against my lap, seeking the hard press of my cock through our clothes.

Her breathing grows ragged as she tries to speed up the pace, trying to lose herself in the heat.

But beneath the rhythm of her movement, the shudder in her thighs gets worse.

It isn’t the tremor of a woman on the edge. It’s her muscles firing on empty, straining against joints that have nothing left to give.

She’s pushing herself past the limit.

I pull back, my chest heaving. My heart hammers against my ribs, every instinct telling me to take what she’s offering, but I force myself to hold still.

“I want to,” she says, her voice breathless.

I sweep my thumb over her cheekbone to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I know. Me too. And we will. But you need to rest first.”

Her mouth parts like she’s about to argue, ready to tell me she’s fine, that she can handle it, but the fight drains out of her.

Her head drops forward, her forehead sinking into the crook of my neck.

“I’m tired,” she finally admits.

Out of everything she’s trusted me with, this simple admission feels like the most important.

I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Nap?”

“Fuck,” she groans. “I love when you talk dirty to me.”

Thirty-Six