Desired By The Hockey Captain Alpha

11. Unprofessional Massage

Emily

Okay I can do this. I am a normal woman with self control. I am not some feral creature who is about to jump a half naked hockey captain because he has an illegal amount of muscles.

I am just going to massage him. That is it.

Massage. Leave. Go home. Pretend none of this f*****g happened.

For goodness sake I am a nursing student. This should be easy.

I take a deep breath and move closer to the bed. Slowly. Carefully. Like I am approaching a wild animal that might bite.

By the time I reach the edge of the mattress I am staring straight at his back.

And wow.

That is a very large back.

Broad shoulders spread across the bed like the man was built specifically to intimidate people. His skin is still slightly damp from the shower and the huge wolf tattoo stretches across his shoulder blades.

His muscles shift slightly when he adjusts his arms under the pillow and my brain immediately short circuits.

Okay focus Emily.

You are here to do a job.

“Are you going to keep standing there all day?” His voice is muffled by the pillow but the amusement in it is obvious.

I roll my eyes even though he cannot see me. “Relax. I’m getting to it.”

I climb onto the bed carefully and settle on my knees beside him.

Unfortunately that angle gives me a new view.

My eyes slide from his back down to his waist and then lower before I can stop them. His briefs stretch over a very firm, very round backside.

And suddenly I am staring.

Okay that is rude. That is extremely rude.

But also very impressive.

My brain immediately provides the most unhelpful thought in human history.

What would happen if I grabbed it?

I blink rapidly and shake my head like I can physically fling the thought out.

What the hell is wrong with me today?

Maybe it is because that perfect backside is literally right in front of my face like a display.

“Enjoying the view back there?”

My head snaps up. “Excuse me?”

He chuckles into the pillow. “You went quiet.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

I huff. “I was analyzing muscle structure.”

“Of my ass?”

Heat climbs up my neck instantly. “Shut up.”

His shoulders shake with quiet laughter.

Then he reaches one arm back blindly and hands me a bottle. “Here.”

I take it and glance down.

Therapy ointment.

Okay, good. Professional. Medical. Normal.

I open the cap and pour some into my palm before setting the bottle aside. The ointment feels cool and slick against my skin.

Alright Emily. Time to act like the responsible future nurse you are.

I place my hands on his back.

And immediately freeze.

Oh.

His skin is warm. Solid. Every muscle under my palms feels firm and alive.

This is unfair.

I clear my throat and start massaging slowly, pressing my hands along his shoulders the way I remember from practice labs.

At first I move carefully, working my fingers into the tight muscles around his shoulder blades.

He exhales deeply. “f**k,” he mutters into the pillow.

My stomach flips.

I press a little harder, moving my thumbs along the thick muscles near his neck.

A low sound leaves him. “Oh yeah. Right there.”

My hands pause for half a second.

Did he just moan?

I swallow and keep going like a professional adult who is not affected by things like that.

Except he does it again.

A deep groan vibrates through his chest.

“Library girl,” he says roughly. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“I am literally just massaging your shoulders.”

“Feels like a lot more than that.”

My brain immediately goes somewhere extremely inappropriate and I almost choke on my own breath.

Focus. Professional.

I push my palms down along his back, spreading the ointment across the hard planes of muscle.

His body shifts under my hands.

“Lower,” he murmurs. “Yeah. Right there.”

I move lower along his back, trying very hard not to think about how good his skin feels under my hands.

Which is impossible. Because he keeps reacting.

Every time my fingers dig into a knot he makes another sound.

A groan. A sigh. A quiet curse.

“You’re doing things to me,” he mutters.

“That is literally the point of a massage.”

“You know what I mean.”

No, I absolutely do not want to know what he means.

My hands move along his sides and I feel his muscles flex under my palms.

Good lord. It feels like massaging a brick wall. Except a very warm, very attractive brick wall.

“f**k,” he groans suddenly when my thumbs press into a tight spot near his shoulder. “Right there. Don’t stop.”

I freeze for a second because the sound that just came out of his mouth should honestly be illegal.

“Damien,” I say cautiously, “you are being very dramatic.”

“I am appreciating good service.”

“You sound like you are in pain.”

“I’m not.”

Another groan escapes him when I press again.

My brain goes completely blank.

I stare down at the back of his head, horrified. “Why are you making those noises?”

He lifts his head slightly and turns it just enough for one eye to glance at me over his shoulder.

His mouth curls into a slow, wicked grin. “Because,” he says smoothly, “your hands feel really good.”

Heat explodes across my face.

I immediately shove his shoulder. “Stop being weird.”

He laughs and drops his head back into the pillow. “Keep going,” he says lazily. “You’re doing great.”

I mutter under my breath and continue massaging his back, trying to ignore the ridiculous way my heart is beating.

This is fine.

Totally fine.

I decide I need a distraction before my brain completely melts.

Because right now I am kneeling behind a half naked man, rubbing oil all over his back while he keeps making sounds that should honestly be illegal.

So yes. Distraction sounds necessary.

“You and Nicole are cousins, right?” I ask while pressing my thumbs into the muscles near his shoulder blade.

He hums softly like he is thinking about it.

That is the most noncommittal answer in human history.

I frown slightly but keep working my hands down his back. “Did you know we were roommates?”

“Nope,” he says lazily. “She told me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

I shift my hands lower along his back, spreading the ointment across the hard lines of muscle.

“That’s funny,” I say. “I’ve never really seen you two together.”

“Probably because you don’t care,” he replies without missing a beat.

I scoff. “Wow. That’s rude.”

“Nicole said you practically live in the library.”

“That is a f*****g exaggeration.”

“Is it?” His voice has that teasing edge again.

I narrow my eyes at the back of his head like he can see my expression through the pillow.

“Tell me something, Emily,” he continues calmly. “Do you even know how to have fun?”

I open my mouth to snap back something clever. Nothing comes out. Because annoyingly enough he is not entirely wrong.

My brain flashes through the usual routine. Classes. Studying. Working. Sleeping for four hours. Studying again. Job applications. Scholarships. Deadlines.

Fun is not exactly on the schedule.

My hands slow slightly on his back.

“Well,” I mutter. “I try.”

He lifts his head just enough to glance back at me. “Do you?”

I shrug awkwardly while pressing my palms into his lower back. “It’s not easy.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I figured.”

For a moment his voice actually sounds softer.

“Look,” he adds, shifting slightly under my hands. “I get it. Scholarship student. Lots of pressure. No time to slack off.”

I blink.

Okay. I did not expect understanding from this cocky hockey menace.

“But you need to loosen up sometimes,” he continues.

My hands pause.

“Have some fun.”

I let out a small sigh. “I’m trying. It’s not easy.”

“I’ll help you.”

I raise a brow even though he cannot see it. “Oh yeah?” I say. “And how exactly are you planning to do that?”

“Go lower.”

I stare at the back of his head. “What?”

“Lower.”

I sigh but move my hands down a little.

“More.”

I move again.

“Lower.”

Now my hands are dangerously close to the waistband of his damn briefs.

I stop instantly. Absolutely not.

“Why did you stop?” he asks innocently.

I stare at his back like he just lost his damn mind. “Are you f*****g kidding me?”

“What?”

“I am not massaging your f*****g ass.”

His shoulders shake with laughter. “Why not?”

“Because that is not part of the job.”

“It’s hurting,” he says in the most dramatic voice possible. “And it’s part of the muscle group.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Come on, Library girl.”

“No.”

“You’re being unprofessional.”

“I am being sane.”

He chuckles and shifts slightly on the bed.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll sit up then.”

Before I can move away, he suddenly pushes up with his arms.

Unfortunately my knees are planted on the slippery ointment covered sheet like an i***t.

The second he moves, my balance completely betrays me.

“Oh shit.”

My hand slips. My knee slides.

And the next thing I know I am falling forward like a disaster in human form.

“Whoa.” Damien turns at the exact same time.

The bed dips under our combined movement and suddenly everything turns into pure chaos.

I land flat on my back on the mattress.

Damien lands right on top of me.

My breath catches instantly.

His hands are braced on either side of my head, holding most of his weight up, but he is still very close. Way too close.

Our faces are inches apart.

His damp hair falls slightly over his forehead and his eyes lock onto mine.

They are darker now. No longer playful…something deeper. Something that makes my stomach twist.

I can feel his chest against mine. Warm and solid. Every breath he takes presses lightly against me.

And then my brain notices something else. Something very alarming.

His hips are pressed against mine. I can literally feel his c**k through the thin fabric of his briefs…and it's hard. Very hard.

Oh my f*****g….

My entire body goes rigid.