Free Strongman by Denise Rossetti

up the calf of his good leg. And Lufra, he’d oiled his fingers again! They slid, strong and sure, the thumbs tracing the muscle all the way from ankle to knee.
    43

    Denise Rossetti
    Fort opened his mouth to protest, but Griff forestalled him. “Shut up,” he said savagely. “Just…shut up and let me take care of you. I’ll only touch your back, I swear.”
    He followed the long muscles up to Fort’s buttocks, pushing hard against their resilience. “You’re so tense. You’re pulled tighter than the high wire.” Expertly, he began to pummel, pound and stroke, pausing every now and then to push Fort’s shirt out of the way so he could dribble more oil onto his spine. With a snort of impatience, Fort reared up and ripped it off himself.
    He heard a sharply indrawn breath. “Shit!”
    “What?”
    “Scars.” A pause, then Griff’s voice came again, tightly controlled. “I saw them that day in the ablutions tent. I shouldn’t be so… Gods, when I think… So many…”
    Fort chuckled painfully. “More on the front.”
    The ensuing silence grew so thick he could almost hear Griff thinking. Firm fingertips traced the path of the Hssrdan halberd that had skidded off his ribs. Another pause and the tumbler grunted with effort as he dug into the hard muscle next to Fort’s spine.
    He knew it must be a particularly insidious form of madness, but it was beyond good to be the focus of so much concentrated attention. Griff was still hurting him, but in a good way, a way that both tortured and relieved. Fort rolled his shoulders under the talented fingers, hoping he hadn’t moaned aloud.
    But the best part was that Griff’s touch was so direct, so purposeful—so matter-of-fact—that his gods-be-damned cock was behaving itself. His lashes fluttered and he yawned, his mind all muffled and muddled by the dragging pull of sleep and brandy, the comfort of it all.
    Griff ran his fingers up over Fort’s nape and into his hair. He rubbed soothingly over his scalp. “Sleep if you want,” he whispered. “It’s a big bed.”
    Fort drifted away, feeling pleasantly loose and cosseted.
    He woke in the cool, gray light of predawn, lying on his side, utterly relaxed.
    Stretching, he enjoyed the feel of smooth sheets against bare skin, the lifting sensation of a healthy morning erection. Someone was curled into his back, a firm, smooth, breathing warmth all along his spine.
    Fort’s smile congealed. Instantly, he was fully awake. Battle-ready.
    Ah, fuck! Ruler God, it wasn’t true, he wasn’t—
    Hardly daring to breathe, he shifted carefully to his back. Griffid Ringman snorted in his sleep and slid onto his stomach. He burrowed closer, his gold-brown curls tousled, his face hidden. When Fort tried to move aside, Griff followed, pressing his stubbled cheek to Fort’s biceps.
    His heart began to thump, uncomfortably hard, the edgy beat echoed by the pulse beating low in his belly. He knew he was naked. And with absolute clarity, he could recall the sensation of Griff’s chest pressed into his back. And lower… His breath 44

    Strongman
    hitched as he remembered a half-hard cock, wedged happily between his buttocks, knees tucked in behind his.
    Fort shot upright. Clearly a healthy sleeper, Griff didn’t stir.
    He couldn’t stop looking.
    No one would know.
    His abrupt movement dislodged the sheet, baring Griff to the hips. The fabric clung precariously, draping the taut curve of his muscular ass. Please Lufra, just a few moments of guilty, shameful pleasure and then he’d slip away and leave the other man to sleep.
    Moving cautiously, he seized a pillow and jammed it between his back and the wall, his brain a riot of conflicting thoughts. Griff nuzzled into his hip, his breath hot and moist, and Fort froze, sensation rippling through him, but the tumbler slumbered on.
    Ruler God, the man was finely made! The pale light loved him, caressing his shoulders, his biceps, pooling in the small of his back, just above the hem