"Mark," she whined, only half kidding, he could tell, as she rolled her shoulders and winced.
He placed a hand on each of her shoulders and steered her to the couch.
She held up a bottle of something medicinal, to relieve muscle aches. "Put this on it."
He picked up the bottle of green, mint smelling liquid and inspected it. With a lifted brow to rival The Rock, he chucked it over his shoulder, then went into the downstairs bathroom and got a bottle of hand lotion.
He came up behind the couch and popped the top on the bottle. "What hurts?"
"Neck, shoulders, chest." She tilted her head to one side, then the other, trying to work the tightness out.
He moved her long, wavy chestnut locks out of his way, draping them over one shoulder. He tugged at the neckline of her shirt and she unbuttoned the top two buttons, sliding it down over her shoulders, her hands clutching it together over her breasts.
He warmed some lotion in his hands then laid them over her soft flesh. He massaged the tense tendons in her neck, her breath catching when he hit a knot that was particularly stubborn.
He'd never seen quite so much of her. Her skin felt good against his hands and he left his fingers spread out, rubbing a little lower until he could feel the top of the shirt that kept her modest.
He realized, with a shock, that this was getting a little personal, and he was hard-pressed to stop it
The slightly tanned flesh of her shoulders gave away her American Indian blood, and it felt like velvet beneath his fingers.
Her head had lolled back against the couch and he could see her lashes fanned out over her cheeks.
She looked like an Amazon priestess being pleasured at the hands of a slave.
She let out a little moan. "Ooh, that's good…"
The breathy tone of her voice sent a jolt straight to his cock and Mark swallowed over the dryness in his throat. He finished quickly, lifting the silk curtain of her hair to drape over her shoulders.
Clearing his throat, he sat on the couch, at the distant end, and snatched up the remote.
He could see her buttoning her shirt out of the corner of his eye and he forced himself to concentrate on the television.
The tension eased as they got into the show.
"See that," she said, pointing to Steve Austin, landing what appeared to be hard kicks to the chest of Kane. "I'm surprised Glenn didn't laugh at him." She smiled at him infectiously and he found himself smiling back. "That is one move he can't sell."
Mark snorted. "It ain't the only one. Have you seen him punch?"
Talia giggled like a little girl. "Yeah. I forgot about that one." She grabbed the remote, rewinding the match a little.
The screen flashed to him, standing outside the cage as his "brother" was getting pummeled by Austin.
"You look so worried," she said quietly. "What were you thinking?"
The look on his face intrigued her. He looked almost… in tears.
He leaned back and sighed. "Trouble in paradise," he said referring to his failed home-life.
She nodded, not wanting to pry.
"I hadn't seen my boys in a while, either." He changed the subject and she was relieved. "We can watch something else, if ya want."
She nibbled the buttery popcorn in the bowl she'd set on the couch between them. "You got any WCW in that extensive library of yours?"
He nodded and she got up, shuffling through the tapes. "Cool! Souled Out '98." She ejected the previous tape and slipped that one in.
She sat back down beside him, holding the bowl in her lap. She held up the popcorn, offering him some.
He refused, not looking at her.
He'd been doing that since he sat down.
"What's wrong?" she inquired, watching him intently for a minute.
He shook his head, dismissing the question and she left it alone, getting into the show. She concentrated on the match between Chris Jericho and Rey Mysterio Jr.
She loved to watch Jericho. He could really wrestle and it was obvious he loved to entertain.
She watched the match a little longer, glancing over to find Mark asleep, his head propped against the back of the couch.
He looked innocent, relaxed in his sleep. A lock of his overgrown, dark hair fell over one eye and his broad, defined chest lifted and fell with each breath.
He truly was breathtaking. And if things were different, if she were different, she might have tried her luck.
She tugged the blanket from the back of the couch and, flipping the TV off, she laid her head on his thigh and fell asleep.
Talia awoke late in the morning with a heavy weight laying over her hip. She lifted her head groggily, muscles in her neck and back protesting the movement, blinking at the large, tattooed arm draped over her.
Mark had shifted in the night and now her entire upper body was draped over his lap and her face had been nestled in his lower stomach.
He'd propped his feet up on the coffee table and the hand closest to the end of the couch was tangled in her hair. The other was resting comfortably on her hip.
She lifted his arm, setting it gently in his lap as she got up.
His knees were going to kill him when he finally woke up.
"Mark," she whispered.
He muttered in his sleep.
"Mark," she tried again.
His eyes moved quickly back and forth beneath his eyelids. "Havin' a good dream," he murmured.
She smiled. "About what," she questioned softly, trying to keep him awake.
"Talia," he whispered before sighing deeply and drifting off once more.
