Something Sinful This Way Comes [McQueen Was My Valley 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) by Karen Mercury

do?”
    “Well, they weren’t breaking any law, per se.”
    A monster cramp hit Nathan’s thigh just then. His eyes bulged from his head at the suddenness of the painful cramp. His foot even seized up, the toes curling skyward, so he hobbled to the group of flat rocks where Longtree had propped his boot. He collapsed to a sitting position, wrapping his thigh with both hands, wringing it as though squeezing out a sodden sleeping bag. But the cramp got worse and even seemed to be seeping into his hands and forearms, though he knew that wasn’t possible.
    “All I could really get them for was not having a campfire permit, though that’s not really our jurisdic—cramp?”
    “Yeah,” breathed Nathan through gritted teeth. He kicked off his right running shoe and snarled, “Step on my foot.”
    Longtree put his hands on Nathan’s shoulder to balance himself and did as requested. The rubber tread of Longtree’s camo hiking boot felt like heaven, ironing out the cramp that had originated in his thigh but had spread to his foot.
    “You don’t have any magnesium pills, do you?” Longtree asked.
    “Back at the lodge,” Nathan gasped.
    “Or a banana? I sometimes have a banana, just not today. You’ve jogged too much. You’re dehydrated.”
    He knew Longtree was trying to be helpful. But even Nathan’s powerful upper body strength wasn’t capable of wringing this monster cramp from his thigh and he was this close to sobbing in frustration. Nathan Horowitz, ace commando, famous mercenary. Sobbing over a cramp.
    Next thing he knew, Longtree had pressed him flat on his back. Straddling him with a knee on either side of his hips, Longtree had grabbed the affected thigh and was working it, massaging it. No doubt some medical training was involved in becoming a conservation officer. Nathan clenched the short sleeve of Longtree’s uniform, squeezing the carefully creased fabric into a mass of wrinkles.
    “Cramps are vicious,” Longtree said soothingly, twisting and lifting the thigh muscle that seemed to contort itself into various shapes at will, like a cobra.
    The pain was so intense Nathan held his breath, digging his nails into the game warden’s bicep. His eyes were squeezed shut, but he would’ve only seen the red of pain anyway. Longtree twisted and squeezed, twisted and squeezed, and soon necessity forced Nathan to exhale all in one stream, bucking and pumping his hips helplessly.
    When he held his breath again, he knew the cramp had subsided. He knew because Longtree was wrenching the muscle of his inner thigh now, and his fingertips occasionally brushed against Nathan’s balls, packed tightly into his jock. The legs of his running shorts were so loose and split up the side they offered no protection, designed for air circulation and, apparently, for a perverted conservation officer to tickle his full, burgeoning balls.
    Nathan didn’t mind. He allowed his bare foot to fall to the dusty sandstone below. The movement thrust his pelvis even more eagerly into Longtree’s soothing hands. Nathan held his breath and kept his eyes squeezed shut, not wishing Longtree to stop what he was doing. Longtree still massaged the kink from the thigh muscle with one hand, but the fingertips of the other hand were definitely straying to his balls, covered only with a thin film of tight cotton.
    And his prick, tightly bound inside the jock, was responding.
    It twitched and shivered with delight. Nathan covered his eyes with a hand, in case Longtree could read his pleasure. He needed to pretend to still be in pain if he wanted to have any plausible deniability. He nearly gasped with pleasure when Longtree slipped two fingers under the jock, using sweat to lubricate his stroking of the bursting balls.
    Longtree’s other hand still made a pretense at massaging the constricted thigh muscle, but he did nothing to hide the fact that he was panting, too. And it wasn’t from exertion at having to wring the cramp from Nathan’s