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“God, that feels good already,” Elliot murmurs.
My heart rate picks up at the softness in his voice.
“I’m going to apply more pressure. Let me know if it’s too much.”
I press one hand on top of the other and continue the circles.
“Even better,” he says.
As my body moves with the rhythm of my hands, I’m aware of my nipples brushing against my loose T-shirt.
Gradually, I increase the size of the circles to take in the side of his waist. My fingers graze the top of his boxers, sending a shiver up my arm and down my side.
I switch to the second movement the therapist taught me—squeezing and lifting the muscle.
His body is firm between my thumb and forefinger. If I didn’t already know he works out, I could feel it.
The more I work the muscle, the more my body betrays me. My T-shirt quivers as it rises and falls over my breasts, my breath deepening with the effort. And the heat in my underwear grows along with the heat under my hands.
I need to break the cycle and try to pull myself together here. I’m doing this for one reason and one reason only—to help Elliot get back on his feet so we can go salvage the First Byte center, which is going to help an untold number of kids. That’s what I was put on this planet for, right? To think of others, not myself. To help others, not myself.
“I’m going to switch to your other side.” I could get off the bed, walk around, and get back on the other side. But to hell with that. “So I just need to climb over you. I’ll be careful not to rock the bed too much.”
I rise up on my knees, lift one over him, and plant it on the opposite side of his hips. The side of his face now comes into view. His eyes closed, he looks thoroughly content and completely relaxed.
His back stretches out before me, like I’m standing on top of a hill and gazing down at a beautiful landscape.
My eyes eat up every inch of his bare skin up to the edge of the T-shirt that now sits at the base of his shoulder blades. Under the fabric, his back and shoulders spread wider, their undulations—their hills and valleys—honed by daily workouts. Then my gaze returns to his bare skin, this time of his biceps, then those sexy-as-hell forearms, and finally his fingers clasped over his head.
Elliot shifts a little between my legs. “Whoever thought I’d find myself lying on a bed, straddled by you.”
My gaze flashes to his face. How long have his eyes been open? How long has he been watching me look at him? I’d paused for only a second to enjoy the view, but it feels like forever.
Heat flares in my cheeks. I need to joke or something to break this tension. “Stop it, or I’ll cause you an even worse injury.”
Or maybe it’s only me who senses there’s tension. Maybe this is just amusing to him. Maybe he’s lying there, fully relaxed, simply enjoying having his back rubbed as if this were no more sensual than a regular LMT appointment.
I whip my other leg over him and kneel at his other side. Christ, it’s like I’m worshiping at the altar of a man who’s captured all my senses this last week. A man I’ve known for years, yet who seems like someone completely new.
“Ready?” I ask, a tremor in my fingers as they hover over his lower back.
He peers up at me from the corner of his eye. “Yes. And I promise to try to behave.”
I lower my hands, and it feels like I’m touching him for the first time all over again.
Pressing on the lower muscle, I repeat the slow circles on this side, my pulse pounding in my wrist in time with my movements.
Elliot’s eyes are closed again now, and his shoulders visibly relax, as if my touch radiates up his body and eases the pain.
He emits a soft groan of pleasure making my belly wobble with a flutter that moves lower to my center.
I switch from making circles to the squeezing and lifting action. Elliot turns his face a little more into the bed, the one eye I can see wrinkles as he sinks into the physical sensation.
I’m making him feel good. My touch, my pressure on his body, give him pleasure. It makes me feel powerful. And it’s incredibly satisfying to know I’m doing good—making him feel good.
The heat between my hands and his body is enough to spark a fire.
There’s already a smolder in my underwear, which is now so damp I worry that he might smell my arousal this close to his face.
