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I run my hands down his spine and back up, focusing around his shoulder blade again.
“I have my massage license.”
It’s not entirely true. I went through the schooling, but never finished to get my license. It’s close enough, and that’s all he needs to know. I move down his left side, doing some work on his lower back, before moving to the other side and doing the same. When I go back by his head to do some more work around his shoulders, he looks up at me.
“I didn’t know,” he says softly. Almost like it’s an apology. Which makes no sense. Of course he doesn’t know anything about me. Just like I don’t know anything about him.
I nod and step around him so he’ll stop looking at me like he wants to devour me, but his large hands grip my waist and tug me back in front of him.
“Are you jealous?” he questions. He drags his tongue along his lower tip, and I think of sinking my teeth into that lip.
Yes.
“No,” I spit. “I just don’t want an STI.”
He looks like I’ve slapped him, but quickly recovers. I think he’s going to say something but doesn’t. I move out of his grasp.
I get more lotion and work on his thighs. He rests his head down, and I can’t pull my gaze from his body as I work on his toned, tanned thighs. He has these little back dimples I didn’t realize would be so sexy on a man. His ass is so firm and bubbly. Perfectly round, and Jesus, I want to bite it. What kind of thought is that? What would he do if I did that? He’d kill me. And that isn’t an exaggeration. I think he may actually kill me.
“Turn over,” I say, stepping back to grab the lotion. I hate that I wonder if he’ll be hard when he does.
He rolls over, his eyes closed and a relaxed look on his face. He better keep his eyes closed because if he starts watching me, I may not be able to control myself. When I get more lotion on my hands, I turn to work on his chest, and that’s when I notice it.
His hard-on. Big. Long. Thick. Right there for me to stare at. My jaw drops, but I shake out of it and dart my eyes to his. Thankfully, they’re still closed. He doesn’t seem to notice his dick is rock hard, staring me in the face. Maybe he doesn’t know? Is that possible? Can guys’ dicks get hard without them knowing?
I move back by his head and run my hands along his chest and down his pecks. I’m careful around his shoulder, focusing on the way he reacts to me when I put pressure on that spot. He winces a little but seems more relieved than in pain.
I go back for more lotion, but before I can reach it, his arm is wrapped around my waist again and he’s pulling me on top of him.
“Enzo!” I growl, trying to get out of his grip, but he caught me off guard, and I am fully seated on his hips.
He’s warm beneath me, and his dick is right there. Hard between my legs, pressing against my needy pussy. His fingers brush along my thighs in a gentle caress.
“Do you think so little of me to think I’d get hard over any woman who touches me?”
“I have no reason to think otherwise,” I say, my words coming out raspy.
He smirks. “My masseuse is a man.”
Oh…
I’ll admit that gives me a small sense of relief. But I won’t let him know that.
“You like men,” I retort, letting him know it isn’t an acceptable response.
“I like Rafael.”
“Why is it different?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Such a simple response. A shrug and an I don’t know. And here I thought everything that came out of his mouth had to be rude and smart. His gaze roams over my face, down my body, and focuses on where I’m sitting on him. I can’t bring myself to look down and see how much of me is showing, but his hands on my thighs are like hot coals scorching my skin.
I run my hands up his abs and over his chest. “I still want to do it.”
“You need to use more pressure,” he says.
“I can do that.”
