“You didn’t let me finish! I was going to step out of the room or turn around first,” she groans.
I look at the bed. “Aren’t you going to see me without it on anyway?”
“Yes, professionally, but that was… you… I just… it…” she stammers, then I hear her jaw audibly clamp shut.
Holding back a chuckle that desperately wants to come out, I clear my throat. “Where do you want me?”
And fuck if that doesn’t come out deeper than my natural voice. And fuck if that doesn’t put every image in my head that shouldn’t be there. Not right now. Not when she’s about to touch me.
“On the…” Her voice is two octaves too high, and she trails off for half a second too long before finishing, “table.”
Like her thoughts have gone exactly where mine have.
Without a word—because I’m afraid I’ll say something stupid—I climb onto the table, lying face down, while she shifts so her back is to me the entire time.
“Are you good?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Uh, one sec,” I mumble, my face in the cradle. Shuffling around on the table until I get my hand into the pocket of my pants, I rearrange my dick so it’s more comfortable against my thigh. Silently, I tell it to behave itself and remind it once again that this is not sexual in any way.
Even if both our thoughts seem to have hit the gutter.
“Okay, good.”
“Great. Good. Awesome.”
Footsteps sound around me, signaling that Bryn turned back in my direction, but then they shuffle away, and through the face cradle, the lights in the room go out, though there’s a glow of some kind still. Two feet step into my view, and I smile at how tiny they are. The cowboy boots are gone, replaced by light purple sneakers. It must be her favorite color, if the sheets and nail polish are any indication, and I tuck that knowledge away, knowing it may come in handy later for the day I buy her flowers.
The sound of a deep breath fills the room, and I take one too. Then her hands are on my traps, soft and warm, and my entire body tenses. Including my cock. He takes notice.
Fuck.
“Are you okay?” she says softly, matching the light in the room.
Worried my voice will be too high, or too gravelly, I nod my head, bracing myself for her hands to move. When they do, slowly moving on either side of my spine, then sliding outwards along my scapula, I’m at the mercy of my body reacting to her. Chills crawl up and down my upper body, tingling in my scalp, along my arms, in my fingertips, all the way down to the top of my ass. And my dick is interested in it all.
When she gets to the bottom of my ribs, her hands slide backup over the length of my back. Then she moves to my left side, her fingers tracing her path as her feet disappear from view, and I involuntarily groan at the light touch against my skin.
Bryn freezes. “I’m still just assessing you, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I mumble, shifting just enough that my dick is in a more comfortable position. “I’m fine. Keep going.”
The fluttering of your fingers is just driving me insane.
In the best way possible. Or worst. I’m not really sure.
“Okay,” she says, but doesn’t sound convinced.
It takes her a moment to start again, and I can feel the hesitancy in her touch, moving over my lower back, one hand on either side of my body. If this is just the assessment, what’s the actual massage going to do to me?
I’m screwed.
“I’d like to do some myofascial release on you,” Bryn states, her hands moving both to my left side, and coming back to my upper back. “But some people find it slightly uncomfortable.”
The word is hardly out of her mouth when I answer, “Yes. Do it. Please.”
Uncomfortable sounds amazing in this sweet, torturous hell I’ve found myself in.
Unfortunately for me, by the time she’s moved from my left side to my right side, I’ve discovered that I like whatever the hell this is. The way she stretches the skin, then lifts it and rolls it between her fingers makes me the furthest from uncomfortable I’ve ever been, if you don’t count my dick being semi-aroused the entire time. This woman could tell me to jump off a cliff right now, and I’d probably do it. I’m putty in her hands, and my groans have to be telling her as much.
