Page 93 of Whispered Promises

The sound of a bottle opening breaks the quiet, and a second later, the smell of menthol fills the air as his slick hands glide on my back.

My low groan has him pausing, then he chuckles. “Good?”

“Yes,” I agree, enjoying the way his hands push and knead my tired, tense muscles. The silence lingers comfortably between us as he focuses on loosening me up.

“Is this a side hustle you do?” I ask after a while, although the words feel pushed out from the weight on my back.

“No. Studied it a bit but didn’t end up pursuing,” he says, his hands trailing down my arms, soothing aches I didn’t know I had.

“Shame, you’re good at it.” My response is interrupted by another appraising moan. “How did you decide on being an electrician instead?”

“Did a construction course in college and picked it up the easiest.”

“Mmm,” I acknowledge, partially blissed out from his hands. “Is Jack your physio?”

“Yes, he’s good. I come once a month. I’ll book you in with me if you want, can change my time to suit you?” he offers, and I’m glad he can’t see my smile. Definitely a caveman, but he’s sweet about it.

“Thank you, but I think I’ll just ask you if I need another one.”

His hands squeeze my shoulders. “Any time,” he promises, and my reply disappears as his hands travel down my lower back and…knead my butt.

Nate’s hands are massaging my butt.

Without thought I fist the towel, and as his thumbs slide along the seam of my underwear, I do everything I can to hold in the moan that wants to fall free.

He’s giving me a massage—a friendly, muscle-relaxing massage. I’m not supposed to be getting turned on.

Am I?

Because his thumbs are now sliding along the crease just below my butt. I might not have had a massage before, but I’m sure they don’t usually involve going there. Do they?

I mean, it is a muscle. Maybe that’s a place that’s included?

He pulls away. The tiny sink to the side turns on, as he washes something before returning. His hands revisit my cheeks, but this time they’re devoid of the oil.

My lungs seize, breath hitching, as his thumbs slide under my underwear, brushing against my lips. There’s no way he can’t feel how wet he’s made me already. Should I be embarrassed?

A sharp sting on my right cheek has a squeal shooting from my mouth.

“Relax,” he breathes, and the word skitters across my skin. “Can stop at any time.”

At his reassurance, my body releases some of the tension, and my legs spread wider for him.

“Perfect.”

His tongue slides along the crease, and I freeze again. My skin is salty, sweaty, from the gym.

“Taste fucking good,” he interrupts, and all thoughts fly from my mind as his thumbs pull apart my pussy, brushing through the abundance of wetness and smearing it around.

I’m almost panting now, feeling absurdly turned on, and he hasn’t even touched my clit yet. Shit, I don’t think it’s going to take much. All the time he’s spent massaging the oils into my skin was like some long, drawn-out foreplay only Nate and my body knew about. Now my mind’s trying to catch up.

Tugging my underwear to the side, Nate slides a thick, calloused finger inside me, and my toes curl on the bed at the feel of him. It’s not enough, though.

“More, please.”

“Greedy, little tease,” he growls, but he gives me what I want.

Another thick finger slides in. That’s two, and it’s…not enough. It’s tight. I can feel him gliding back and forth as he pumps them in and out. But he’s right, I am greedy.