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Chapter Eighteen
Deo lay down on the bed with a groan. He’d had a long, hot bath and then accompanied Em down to dinner where he had tried to express his gratitude to the other men for their help and was told to stow it. Bidenden had been attended by the doctor but did not appear for dinner. A circumstance Deo was glad of, despite his conscience twinging him. After all, the man had helped as much as the others and been injured for it. Even so, Deo hadn’t gotten the image of Em bent over the other man solicitously out of his head.
“What hurts?” asked Em, climbing on top of the covers with him.
“Everything,” he admitted.
“Would it help if I rubbed your muscles?”
He opened his eyes and blinked at her. “That—that sounds wonderful.”
She smiled. “I have some oil somewhere. Just a minute.” She got off the bed and went into the dressing room. She emerged a moment later with a little brown bottle and got back on the bed. She was dressed in her nightgown and robe. He had donned a nightshirt.
“It smells of lavender, will you mind that?” she asked. “I use it for headaches.”
His lips twitched. The prospect of Em’s hands all over him was too enticing to pass up. If I smell like a garden afterward, who cares? “No, I don’t mind.”
“Good. Take your shirt off,” said Em in that direct way she often adopted. He had noticed that she was a mix of timid and bold depending on the circumstances. It was another of her endearing qualities. He should be concerned about her seeing him completely naked and the behavior of his cock, but a part of him was too eager for her to touch him to care. He sat up and removed his shirt and collapsed back onto the pillows again.
She ran her eyes over him in silence, unconsciously biting her lower lip, and something in her gaze—covetous? As if she had just spied something she wanted to eat—made him flush with desire. He stifled a groan as his traitorous cock stirred.
“Hmm,” murmured Em. “Roll over. I’ll do your back first. I imagine that and your shoulders and upper arms have taken the brunt of the strain.”
Relieved to hide his wayward organ, he rolled onto his stomach and closed his eyes.
Em rustled about, getting into position, and he heard the soft clink of her putting the glass bottle down on the bedside table, then her oiled hands were on his back and shoulders, gliding over the skin, her fingers pressing into the sore muscles.
He groaned from the sheer pleasure of it.
“Does that hurt?” she asked.
“No. It’s wonderful!”
“Good.” The note of satisfaction in her voice wasn’t lost on him. He subsided into the pillows and mattress, soaking up every stroke and rub of her fingers as she worked over his body, beginning at his shoulders and upper arms, then down his back. No one had ever touched him like this before—well, no one had touched him at all really. Even his mistress’s touch had been minimal, at his request. But I can’t deny myself this pleasure. Em’s touch is too exquisite.
When she reached his buttocks, he instinctively tensed up at the intimacy of it, his cock stiffening beneath him.
“Relax!” admonished Em, gently, and he did his best to obey. Her touch was hypnotic, and he gradually relaxed to the point he was almost dozy, as she ran her hands from his shoulders all the way down his back and up again.
Then she started on the backs of his thighs, her oiled hands sliding over his hairy skin easily enough. But when her thumbs rubbed his inner thighs and grazed his ball sack it woke him sufficiently to make him jerk, his groin filling with heat. Did she do that deliberately or was it accidental?
She continued on down his legs to his calves and then his feet, and he relaxed again. Even so, the heat in his cock did not subside, and he moved his hips a bit to get the engorged member into a position that was a little more comfortable.
By the time she finished rubbing his toes, he was all but asleep.
“Do you want to roll over so I can do your front?” she asked in his ear, her warm breath a caress that sent tingles down his spine.
“Hmm,” he murmured. God, she is an angel. With an effort, he heaved himself over onto his back, not bothering to open his eyes. He was too relaxed, too close to sleep. He had never felt like this before, especially in the presence of another human.
Her fingers spread oil on his chest and reached behind the back of his neck to massage the tendons there. She worked over his chest and his forearms and hands, his thighs and shins. Occasionally her fingers grazed near his stiffened cock, but she didn’t touch it. He wasn’t sure whether to be miffed or grateful for that omission. She transferred her attention at last to his face and head. Her fingers pushing through his hair and massaging his scalp was so delicious it was almost sexual. When she tugged his hair gently, he actually groaned.
“Where did you learn to do this?” he asked drowsily.
“My mother suffers from tension headaches. I would massage her head, shoulders and back for her.”
He was awake now, and his cock was hard and hot against his belly.
She leaned forward and kissed his mouth, and his hands came up to capture her and hold her, discovering she had shed her robe and gown. He drew her closer so he could kiss her properly, deeply. How do I thank her for that wonderful experience?
