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“Too much sass coming from you. You’re ruining my Zen.”
I stretch my arms above my head, tilting my head from side to side, trying to alleviate the stiff neck from laying in one position for a long time.
“What’s wrong?” Will asks, shuffling into a sitting position.
“I must have slept too long in one position. Stiff neck.”
“Come here.”
I turn to face him with a raised brow. “Why?”
“Must you ask so many questions?”
“Fine,” I answer, moving toward him as he motions for me to turn around.
Placing his hands on my shoulders, they slowly begin to squeeze shut, massaging the knot, which becomes rather uncomfortable. It feels heavy, and almost instantly, my body relaxes at his touch.
“You give a great massage. Who taught you?”
“My dad.”
I burst out laughing, knowing Uncle Rocky so well.
“Do I want to know how or even why?”
Will continues to knead my shoulders. “When I was of legal age, Dad thought it would be funny to take me to one of those massage places.”
“What do you mean one of those massage places?”
“Do I need to spell it for you?”
I recall a story Aunt Adriana once told me. I don’t remember the entire thing, but the words “rub and tug” stand out.
“I think I’ve got it. Carry on.”
“Well, I was awkward, so to stop anything going further, I started a conversation about techniques. The masseuse, Sandra, was more than happy to give me tips. So, that’s how I learned.”
“Why does this not surprise me at all? I swear, your dad has lived quite some life. His stories are so wild.”
Will breaks out into laughter. “Try being his son. The conversations he can carry about porn are mind-blowing. He just doesn’t seem to care about creating that father-son bond through normal activities like fishing, for example.”
I shake my head, unable to control my laughter. “Your dad fishing is code for ‘we’re hitting strip joints in Vegas.’ God, I hope my dad isn’t joining him on these so-called fishing trips?”
Behind me, Will falls silent, prompting me to turn around. His silence speaks volumes as does the smirk playing on his lips. I wait patiently for him to say something, but he continues to remain tight-lipped, prompting me to push my hands against his chest.
“C’mon, you know something!”
He grabs my wrists, the little rise in the corner of his mouth and amused eyes seemingly enjoying my begging.
“A gentleman never tells.”
“Who said you were a gentleman?” I deadpan.
Will let’s go of my wrists, digging his fingers into my ribcage and causing me to jump. I beg him to stop until I accidentally fall on top of him, out of breath.
My shallow breathing is hard to control, especially when his eyes fall upon mine, and the slight bite of his lip catches my attention. I’m drawn to the way his lips move until I find myself tracing his mouth with my finger, the touch causing me to shiver with pleasure as the ache within me begs me to explore the rest of him.
He places his hand on my shoulder, dragging it at a slow and agonizing pace until he cups the back of the neck, allowing my hair to fall over his arm. The deep blue stare of his eyes watches me, almost pained, urging me to kiss him until the phone rings on the coffee table.
