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Thoughtful, Stella.
She was good at being thoughtful. Most people weren’t. Stella excelled at it.
“Thank you,” I told her.
“Welcome. Also—” She paused, alarmed when she looked my way. “What’s wrong with your back?”
“Nothing,” I said, not even realizing I was cringing and rubbing my lower back again. The pain was intense. I hardly knew how I’d be able to tackle my workout the following day.
“You hurt yourself. How?”
“Just tweaked a nerve working out.”
“Here, let me help,” she offered, walking over to me. “I’m a licensed masseuse.”
“No, really, it’s fine. I—”
Am melting into your touch.
Stella’s hands landed on my back, and she gently began to knead my lower back. Her fingers dug deeper into my skin with the perfect amount of pressure.
I shut my eyes and sighed. “Lower,” I stated. “Harder,” I echoed. “Deeper, deeper, deeper.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, that feels good.
“Those are normally the comments I say to men,” she joked.
I didn’t expect my commentary to sound as dirty as it did, but her laughter made me realize how inappropriate it could’ve come off.
That sweet, joyful laugh…
Pure happiness.
I didn’t have a chance to respond because she went deeper, and I moaned.
Yup. I moaned out loud from her hands pushing into my lower back.
Leaning forward, I rested myself on my desk, allowing Stella more range of motion, and with that small adaption, she went to town. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered as my legs trembled from delight. My hand made a fist, and I pounded on the desk repeatedly. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, right there, right there.”
She giggled because I probably sounded ridiculous, but I didn’t care. Her hands were made of magic, and I somehow became spellbound.
When she finished, she took a few steps back. It took me a few moments to sit up, but I was shocked by how I felt when I did. I was sitting up straighter. I hadn’t even known I’d been that bent out of shape. Though, I was certain some of my employees would’ve pointed out that fact.
“That was…” I breathed out, a bit in a daze. I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”
“How many days a week do you lift weights?”
“Six.”
“And how often do you stretch?” My silence was deafening. “Damian!” she scolded.
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
“It’s a massive deal!” she hollered. Was this it? Was this her level of angry? Or… no. It was concern. Dammit, Stella, what did you look like when you were pissed? Why did I care?
She continued, and I was a bit locked in on her concerned expression. “You’re wreaking havoc on your body. You need to add stretching to your workout routine.”
“But—”
