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Thirty minutes later I am resting in his private residence in the forest village.
I am lying on a luxurious bed covered with white cotton sheets and pillows. All around us is wood paneling and massive rectangular windows that look into the forest. The room celebrates nature’s luxuries with the heated wooden floor, the large wall of glass letting in the soft sunlight. In one corner near a kitchenette with a massive skylight stands Ethan Knight. He is heating some kind of oil with crushed leaves that release a minty, leafy fragrance.
“How can I help?” I’m feeling useless.
“Don’t move your leg,” comes back the reply as he crushes something in a wooden bowl.
I look at the roof with its beamed roof and in the center just above the bed is a wooden rectangle. He comes back with a small divinely smelling wooden bowl that fills the room with the aroma of aloe vera.
“So, I’ll rub this oil on your ankle.” He barely waits for my permission as I feel the hot liquid drop over my ankles. He slides his thumb expertly over the ankle area, using the rest of his fingers to squeeze my foot. The pleasure of his large hands all over my foot is already dulling the pain. He gets up to look for something on the bedside and I immediately feel the absence of his warm hands.
Come back you gorgeous healer!
He finds a gadget and hits a button which opens a skylight just above us. The wooden covering slides open as he adjusts it so that the sunlight falls exactly on my ankles. It adds a comforting warmth. “Sunlight and oil, cure from the heavens,” he says.
He comes back and stands at the edge of the bed. picking my sprained leg, using the tips of his fingers to push against the skin on my ankle. His constant pushing creates a healing heat in my ankle, and I can feel the pain subsiding even when I stiffen my foot.
“Don’t do that,” he says. “Leave yourself relaxed. Give up the control.”
I allow my foot to go completely free, as it is squeezed, massaged, and rubbed by his fingers.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “But how long can you go on?” I get up to place my hand on his oily hand, urging him to take a break. The warmth of his hand and the oily slipperiness is so delicious that my hand lingers on his hands more than it should.
“This is a hand massage. Just to thank you Mr. Knight.”
I rub the palm of his hand with my thumb and wonder at the contrast of my thin thumb against his large hands. I don’t look at him as I bring my other hand and begin to press his palm with both thumbs. The massage has now gone into reverse with me rubbing him, feeling the heat of the oil. I have visions of Hawaii, how we touched each other.
I cannot help but draw a wet oily line on his wrist making my way up to his biceps.
“I remember healing you once,” I avoid eye contact, choosing instead to treat my eyes with his smooth skin, the sexy bump of his biceps, the strong forearms exuding his physical strength.
“Sadly, that treatment was never completed.”
“I understand, Miss Banner, it’s always frustrating to leave things incomplete.”
“You were so beautiful in Hawaii.”
“Am I ugly in Portugal?”
“No, I didn’t mean that...”
He touches my chin with his oily hands. “Sorry I didn’t mean to smudge your face with oil.”
“You can kiss it.” I blurt this out like an idiot.
His lips crash on mine and I am shocked at how badly he wanted to kiss me. I don’t mind that! I pull him towards me, and he almost falls as he takes his place in the bed with me. His hot, hard body is next to mine in the softness of white cotton sheets. He takes care to not press against my injured ankle, but I pull him towards me.
“I never leave my patients hanging,” I say, earning his handsome smile.
Oh God the Hawaii hunk is back!
I cannot believe I am playing that game again. And this time leading him into it.
Not that he needs much encouragement. He grabs my hair and kisses my lips with a hunger that is stronger than what I had tasted in Hawaii. His lips are crushing me deliciously, my head pushing his cupping hand against the cotton covered pillows; I am drinking pleasure after a long thirst, a thirst that both of us have been building. He clasps my waist, pulling me closer, pulling at my hiking pants. My hand goes to my waist, tightly wedged between his hard stomach and my clothes.
“Uh, I need space to untie it.”
“No space for you, I want you to untie the knot Miss Banner,” he whispers in my ears driving me wilder. “He presses his hard stomach into me, as I try to bend my fingers to grab the stupid knot and find that one string to set it free. But he playfully crushes into me sandwiching my hand even more tightly between us.
