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“Yeah. Generations of my ancestors may rise up and strike me down any day now.”
“Well, let them. Who cares about them? I think it’s a good idea. It will take a lot of pressure off you, won’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Are you just trying to lighten your load, or are you taking all that stuff off your plate completely?”
“Not completely but most of it. I...” He gasps when I start pressing into a different spot. “Oh fuck.”
I lift my hands. “I’m sorry. Was it hurting?”
“No. Please don’t stop.”
Flushing and feeling quite fluttery, I get back to work. He lets out another one of those soft moans that make me clench.
When I find my voice, I prompt, “You were telling me you were taking most of the Worthing stuff off your plate.”
“Yeah. I’m transferring a lot to my cousins, and I’ve got a couple of other good people who are going to take the reins on some of it. I never wanted to do it—manage so many different streams of business.”
“You should have told your dad no.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Not that I’m one to talk. I know how hard that is to do. I’m really glad you’re doing it now. What are you going to do with your time afterward?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I’ve thought...” He clears this throat. “I was thinking about graduate school.”
“That would be amazing!” I’m so excited I stop massaging him momentarily. “You should definitely do that. You could get your PhD and teach. You’d be the world’s best professor.”
He chuckles at that. He sounds almost relieved. I have no idea why.
“Well, now that you’re reorganizing, you’ll have the chance to rest more and take it easier on your back.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so. I’m serious. It’s only going to get worse if you’re not careful. Don’t do any work this weekend.”
“Okay. I won’t.”
Pleased and excited about the idea of his new career path, I have to force myself to pay attention to my hands. I want to pet him, but that’s not what he needs. He needs to unclench some of these muscles.
As my massage becomes more intense, his vocal responses become more uninhibited. He moans, long and hoarse and satisfied, and he mutters out breathless curses. Mostly “Oh fuck.”
My work is effective. I can feel his body softening beneath my hands. I move lower down his body so I can push into his butt through the fabric of his sweats.
“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles. “So good. You’re so good.”
The coiled pressure of complex feelings below my belly throbs with sudden, intense arousal. I slide my hands back to his back, finding another spot to focus on.
I work on him for more than half an hour, until he’s relaxed and boneless and still moaning softly. If I go any farther, I’ll start touching him in less appropriate ways.
I’m pleased and proud and tender and still a little aroused when I finally pull my hands away. “Okay. I hope that helped.”
“Helpeddoesn’t even come close to how good that was. Thank you, Scarlett.”
I blush at the compliment. “You’re welcome.”
I wait for him to get up, but he doesn’t.
