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Well, that certainly explains some of his crusty demeanor earlier. I figured he was jealous; maybe Leighton had told him about our kiss or maybe I hoped she had. I’d gotten it all wrong, and in some ways, this is better. They weren’t real and had nothing.
Though Felix is a jerk. With Leighton in the kitchen, he acted like a child who had their favorite toy broken. I figured Leighton was the toy, but from the way she describes it, all he cares about is himself. The proverbial toy in this scenario is his career.
Her facial features contort as she raises a hand above her head and tries to reach a spot somewhere between her shoulder blades.
A massage. That’s what she needs.
“Let me try to help you relax.”
“Tom.” She stands and glances around the kitchen awkwardly. “There’s tons of spas around here. I’m sure I can get an appointment somewhere today.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I shrug. “I’m no professional, but I’ve taken a massage class and gotten my fair share of compliments.”
“I bet.” She snorts, and yet her sarcasm dies quickly, and given her more sheepish expression, she realizes jabbing at me isn’t how you go about getting what you want.
Although I’d give her a massage regardless. My fingers itch to touch her even if this is a bad idea.
She points to her back. “Are you sure? I mean…”
“I’ll ease your tension.” I inch closer to where she stands and she nods, eager for my aid. “Let’s go out there.” My head slides in the direction of the living room. “It’s more comfortable.”
I gently guide her to sit and then I scoot behind the sofa. Her inky hair falls down her back, and I carefully brush it to one side. Silky smooth. She shivers, and I look at her in the mirror across the room.
Our gazes mesh. My hands rest on her shoulders, fingers curling into the tight muscles. Her top teeth bite into her lower lip, and she nods faintly, angling her neck just so. An invitation, or maybe even a plea, to touch her.
With my eyes still on her, my fingers work the taut muscles along the nape of her neck and collarbone. Her eyes nearly roll into the back of her head and she moans.
The sound she makes, a mixture of pleasure with a hint of pain, should be illegal. My balls tighten, cock twitches, and I grapple to focus on something boring as fuck, anything to will my growing erection into nonexistence. But it’s useless.
When I press a thumb along the base of her skull, all sense of control over my body goes up in smoke with her reaction.
“Oh my God, yes. This is better than an orgasm.” Her eyes pop open, locking with mine in the mirror.
I laugh and naturally say the only thing I can in this situation. “You say that but I’ve never made you come.”
She gasps and stiffens and my fingers knead her flesh, wanting to ease the strain that I only just erased from seeping back into her body. Leighton turns to face me, breaking our touch.
Eyes wide and cheeks reddening, she isn’t able to hold back her grin. “You didn’t just say that?”
“I shouldn’t have. I was joking.” My arms hang awkwardly at my sides, fingers burning to touch her once more. “Flirting. It was inappropriate.”
All of this is inappropriate. I shouldn’t have kissed her or be thinking about it every time I see her lips. I shouldn’t be giving her a massage. My dick shouldn’t be this hard, and the thoughts in my head…
Fuck, I can’t go there.
“Forget about it.” She waves it away, either not wanting to admit what we’re doing is far beyond business or because she isn’t as affected as I am by our proximity.
By how touching her makes me want to trace every place my hands have been with my lips and tongue. How my hands want to explore every soft and sweet inch of her sinful body.
With her back to me again, she watches me in the mirror. “Keep doing what you’re doing. If this is how you give massages, maybe I want to find out what else your hands can do.”
Holy shit.It’s as if she can read my mind, and I close my eyes to block her out. Let me finish this massage and take another shower. This time cold as ice.
I rub hard at the knots in her upper back, and before long, her muscles soften, almost putty-like. She sways with my ministrations and releases the most teasing of moans when I hit a particularly tough spot.
She hums in approval to my slow kneading, and I echo her hum as if we’re speaking our own language. With a final squeeze, I drop my hands to my side and walk around to face her, sure to keep a safe space between us.
“Okay. How’s that?”
