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A groan escapes me when he takes one of my feet in his hands and begins to massage it, but I feel like I’m experiencing his touch from underwater. It feels good, but muted. Like I’m not really present or fully aware of what’s happening.
I do know that whatever he’s doing to my feet, because it sure as hell isn’t a normal massage, that it’s affecting my whole body. The heat from his hands floods me, travelling up my legs and spine, tingling and electrifying my skin. More moans leave my lips as I give myself over to the mixed sensations of the music, the darkness, and his touch.
Pleasure builds under the surface of my skin, bubbling and rippling away like some live thing fighting to break free. The music reaches a crescendo and everything mixes together in a boiling, swirling mess of emotions within me, and all I can do is release it in a scream before the darkness claims me.
Holy fucking shit. What the hell just happened?
I shouldn’t have called her a good girl, it just slipped out. But fuck me, when she called meSir, it made my dick so hard. I couldn’t help myself.
I didn’t plan to make her come though.Screaming my name, no less.I thought some simple reflexology would help relieve her tension and help her to relax.
And okay, maybe I hoped that if that happened, it might reveal if she was the star.
But we’re still none the wiser. Yes, the clues are there. Evidence that maybe the Council of Elders would say is staring us right in the face, butsomethingisn’t adding up. I can’t sacrifice everything again on amaybe.
I knew I should have left and not returned to the house the first morning she woke up here, but I thought I could do it. Be around temptation and not give in.
Mind over fucking matter indeed.
Here’s me trying to tell Malia that she can wrestle her demons, making it sound so easy, thinking I was doing so well. And then, at the first sign of temptation, I crumbled like an ancient monument.
I knew she’d love the music, it was easy enough to share my playlist onto her phone, andthat’swhen I should have left. I can tell myself I was just trying to relax her, take her mind off her addiction to the medications, but if that were true, I wouldn’t have waited until she was in such a deep state of relaxation with no worries in the world. I just wanted to touch her, stay with her a little longer. I never expected her to react like that…
I need a drink.
I should probably stop drinking again. I was doing well before. Ever since Malia called me out, I hadn’t even made a conscious effort to stop, I just didn’twantto drink as much anymore. But with her here, in my space, in my sanctuary, I can’t control myself.Thatmuch is clear. So I either force my feet to carry me downstairs where the drink is, or they’ll take me back into my room where I won’t be held responsible for what I do to her. At least the others will be down there, probably gaming or watching a shit film…it’ll be exactly what I need to take my mind off things.
Or I could leave.
Actually, yeah, that’s a better idea. Walk myself downstairs, bypass the kitchen liquor cabinet, and out the front door. I can’t be here with her. Especially not now that she’s in my bed. I’ll never be rid of her smell, even if I burn the sheets. It’s ingrained into my memory, along with every flush of pleasure and breathy little moan she made.
Fuck!
Just walk downstairs, put on your shoes and go. Find a bar. Down a bottle or two, and then find a warm pussy to sink into. Absolutely do not imagine it’s Malia’s pussy as you…
I reach my bedroom door and pause with my hand on the handle. Nope. I shouldn’t be doing this.
I force my feet to move and tackle the stairs. This is too dangerous. That girl, that woman, is fucking kryptonite to me. I take the second set of stairs two at a time, schooling my features and trying to calm my heart rate before the others see me. I fear they’ll take one look at my face and know I totally fucked up.Royallyscrewed everything over.
Walking into the kitchen with way more calm than I feel, I bypass the liquor and look over to the sofa. It’s empty. The TV is turned off and the house is quiet. Too quiet.
I check the time, but it’s far too early to go to bed. Maybe the others are down on the beach. I pause again with my hand on the door, torn. They could be right outside, a hundred yards away, and the beach will most likely be deserted but for us. But I still don’t want to leave Malia. Even for a minute.
So I turn back to the kitchen and grab the scotch. Unscrewing the cap with one hand, I take out my phone with the other and call Reef. He doesn’t answer. I pour a large amount into the glass on the draining rack and take a large, frustrated swig from the bottle and try Cove. Straight to voicemail.
I swear I can smell Malia on my hands when I raise my glass to drink again. I drain it and toss the tumbler into the sink where it shatters. Fuck.
I’m being ridiculous. There’s no way I can smell her on me. I was touching her feet for fucks’ sake. But the scent of orgasm filling my room is going to live rent-free in my head until the day I die.
My fingers curl around the bottle as my temper flares. I swear to god Bhodi better answer or—
“S’up, prof?”
“Bhodi?” I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank god it’s not his stupid voicemail.
“Yeah.”
“Are you with the others?” I ask.
