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I rose and stretched luxuriously, knowing what the action would do to him. One thing I could do well was strike a pose. Sure enough, I heard a growl of frustration from behind me. On the dresser the various pots and bottles of cosmetics and skincare products I had brought with me from Paris were lined up in a neat rank. “This weather is so harsh,” I said plaintively, “and my skin is so delicate. Fortunately, this crème de roses, from M’sieur Guerlain’s delightful emporium, keeps my body supple. I have to massage it all over. Every night. Into every part of my body.”
“And my penance is to watch you?” Cad’s lips twitched appreciatively. He remained seated on the floor, his back propped against the bed, hands behind his head. The sight of his rampant masculinity made my throat constrict with longing.
“Oh no.” I shook my head, holding out the jar to him. “Your penance is to be my masseur.” Without waiting for his response, I lay face down on the elegant day bed in the window embrasure with my chin propped on my forearms. The first touch of his warm, rose-scented hands sent a ripple of pleasure through me as, with slow, deliberate movements, Cad began to massage the luxurious cream into the soles of my feet and my ankles. Gradually he worked his way up my calves, pulling my legs apart as he reached my knees. I turned my head to look warningly at him.
“I can’t get the cream on the insides of your thighs unless you spread your legs wider,” he explained with a deceptively innocent look. With a hand on each side of my thigh, he used long, strong strokes, stopping just short of my buttocks each time. “Lift your hips slightly, please.” His voice remained studiously expressionless. I did as he asked. His large hands began to knead the sensitive flesh of my buttocks and, in spite of my efforts to remain detached, I couldn’t stifle the tiny moan that escaped me. Instantly, the tempo increased. One finger slid inside me briefly while his thumb stroked my aching clitoris in a single, swift stroke. Before I could protest, however, he had moved his hands up to anoint my back and shoulders with wide, circular movements.
“Turn over.” I lay on my back, looking up at him from under desire-heavy eyelids. “If you please,” he added, and I nodded my approval of his meek manner. Gripping my knee, he bent my leg and placed it so that my knee rested against the back of the day-bed. “I may not need to use the cream here,” he commented, still in that detached voice, as he ran a leisurely hand down between my legs. Using his thumbs to hold my outer lips apart, he studied me thoughtfully. “You seem to be very moist here already.” He ran a finger tenderly across the glistening folds of my flesh.
I gave myself up to the sensation of his hands on my legs and stomach. His cock, the only indication that he was enjoying this as much as I was, pressed insistently against my thigh with each movement. “Stop doing that,” I murmured, remembering my role. His hands stilled at once, and I frowned. “No, not that. Stop pleasuring yourself by rubbing against me. I didn’t say you could do that.”
“Oh, you mean this?” He moved so that the iron length of his erection slowly singed the flesh of my thigh.
I bit my lip to stifle the laugh that threatened to escape. “Yes.”
He moved again, leaning closer so that he was almost lying on top of me. The tip of his cock scorched the moist core of my sex. “I’m glad we cleared that up, because I wondered if you meant this.” He moved slightly against me.
Although my body cleaved upward, lifting me in preparation to meet his thrust, I wasn’t quite ready to end the game yet. I decided to torment him even further. “Be sure to take your time and use plenty of cream when you massage my breasts.”
He took me at my word and slid his hands gently down my throat to my breasts, cupping them softly. My breathing quickened as his fingers pinched and played with my nipples. Then his mouth was on my flesh. His tongue flicked one nipple while his hand massaged the other. That proved to be my undoing instead of his. Within minutes, I was squirming and moaning under his hands. I opened my eyes to find him smiling down at me and my insides melted. “I might have to use something more effective than my hands to relieve the tension in these internal muscles, my lady,” he said, sliding a hand back down my body.
