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His first touch shocked me with static. I squeaked, and we both laughed. The faint electricity that had passed between us seemed somehow fitting.
His fingers were talented, working at the knots in my muscles without hurting me, leaving me feeling limp and pliant. There was no indication that he was getting bored.
After what had to have been twenty or thirty minutes, I sighed. “I’m sorry. Your hands must be getting sore. You should stop.”
“My hands aren’t sore, and you’re still full of knots. Do you really want me to stop?”
How could I refuse? It was innocent enough, and even when he undid the top button and then second button of my shirt, the flannel slipped down my shoulders but hovered there, covering my breasts and making me feel secure. His hands on my bare skin felt like heaven, and he’d found lotion somewhere.
“It’s hard for me to get at your lower back. Take off your shirt and lie down.” He removed the throw off the back of my sofa and draped it over my wooden coffee table, then laid a pillow at one end.
My brain was so muzzy I obeyed, reminding myself that this wasn’t Valor, but still feeling strangely safe with him. He didn’t stare as I unbuttoned my shirt and took it off, but the knot of desire in my belly had spread, and I was almost regretting he was being so polite.
Still nothing from Valor.
We chatted as he worked, the conversation light and fun. He was entertaining and good at listening.
My pants disappeared next, then eventually my underwear.
I tried to be worried, but it all felt too good. I could almost pretend I was at an actual masseuse—almost pretend the hands working at my sore, stiff muscles were a stranger’s, rather than belonging to a man I couldn’t help but lust after and had already slept with. It would have been completely innocent if his hands on me hadn’t woken every nerve in my body, making me want his touches to be less impersonal.
It happened so gradually that I was impatient for it, hot and aching for him, but languid, as though I’d been drugged. My lack of sleep, and the movement of his strong hands over my touch-starved skin made me feel like a sloppy, lustful doll that hoped her owner would take her out and play with her.
I was naked and I wasn’t sure where my phone was anymore. I should really check to see if my husband had called, but wasn’t the ringer on?
I’d turned it on, hadn’t I?
Of course, I had.
My brain was in a warm, fuzzy state as his hands roved over my bare body that shivered intermittently, but not from cold. I was naked, and a man I barely knew was touching me. His thumbs were working at the knots in my lower back again, making me feel like I might melt into the throw pillow under my cheek.
My husband was an ocean away, and for all I knew leaving frantic messages for me to stop everything—that he had changed his mind.
“Still nothing from Valor.” I hadn’t even noticed Loïc reaching for my phone, but he showed me the screen. No notifications. “He doesn’t check his messages often?”
“He’s busy,” I said defensively.
“Shouldn’t you be his main priority? He takes your loyalty for granted.”
It was a dickish thing to say, but I couldn’t deny it. Valor knew I wasn’t going anywhere, and that I would never cheat on him. It made sense for him to not hover over his phone like some lovesick teenager.
“Being able to trust your partner is important. Have you ever had a long-term relationship, Loïc?”
“One.”
“And did the person check on you constantly?”
“No, but we also had a toxic relationship. She knew where I was, always. She believed she had ultimate control and that I would never betray her.”
“And did you betray her?”
“I did. There was no other way for me to get free.”
“You felt trapped in the relationship?”
“You could say that.”
I had never felt that way with Valor, but I read enough and had acted in enough drama that I knew how things could be between people, at least in theory.
