"Is that how you like it?" I asked. "Harder?"
April offered a quick smirk that was either intended to shut me up or confirm my suspicions, but she didn't respond. With the aid of another hot rock, she rubbed my shoulders into a state of brutal bliss. The ability to form complete thoughts soon drifted away, and I sank into the serenity her touch offered.
Eventually she turned her attention to my leg, and seeing her study the silvery lines that covered my skin pulled the tension back into my neck. I gestured toward her, and said, "Don't worry about it. A lot of people have tried to help, and there's nothing—"
April held up a hand to silence me. She was good at that, shutting me up and shutting me down. "No, no. No arguing from you. I'll do what I do, and you can tell me if it helped when I'm finished," she said.
She dropped her palm to my thigh and squeezed. It was probably meant to be reassuring or soothing, but it only had my dick leaping for her attention. "You're the boss here," I said, holding my hands out in surrender.
"I need to know more about your injury," she said. "You mentioned it was about fourteen years old, and I'm guessing there are plates and screws in there, right?"
"Total knee replacement," I added.
She hummed as she continued examining my leg. "But you're still having considerable pain," she said, mostly to herself. "We're going to work on that, okay? I might not be able to eliminate all of your discomfort, but I can put a dent in it."
"Sounds like a good plan," I replied.
Just don't take your hands off me.
Instead of rocks, April produced some chilled cloths and layered them over my leg after she worked each area. She was gentle now, but never tentative. She wasn't afraid she'd hurt me like all the other practitioners I'd visited in the past, and that confidence was encouraging. It helped me get through the uncomfortable moments, and granted my mind tons of room to imagine her fingertips sliding under my shorts.
It was the kind of idea that required little air to take flight. I saw her straddling me on the table. Bent over the table. Up against the refrigerator. In bed, slow and sweet. There were no limits to what I wanted with her.
Aside from the small issues of whether she wanted any of it too, and not knowing her at all.
"Is this your primary gig? Massage and acupuncture?" I asked. "Or is this the side gig?"
"I have a bunch of gigs." April kept her gaze on my leg but shook her head. "I do a little of everything," she said. "I work on wedding cakes, teach yoga, do bodywork. I like variety. Spice of life, you know?"
Touch me there, everywhere. Please.
"For sure. Baking wedding cakes sounds like a good time," I mused. "How do you get into something like that? Culinary school?"
She unscrewed the lid on a small mason jar and retrieved a honey-like substance from inside. "Hold that thought. This is a certified organic medicinal cannabis balm. A couple in Rhode Island makes it by hand, and it does wonders for deep muscle, joint, and ligament pain," she said. "It's not marijuana and it won't get you high, but given the way it's compounded, a tiny,tinyamount of THC could show up in a drug screening. Some people avoid it because they don't want to run into problems at work."
I snorted out a laugh. "That won't be an issue where I work," I said. "I'm the CEO."
"What I'm hearing is that you're good with the balm. Got it." She rubbed it in her palms before bringing it to my knee. "To answer your question, I don't bake the cakes. I just decorate them. I sculpt the edible flowers and lace and stuff like that. Sometimes I paint cakes, but most people want the fondant designs."
"Only wedding cakes?" I asked. "Or are you open to other occasions?"
With the balm worked into my skin, April wiped her hands on one of the discarded cloths before moving to my waist. She squeezed my hips, nodding to herself, and shoved several more hot stones under my back.
"I'm open to all occasions," she said. "But it's the wedding season that keeps me busiest."
"What do you do when it's over?" I asked. "I don't think there are too many winter weddings in Montauk, but I could be wrong about that. I'm not up-to-date with myInStyle Weddingsreading."
"That's funny," she murmured. "Neither am I."
I was partially curious about this and partially building up my base of knowledge before angling her into bed. I didn't have anonymous, random sex with women now or anytime previously, and I wasn't about to start. Sure, I liked casual relationships, and sex didn't have to be complicated, but it didn't have to be empty either. I believed in liking a woman's personality as much—if not more—than her pussy.
Obviously, my judgment of Jocelyn had been flawed. Everyone deserved at least one mulligan, right?
"You're right about wedding season," she said, squirting oil into her palm. "Montauk gets pretty quiet once the summer ends, but it's all good. That's when I work on gingerbread villages." She pointed at my crotch—I was starting to crave this unabashed attention—and then met my eyes. "Can you push them down a bit? I don't want to get oil on your clothes but I need access to your lower obliques."
Without breaking eye contact, I unbuckled my belt and kicked my shorts off, leaving me in a pair of low-slung black boxers that did nothing to conceal my growing arousal. "How's that?" I asked.
April tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and rocked her head from side to side as she stared at the bulge in my boxers. "Not complaining," she said with a shrug.
