"That's good to hear," I said. "I take satisfaction very seriously."
That earned me another indecipherable smirk, and she settled back into her professional mode. She moved the stones around, swapping them out for warmer ones that she had stowed somewhere beyond my view. It was amazing that she could accomplish so much with her slim fingers and some rocks.
"What was that about gingerbread houses?" I asked, suddenly recalling our conversation.
"Mmhmm." She nodded as she drove her knuckle into my waist. "Around the holidays, some hotels and restaurants feature gingerbread house displays. There's a resort in Arizona that has a gingerbread railroad and town in the lobby every Christmas. I worked on that once. There's a furniture shop outside Boston that commissions a huge gingerbread model of their first storefront from decades ago. I usually head up there for a month or two in the fall, to get it ready for the holiday rush. They're fun projects. Easter egg installations used to be popular. Four-, five-foot-tall eggs sculpted from cake and decorated. Not much demand for those recently."
"That's interesting," I said. "And a little random."
"I like random," she said, shooting me a cheeky smile. "I like having a range of unique skills that I can take anywhere in the world."
April's work on my shoulders and leg was incredible, but something about her hands on my waist and hips was completely different. The proximity to my needy, single-minded cock meant that every touch was a tease, a promise of more to come. And those promises gained certainty as her fingers swept just beneath the band of my boxers. It was light and quick, but I didn't know how much longer I could keep my hands to myself.
Of course, I wascapableof keeping my hands to myself. It was that I didn't want to, and after that near dick-grazing experience, I wasn't convinced she wanted it, either.
"Do you travel much?" I asked, a throb of need catching in my voice.
"Some," she replied. "I love the American Southwest in the spring, New England in the fall. Or Rome in the spring, and London in the fall. Summers in Prague, and winters in Vancouver are my favorites. There's never a bad time to visit Tel Aviv or Haifa."
"That sounds like more than 'some' travel," I said.
"Perhaps." She layered her hands over each other as she worked my hip, and I stole that moment to admire the firm lines of her body. I'd never believed that yoga made for drool-worthy backsides, but I stood corrected. "I'd like to travel more, but I also like spending time in places, getting comfortable."
I reached out and grazed my fingers along the side of her thigh. "Are you comfortable here?"
Tell me you want this. Tell me you need it as much as I do.
April glanced down at my hand and then back up at me. There was a quick tilt of her head followed by a sweet smile. "I'm very comfortable," she said, her words laced with meaning. "Are you?"
I ran my hand up her spine, to the back of her neck. She leaned into me—just barely, only enough that I felt it in her muscles rather than saw it—and that was when I decided I could get to know herwhiletaking her to bed. I was nothing if not efficient.
"Is this almost over?" I asked, my hand gliding down to squeeze her backside. Yoga did this body all kinds of good.
April's hands froze on my hip. "What's wrong? Are you experiencing more pain?"
I pointed to the erection straining against my boxers. "A little bit, yeah," I said.
She shook her head and offered my cock an arched eyebrow, all while suppressing a laugh. "It's not that kind of massage," she said.
I gave her ass another squeeze. "What kind of massage?" I asked, feigning a good deal of outrage. She gave my crotch a pointed look, andoh God, I just wanted her hands on me. "You don't think I'm looking for some kind of happy ending, do you?"
Please touch me. Wrap those beautiful fingers around my cock and stroke me. Hard. Rougher than you think I'd want.
"I find that insinuation appalling," I continued. "Happy endings—I'm told—are the sexual equivalent of an oil change. Basic. Perfunctory. Soulless. Not to mention one-sided. Really, April. Don't you believe I'm better than that?"
Her shoulders shook with silent laughter as she drew her focus toward my flank. "You're carrying a lot of tension," she said. "Here. Your shoulders. Your hips. Probably along your spine, too. Why don't you turn over and let me work on your back?"
I loosened my hold on her backside, and dragged my knuckles over her upper leg. "Your hands have been all over my body. To my mind, I'm long overdue in returning the favor," I said.
A breath whooshed out of her. She tipped her chin, staring at the ceiling with her hands propped on her hips. It made me reconsider continuing to caress her thigh, but then I remembered how she softened when I gripped her neck. She would've slapped my hand away if my touch were unwelcome, or clocked me with one of those rocks.
When her gaze returned to me, the smirk was gone. April eventually said, "I've not seen you around town. Are you vacationing? Visiting for the weekend?"
If she was wearing underwear, it was a thong. My fingers had yet to find evidence of a single panty line, but I was one relentless motherfucker. I was committed to this endeavor now, and I continued mapping her curves. "I'm here for the weekend, yeah," I said. "I have a place on Ditch Plains but I don't make it down to Montauk as often as I'd like."
"Since we only have this one weekend…" April smiled, half shy, half smirk. "We should—"
I didn't wait for her to finish, instead arching up and driving my fingers into her hair. I hauled her against me, stealing her lips. I'd expected her to be sweet, like buttercream or gingerbread, but she tasted of something stronger, richer, like a rare variety of honey. Andoh, she felt like heaven against my mouth.
