I lay the steaming hot towel across the length of his back and gently scrub at his skin with it, digging my fingers into his muscles while I’m at it. He lets loose a sharp groan.
“I need one, apparently,” he mutters thickly. “But mostly, I wanted to talk to you. I’m sorry for being a dick last night.”
He was a dick.
It hurt my feelings.
“Apology accepted.” I pull off the towel and replace it with a hot, dry one. Then, I toss both towels into the hamper. “Let me know if I go too hard or if you need me to go harder.”
Why did that have to sound so dirty?
I squirt a generous amount of oil from my bottle attached to my belt and then begin working it into his tense muscles with my fingers. We’re quiet for a few moments. Well, we don’t speak. Eric groans and moans each time I get my hands on a sore part of him. The stress from losing his job really did a number on him. I’m grateful he came in because he needs to relax.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he murmurs so softly I almost don’t hear.
I press my thumbs deep into the tissue between his spine and right scapula. He whimpers and it makes me grin wickedly. It’s always satisfying to reduce grown men much larger than myself to a bowl of noodles.
“But you did,” I say with a soft sigh. “You did it and you ran.”
He curses under his breath. “I know. I’m so fucking sorry, Clara.”
I focus intently on kneading his rock-hard knots and muscles, pondering how I want to respond to him. He allows me my time to think.
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “I liked it.”
We don’t speak anymore about it the entire time I massage his neck, shoulders, and back. He barks out a cute laugh when I massage his feet. My stepbrother’s always been ticklish. It’s not until I have him flip over onto his back so I can work on his front that he talks again.
“I’ve never had a massage before,” he says.
“I can tell.”
“You’re really good at this.”
I cover his eyes with a cloth because it’s awkward with him watching me. Plus, I don’t want him to see how much I’m enjoying touching his body. Greedily, I rub along his clavicle and press my fingertips into the tops of his pectoral muscles. I’m tempted to run my palms over them, feeling his hard nipples as they graze my fingers, but I remain professional.
His chest is chisled to perfection. A small smattering of hair dusts between his pectoral muscles and upper abs. Theres’s another dark trail below his bellybutton that disappears under the blanket. My mouth waters for a taste.
So inappropriate.
I’ve massaged hundreds of men and not once has my mouth watered for any of them. It’s just Eric. He muddles my my mind. It’s his superpower.
After taking care of his chest, I clean him off with another hot, wet towel, and then cover him with the sheet. I uncover one of his legs and begin kneading his calf muscles. Then, I move up over his knee and work on his hamstring.
His leg tenses and it’s then I see it.
A bulge under the sheet.
An erection.
Warmth blooms in my belly. This is also not the first hard-on I’ve seen by a client. Mostly, I ignore them. If they proposition me for more, I immediately stop what I’m doing and leave. Judyescorts them out. It’s happened a few times. This is the first time I’ve felt my pussy tingle in response.
This is bad.
He swallows audibly and rests a hand over his cock as if he can hide it from me. His cock bounces, making his hand move too. There’s no hiding the beast that wants to play.
“I’m sorry,” he croaks out. “I’m trying. If you want to stop—”
“No,” I rush out. “It happens sometimes. You’re fine.”
