Page 85 of Man Flu

Chapter Twenty-five

There is no coming back from this …

“Is it hot?” I ask him while he’s preparing the oil.

“Not scalding, but very warm,” he responds.

“Is it going to hurt?”

“You’ve given birth. I think you’ll be okay,” he continues.

Logan slides a towel beneath me since I’m on the couch. “All right, I’m going to slide your jeans down,” he explains.

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t talk like you’re a doctor.”

“I’m sorry.” He clears his throat. “Hey baby, I’m about to rip these nasty pants off of that sweet ass. Now, don’t go putting up a fight about it or I’ll have to get rough, and you don’t want that, do you?” His voice is low, guttural, and raunchy as hell.

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t turn me on right now, either.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He clears his voice again. “I should probably just not say anything then.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” I place my face in the crook of my folded arms and close my eyes in hopes of daydreaming about another place and time.

Then, I feel the warm, satisfying oil coat my butt cheeks. I imagined this feeling a lot worse, but I’m also sure the worst of it isn’t over yet.

“For the record, you have a hot as hell ass, even with it glued together,” Logan whispers into my ear. His words are like the tip of a feather, sending shivers down my spine, which I shouldn’t be thinking about. I find myself feeling a strange mixture of embarrassment, gratitude, and arousal.

The palms of his hands connect with my bare, overly sensitive skin, and I flinch. “I’m going to massage the oil in so it breaks the wax apart. Try to hold still.” His voice is in its normal gruffness, which is still not making this easier, but I can’t tell him to stop talking again. He’s helping me in a way that I wouldn’t have been helped today if he didn’t volunteer.

There isn’t any pain like I’d been expecting, or feeling for that matter, but there’s a crackling sensation, which I think is a good thing.

“It’s starting to work,” he says.

“It is?” My excitement is muffled by my sleeve, but I hope he’s not blowing smoke up my—yeah, that’s not happening.

“I need a little more oil.” Oh, for the love of shit. All the muscles in my frontal region are tight and throbbing. I can’t be getting excited about this. I should just be thankful it’s working.

More oil drips slowly down the crevice, and his finger follows. My breaths quicken and my chest uncontrollably heaves up and down. It’s obvious enough that he can’t ignore what he’s doing to me.

His fingers continue to massage the affected area, working his way into the dent he’s slowing melting. Logan climbs over me and straddles my body as he continues working the wax in, and I’m doing everything in my power to keep my body from moving on its own or wavering against his hands.

“I’m so close,” he tells me in a honeyed voice. “Almost there.”

“Me too,” I mistakenly blurt out.

Oh crap. That was out loud.

He laughs quietly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I need to clean you up a bit, but then you should be as good as new.”

“Seriously? It’s gone?”