His face is peony-red, eyes closed. He lifts his arms and throws them back over his head. His breathing turns ragged, and I know release is close.
But just before it happens, the fingers of my other hand slide between his legs. I draw a slow line along his perineum, until my index finger comes to rest against his now deep pink, almost burgundy hole.
"You have a really beautiful body, Salt," I murmur softly, and at that exact moment white jets spill from his cock, splashing across his chest.
Under the fingers resting at his entrance, I feel spasms rippling through his passage as his cock pulses again and again, releasing spurts one after another.
The orgasm must be intense, because I see his body tense, arching slightly, then go slack, as if all the air has been let out of him.
I take advantage of that moment to do one more slow, full-body massage, now that he is even more relaxed. Salt breathes deeply. At some point, I catch his gaze through half-lidded eyes.
There is something strange in it.
Something like gratitude, mixed with anger.
I am not sure where that comes from. I can guess that Salt is not happy about the growing closeness between us. If my suspicions are right and he plans to escape from here, then getting attached to me is not in his interest at all. Physical touch is an intense, fast, and very pleasurable form of bonding.
We do not say anything. I wipe his stomach clean with a paper towel, and only then does Pip come back over to us.
That damn promotional smile is still glued to his face. His green hair looks especially tousled today. Is he already getting ready for the evening dance?
"So, everything okay?" he asks cheerfully. "Did you enjoy the massage session?"
Neither Salt nor I answer, but Pip does not seem bothered by that.
"The next massage session is in three days. You’re all very welcome," he adds.
Gosh, how annoying it all is. That mix of friendliness and the constant,oppressivepressure.
At lunch, Salt seems mentally absent. More than usual. He barely speaks, even though Roman and Evan try to draw him into conversation, asking about tattoo techniques.
Evan admits he has always wanted to get a tattoo and asks for advice. Salt gives it to him, but I can tell his heart is not really in it. He looks distracted, his gaze drifting off to the side.
At one point Roman says, "So when you look at Eliano, I guess it tempts you to suggest a tattoo to him?"
Salt clenches his jaw, barely noticeably, his heart speeding up just a little.
"That’s not how body art works. It’s a deeply personal decision, and nobody can or should influence it."
Silence falls. I hesitate for a moment before blurting out, "I never reached a point where I wanted to get a tattoo. I already have other permanent marks on my body, and I decided that was enough."
Roman and Evan stare at me, clearly confused, but I don’t explain anything. The topic drops. Salt sits with his head lowered, his face gloomy.
And that mood sticks with him afterward. If earlier he seemed perpetually irritated, now he feels heavier, gloomier, still angry but with a more subdued, weighed-down edge. And he smokes a lot.
There is no proper obed that day, because at four in the afternoon the party celebrating Shane’s pregnancy begins.
Salt dresses differently for the event than he usually does.
He pulls on black leggings. I have never seen him wear anything like that before. It is a style more commonly worn by omegas, but I am not complaining. They highlight his legs beautifully, slim, straight, well-shaped. The tight fabric also emphasizes his rounded ass and that cute, subtle forward tilt of his hips. At the front, the snug fit draws attention to his groin in a way that keeps pulling my gaze back far too often.
On top, Salt wears a white tank top made of thin, delicate fabric with silver trim. Around his neck hang several thin silver chains, and a few slim bracelets and silver links rest on his narrow wrists.
When he steps out of the bathroom, I also notice that his fingernails are painted a dark blue. His hair is loose, with some strands braided into thin plaits.
I freeze when I see him. He notices, and unexpectedly, winks at me. Heat rushes to my cheeks. Salt is very aware of how attractive he is. His style is not for everyone, but it has undeniable charm, and it certainly works on me.
Should I comment aloud on his outfit? It makes me hard, for sure.
