She chuckles. “That isn’t a compliment.”
“I know,” I mumble into her couch cushions.
I’ve officially lost my ability to think and hold a conversation. The only thing that is running through my mind is:Don’t stop. Please God, don’t let her stop.
“Do you mind if I move on to your other shoulder? It would just be more balanced that way.”
“I don’t mind at all,” I say through the fabric.
She pulls her hands away and rubs more oil onto them. The minty fragrance clears my airways, and I breathe easier. Or perhaps it’s because my muscles feel loose. I’m not sure but my back and neck feel really good as she presses her hands into my upper shoulders and smooths out the knots and tension I’ve been holding on to.
This isn’t a quick massage either. She works her way down my back and over my arms. She takes her time, ensuring that she addresses every tightness she encounters. She even works on my glutes.
“Can you turn over? I want to massage the front part of the shoulder. It’s important to get to the muscle from all sides.”
I’ve no idea what she’s talking about, but I flip onto my back before she finishes that sentence. She places her left knee beside me as she struggles to find a spot on the couch. Finally, she moves to kneel on the floor.
“No. You shouldn’t be on your knees.”
“It’s fine. There’s no room on the couch.”
“Sit on me.”
Her eyes hold mine and I try to hide the heat behind them but she’s no fool. I want her but I won’t touch her. Not yet.
“I’ll keep my hands to myself. I promise.”
She eyes me skeptically. She has every right to be cautious since it’s taking all my self-control right now not to pull her down on top of me. But I’m not a pig. I take a deep breath, trying to cool the rising heat in my veins.
She cautiously sits on my upper thighs. “Am I hurting you?”
“No.”
She leans forward and reaches for the top of my shoulder but comes up short. Scooching up, she stretches her arms but she’s still several inches away. “Don’t worry. You won’t hurt me.”
She raises her hips until she can finally reach the spot and presses her fingers into the space between my pectoral muscle and my shoulder. She’s hovering over my lap, and I know this can’t be comfortable for her. But I keep my hands by my side instead of placing them around her waist as I want to do.
As she works her fingers along the front of my shoulder and top of my chest, her body falls closer to mine until her bum lightly brushes against my crotch. It’s the slightest touch but it’s enough to send tingles down my shaft.
“I… uh… I should get off,” she says, but makes no effort to remove herself.
Slowly, giving her time to jump out of my reach, I circle my hands around her hips. “Please. Don’t stop,” I say, and look for any sign on her face that she’s uncomfortable.
She stares at me and licks her lips. I think she’s about to stand up, but she sinks further into me.
As she massages deeper, her body falls, and she’s rocking back and forth above my groin. Ringlets of hair fall over my arms, and I close my eyes so that the image of her riding me isn’t sofuckingtempting. Her movements are purposeful and I no longer feel her hands on my shoulder because all feeling has rushed to body parts inside my jeans.
Her body, warm and soft, presses against me and my dick rises to the occasion. Surely she can feel me, but she hasn’t said anything or flung herself off me in an outrage. Her fingers press into my muscle, but her lower body moves rapidly and rhythmically as though…
A small moan echoes in the room and it’s not mine. My eyes burst open, and Sage is riding me with her eyes shut and her head thrown back. Her leg shakes and I press my fingers around her thigh. The muscle tightens as she uses the couch for leverage. Her breathing is erratic and even though we are both still half-dressed I think she’s about to come. Biting my lip to keep my hands from ripping off her clothes and mine, I hold still.
As her body moves tumultuously over mine, her hands drop to my chest. I groan when her fingers brush my nipple. Unconsciously, my hips rise to meet her, pressing my dick between her thighs. Her tights provide little barrier between our bodies, and I can feel her bud between the fabric.
I lick my lips when her nipples pucker through her thin tube top. She’s not wearing a bra. Oh, for fuck’s sake, she’s not playing fair.
“I need to touch you,” I say. And she nods. Without opening her eyes, she grabs my hands and pulls them to her breasts, cupping my hands over her pert nipples.
I massage her softly, rubbing my thumbs over the rigid peaks and they tighten beneath my fingers.
