The Masseuse

by Sierra Kincade

  Another hesitation. “I’ve got to work tonight.”

  My stomach sank. As concerned as I was, I was still disappointed not to see him.

  “Just come over when you’re done.”

  He sighed. “It’ll be late.”

  “I don’t care.”

  I could feel his smile. “Keep the bed warm for me.”

  The warmth that flooded through me didn’t make the doubt disappear.

  “I will.”

  Twenty-four

  I woke up alone.

  Alec hadn’t come, nor had he called, and he didn’t text until ten o’clock the next morning when I was on my way to Rave.

  Still held up, he wrote. Sorry about last night.

  No problem, I texted back. Called my backup lover to come satisfy me.

  I grinned at my own wit, but the truth was, I was itching for release. Alec had turned something on inside me that couldn’t be shut off. I craved his touch, and now two days without it seemed almost unbearable.

  “The first step is admitting you have a problem,” I mumbled to myself.

  I had a problem. I just didn’t know how big a problem yet.

  My cell buzzed with an incoming message.

  Careful.

  I felt the frown pull at my lips. He was joking. Teasing me. He was probably smirking that sexy smirk of his. But doubt had rooted itself deep in my gut, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d gotten in too deep, too fast, and the intensity I’d become addicted to was somehow dangerous.

  I slipped my phone into my purse without responding.

  Work was a welcome diversion, and the scents of the oils and the soft music relaxed me some. Amy and I had sushi down the street for lunch, but though she was my best friend, I held back from telling her what was going on. I needed to hear the truth from Alec before I made any decisions, and I didn’t want to say anything I’d have to take back later.

  Alec didn’t come that night, either, and by the time I went to bed I was pissed.

  How could he possibly think it was okay to hide his past from me when I’d spilled my guts in his arms? Did he think I was just one of his flings who wouldn’t ask questions? Who didn’t care? It was infuriating. And his vague texts that he was still busy and worse, that he missed me, just did more to fuel the fire.

  The next day I finished at five. I walked home, my way lit by the bright lights of the bars and restaurants, and picked up Chinese take-out before heading up the stairs to my apartment. I had home visits the next day and had big exciting plans to oil and clean my table before then.

  The anger, the fear, the disappointment over Alec’s behavior made my heels stick to each step as I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the couch. I hadn’t taken him for a coward, and yet I couldn’t help but feel that this was his good-bye. Who knew, maybe meeting my dad had freaked him out. Maybe it was my saying I loved him. Either way, he hadn’t texted since the previous night.

  The knock on the door came just after seven p.m.

  I was wearing a T-shirt and pajama shorts, and my hands smelled like cleaning products. I rose from the floor, where I’d been wiping down the undercarriage of the massage table, and pattered to the door. Before I opened it, I hesitated, one hand on the knob.

  I had to get these damn butterflies under control. They were in complete defiance of common sense.

  But when I opened the door and saw Alec standing there with his hands in his pockets, my heart throbbed. My skin tingled. The weight I’d been carrying around disappeared. He was here.

  He’d come back.

  And he looked awful. He was in the same clothes I’d last seen him in; the pants and the shirt were wrinkled. His face was unshaven, and there were bruised rings under his eyes from lack of sleep. Voices from the past whispered to me, conjured by the record my dad had looked up. I found myself looking at Alec’s hands and arms for injection sites or track marks, at his skin for that high flush or signs of scratching. He looked okay, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hide it. He was hiding quite a bit after all.

  He stood on my welcome mat, staring at me in a way that made me feel as if I’d just pulled him from a sinking ship. That look shredded me, so I reached for his hand and pulled him inside.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” I said. “But you look like hell.”

  He chuckled, but there was no happiness in the sound. “Long hours. Not a lot of sleep.”

  “Any sleep?”

  He rubbed his chin. “I can’t remember.”

  “Alec.” I forced myself to look in his eyes. “Have you been using anything?”

  He stopped, chin pulled in indignantly. “What? Why would you say that?”

  There was no need for me to explain; I’d already told him about my mother.

  “No,” he said. “I used to, but it’s been a long time.”

  Okay, at least he wasn’t going to lie about his past when asked directly.

  “Sit down. Let me get you something to eat.” I led him to the couch.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  He sat, and spread his knees so that he could pull me between his legs. I couldn’t sit. I had to do something. Get him food, a drink, something.

  “What do you need?” I asked, covering his hands on my hips.

  “You,” he said quietly.

  He looked up at me, and I saw that same staggering vulnerability in his eyes that I’d seen late in the night at my father’s house. I melted into him, sitting across his lap. He buried his face in my hair, and held me close, and as the seconds passed, I could feel his breathing slow.

  I wanted to ask him what had happened, but I couldn’t rush him. Something told me to proceed with caution. His shoulders stayed tense, and as I ran my fingers down his neck, the muscles jumped beneath them. He was wound so tight, he was about to snap.

  “Alec, I want you to do something for me.” I sat back and ran my thumb down his temple. His eye twitched at the pressure; he clearly had a headache.

  “Hm?”

  “Take a shower.”

  His mouth quirked. “That bad, huh?”

  He complied. I had to turn on the water myself, and he nearly dragged me under the spray completely clothed when I made it clear I would not be joining him, but he did it.

  By the time he emerged, towel wrapped around his waist and body still shiny with a thin layer of moisture, I was ready. The massage table was covered with fresh sheets, the candles were lit. I even had the sandalwood oil ready.

  He stopped short, surveying the scene as if unsure what to make of it. He didn’t look particularly excited, and that brought a new wave of nervousness crashing over me.

  “Anna . . .” He raked a hand through his wet hair.

  “Lie facedown,” I said, stretching my hands. “Please,” I added, when he didn’t move.

  Slowly, he made his way to the table. “You don’t have to . . .”

  The look on his face stung me; he was clearly uncomfortable, but more than that, he looked as though he didn’t want to put me out.

  “You’ve done this all day,” he said, confirming my suspicions. “You’re probably tired.”

  “I’m not tired.” I’d never felt more awake.

  My fingers skimmed down his pecs, tracing his perfect abs. He shuddered beneath my touch, lips parting. I placed a kiss on his shoulder, smiling as the goose bumps rose on his skin. Then the center of his chest, where the short wiry hairs tickled my lips. My body was already warming, readying for him, but it would have to wait. Right now, I needed him to relax.

  My pointer fingers slid beneath the towel and pulled it free. It fell to the floor, leaving him gloriously naked before me. I glanced down at the dark, engorged head of his penis, already stretched to capacity, and swallowed. My fingertips slid over his perfect buttocks, feeling them flex beneath my grasp.

  “Anna.” He stepped closer, his hard length pressing against my stomach. His face tilted down, but I only allowed our lips to touch for the briefest moment. If I le
t it go too far, I’d lose my focus, and I really, really wanted to do this.

  His gaze darted to the table, then back to me. He rubbed the line that had creased between his brows.

  He was clearly out of his element.

  “Have you ever had a massage, Alec?”

  His silence was enough of an answer. For some reason, this surprised me.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with you,” I said quietly. “But I want to help. This is the only way I know how.” Our bodies connected on a different level, beyond words, beyond the sizzling sexual attraction. Maybe this was a place where we could find trust.

  “You can’t help me,” he said.

  I siphoned in a determined breath.

  “Let me try.”

  I pulled back the sheet so he could lie down, face in the headrest. He tentatively sat, then turned on his belly. I covered him with a sheet, regretting that it hid his perfect ass from my view, and hoped that this worked. That this gesture calmed him and showed him I was here, unafraid of the demons that haunted him.

  Before starting, I flattened my hands over the sheet on the strong planes of his shoulders, then down lower, on either side of his back. Slowly I moved to the tense, flat muscles of his latissimus dorsi, then the base of his spine, and finally to his buttocks, transferring my warmth and energy into his body.

  “Is this how it starts for everyone?” His muffled voice came from beneath the headrest.

  “You get special privileges.” I smirked. “Or maybe I get special privileges.” I spanked him lightly and was relieved to see the chuckle roll through him.

  Before getting to work, I rubbed the sandalwood oil over both hands and held it under the headrest.

  “Breathe in deeply,” I said.

  He did. And then I went to work.

  I started with his upper back, moving one strong arm, then the other so that I could reach the deep-set muscles beneath his shoulder blades. Though the oil made his skin slick, the muscles beneath were hard and nearly unforgiving. The tension rose in knots. He was a mess; clearly someone who feigned calm while the stress racked his body. It broke my heart to feel how much he locked away.

  I took my time, working diligently, tirelessly. When he sighed, I felt some of my own anxiety strip away. And as I worked my way down his back, he readjusted his position and sighed again.

  “Feel all right?” I whispered.

  “Yes,” was all he said.

  It didn’t matter if I’d done this a million times, knowing it was Alec beneath my fingers did something to me. I poured every bit of care into each touch, kneading away his pain, replacing it with a soothing pleasure. He was so beautiful in those quiet moments. All hard steel, bending at my will. With the candlelight flickering over him, and the heady scent of spice thick in the air, the rush of my own blood became more insistent. My body yearned for more. To slide over his slick skin. To feel his slippery hands wick away as they tried to grip my hips.

  I kissed his shoulder blade, letting a little of my hair tickle his back. He stilled, but then relaxed as I moved lower. I kissed him again just below his ribs, where a particularly hard knot had been. Then again on his side, when he flinched as my fingers feathered over him.

  I rubbed his strong biceps and triceps, enjoying the thrill that it took both hands to wrap around the girth of his upper arms. I closed my eyes as the groan slipped from him, feeling the sound rumble straight through my core. As I worked, his wrist turned, and his fingertips found the outside of my thigh. They pushed my shorts up, skimming the surface of my skin. Just that small touch was enough to make me tremble.

  My mouth was growing dry, my sex beginning to pulse. I needed to focus on what I was doing, but it was becoming more difficult every second I slid my hands down his oiled skin.

  I told myself it was just because I was working so hard that I was getting hot. That that was why I slipped silently out of my shirt and shorts.

  And bra and panties.

  I kept one hand moving over him the entire time. He didn’t notice until I rounded the other side and my hardened nipple grazed the back of his arm as I leaned over him.

  I couldn’t hide my gasp.

  It was a foolish move; the second he felt my breast, his body went rigid, and all the muscles I’d worked so hard to loosen clamped down. Since it was too late to turn back, I stretched over his length, pulling my thumbs hard enough down either side of his spine to leave red marks. I felt the muscles give way one fiber at a time, and closed my eyes, relishing in the feel of my aching breasts against his warm, slick back.

  “Enough,” he ground out, pushing up.

  His legs swung off the table, and he pushed to a stand, body moving with a predatory grace that made me feel like a wide-eyed doe. The sheet slipped off the table, exposing his hardness and every lean, powerful inch of him. His hair, still damp, fell in pieces across his cheekbones, and his eyes burned with a need so urgent it stole my breath.

  “What do you want, Anna?” There was an edge to his voice that had my arms hugging my chest to cover my bare breasts. It wasn’t fear he conjured, but submission. Moments ago I’d had him beneath my hands, but now there was no mistaking who was in charge.

  He took a step closer and lifted my chin with the back of one knuckle so that I was forced to meet his gaze. The heat radiated off of him, and I knew his touch, whenever it came, would scald me. His head lowered, but his lips stayed a breath away. My chest had begun to rise and fall with each breath.

  “This wasn’t meant to be a trade,” I said quickly. “I didn’t expect something in return.”

  He flinched.

  “What do you want?” It was a raspy whisper this time, a plea. He needed an answer as much as I needed his touch.

  “You,” I told him, just as I’d told him the first time his fingers had been inside of me. “I want you.”

  Twenty-five

  Alec closed his eyes. The quake started in my heels, rising up my body. The tension between us was sizzling, and I yearned for it to finally break. His hands moved over my shoulders, down my arms, but never touched my skin. It was like being trapped behind glass.

  His eyes opened. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Touch me.”

  “Where?”

  I wet my lips, then pressed my index finger against them.

  The kiss came with bruising force. His lips found mine, parted. His tongue pushed past my teeth, thrusting into my mouth and tangling with my own. My knees turned to water, my hands gripped his shoulders for support. Something profound was happening; it was as if his soul had entered my body. I could feel him inside my chest, burning me, consuming me. And when I recognized it, I gave back every ounce of passion so he could feel the same.

  His mouth lowered then, burning a trail down my neck to the base, where his tongue scraped the soft, sensitive skin. At some time while he’d been kissing me senseless, his arms had slipped around my waist and were holding most of my weight.

  “Where?” he demanded.

  My eyelids fluttered open. I reached for one of his hands, sliding it up my side to my breast. The oil made the path slippery, and his burning hands ignited it, creating flames to lick my skin.

  He bent his knees, and to gain leverage he pushed me back, hoisting me up just in time to soften my fall to the couch. The air fled from my lungs as I hit the soft cushions. He hovered over me, pinning my legs closed against the padded armrest as his mouth found my right breast.

  His tongue swirled over the sensitive bud, and as he sucked it into his mouth, a hoarse shout tore from my lips. His thumb worked the other hard peak, flicking it gently, then circling the areola. He knew exactly how to touch me, every move that drove me crazy. He’d taken the time to learn all of me, and I was at his mercy. My knees struggled to bend so I could open myself to his weight, but his free hand lowered and held my pelvis still.

  My fingers laced through his hair, holding his head to me one second, then trying to push him away the next as the pleasur
e became too intense. Sparks shot across the floor of my pelvis, coming faster and faster as he worshipped my other breast.

  “Alec.” I reached for something to anchor me and found his shoulders, but the oil made him too slippery to hold. “Alec.”

  The explosion came with shocking force, causing my legs to scissor in order to create some friction to relieve my pulsing sex. The pressure there was sharp, demanding. It hit me again, and again, pummeling my body with heat. My sounds seemed to make him wild, and his hands dove beneath my arching back, pulling me deeper into his mouth. I didn’t know if the first orgasm ended before the second began; all I knew was that the sensations suddenly doubled in strength, and I stretched straight and tight, crying his name.

  And he had yet to be inside of me.

  Finally I succeeded in dragging his head up, but he didn’t kiss me. Still, the hunger in his face was clearer than ever.

  “Where?” he demanded. And when I could only pant, one hand slipped behind my neck and forced my gaze to his. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

  “Everywhere,” I gasped. “Everywhere.”

  His hands raced down my belly, spreading the oil over my hips, beneath my buttocks. And then he was spreading my legs, lifting me, plunging his fingers into my vagina with a force my body demanded of him. I was already wet; my inner thighs were slick from what he’d done to me. Urgently he stroked, rubbing my inner walls. My cleft was swollen and needy, and my small muscles clenched, pulling him deeper.

  “Feel me,” he rasped. “I need you to feel me.” The look in his eyes was that of desperation.

  His fingers twisted, and the wave hit me by surprise. There was no chance for breath. It wrapped me in hot velvet, turning me to liquid in his hands. While I was still spinning, his mouth found my swollen clit, and began a slow, tortuous lapping, scraping his teeth against it every few moments to heighten the sensation.

  I was gasping for oxygen, fumbling for his hair to push him away, but my fingers had gone numb. My knees attempted to close, lock him out, but he held me wide open with his elbows and feasted. His tongue was everywhere. His fingers everywhere. Touching me. Fucking me. Teasing me to the point of insanity. I lost myself, became a riot of colors and heat, a never-ending pulse of pleasure. When I thought I could take no more, he tilted my pelvis up and pressed my knees open wide. The cool air on my wet skin brought a chill, which he dissipated with long, lapping strokes that circled my center.