Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“No. I’m here to be company, to bring you food …” His foot shifts again, pressed up against mine. To keep playing footsy …? “And not just to get the scoop. Living in a small town like this, you get scoops all day long. I’m up to here with scoops. What I came over for was to make sure you’re okay.”
“Why the sudden 180?” he asks me. “Last time you were here, when we went down to the beach no one’s supposed to be on, I felt like a thorn in your ass.”
“Really? No.” That makes me let out a laugh despite myself. “It was … kind of exhilarating.”
“Exhilarating?” he asks, leaning forward. It causes his foot to graze mine again. I can’t help but think it’s starting to feel more intentional every time he does it.
“Yes, exhilar—ouch.” I wince, having turned my neck wrong and causing my sore shoulder to twinge again.
“You okay?”
“Sorry, yeah, it’s nothing. Overhead presses,” I mutter with half a laugh. “Went too hard earlier at the gym.”
“Oh, you got a kink?”
My eyes snap to his. “A what?”
“Kink. In your shoulder. I could work it out for you. I have masterful thumbs,” he insists, lifting his fingers and wiggling them like he’s about to tickle me. “Other than the fact that two of my friends are professional masseuses and I picked up a trick or two after traveling to Thailand for a film—it was a honeymoon scene, spa day, massages, the works. Want me to try?”
The thought of his hands on me right now. The amount of pent-up I’ve been since the breakup—and even before it. The sparkle of delight in his eyes at the prospect of helping me out. “I … I really …”
“It’s no problem,” he insists, cutting straight through my reluctance and picking up on my curiosity.
Then he’s out of his chair and behind mine in the next instant.
His hands touch my shoulders.
“Here?” he murmurs quietly.
It’s a miracle, how his thumbs find the exact spot.
I close my eyes. “Hrmm …” I confirm.
“That a yes?”
“H’ummph …” I confirm again.
His thumbs gently begin to knead my neck. The heat of his hands is perfect, pressing into my skin. I try not to react too much, playing it cool, but with every push of his warm fingers into my shoulders, more of me comes undone. I feel like I’m hanging on the edge of letting out an unintended whimper. I’d better not. That would be embarrassing.
“Is it good?” he asks me. “Too soft? Too hard?”
The second he asks the question, I feel the front of his body press against my back.
Probably unintentional. Most likely not meant to seem like he’s grinding his dick against me.
But it sure has the effect of waking up my own.
“It’s hard,” I answer, flushing.
“Too hard?”
It’s been way too long. I’m not myself. “N-Not yet.”
“So you want it harder?”
What’re we talking about exactly? “Y-Yeah.”
His thumbs oblige. So does my dick, waking up fast.
I control my breathing. He’s only doing me a favor. He just wants me to feel better. This is River’s way of paying me back for the food and the company.
His front grinds against me more.
I swear it’s his dick. I swear he’s hard, too. I can feel it every time he digs his fingers into my shoulder, causing his body to move and press against me.
He wouldn’t be this bold, would he?
That’s when a new thought hits me. Is he even aware that he’s grinding against my back? Is it all in my head? Is he just innocently massaging my shoulder, unaware of the presence of his body against mine and what it’s doing to stir up everything in me that’s laid dormant and abandoned for so long? My dick is so hard, it’s literally crying.
Crying. As in leaking.
In my underwear. Hard and leaking. Just from the way he makes love to my shoulders with his thumbs.
Fucking hell, he really is making love to them.
And I’m a second away from letting out my pleasure in an embarrassing, body-trembling moan.
And the fact that I’m admittedly sleep-deprived has my dreamy mind in such a state of between-realities, I cannot say with confidence what’s even real.
“If you want,” he murmurs—his lips are so close to my ear, and the tingles of delight his voice casts over my body is so unfair—“you can lie on the couch and I can give you a much better massage. Trust me, I’ve got a few techniques up my sleeve, and three of them involve my elbow …”
I’m not even kidding. I might come.
I should go. I should seriously go. This isn’t right. For me to be enjoying this so much.
That’s what’s happening, right? I’m enjoying this?
“I-I think I’ll—”
“I can definitely feel the knot.” His thumbs dig in. For a second, it’s genuinely painful and I suck in air, wincing. The next instant, pleasure pours over my muscles as I rock my eyes back with a sigh. “Want me to work it out better? Feel free to decline. Not pressuring you into feeling bliss. It is, however, free bliss, yours to accept or pass on. And if I had the chance to accept some free bliss from a guy who learned a few tricks involving his elbow from a sweet pair of ladies and one very adorable guy in Thailand …”