Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Her eyes flutter open, finding me static on the edge of the bed. She smiles, small and lazy, stretching out her body. “Why are you staring at me?”
“I wasn’t staring; I was admiring.” I surprise myself with my honest answer. Laughing under my breath, bewildered, I stand. “There’s a shower through there.”
“I think I’ll wait until I’m home.” She gets up and finds her trousers, feeding her legs through in turn. She’s leaving. I realize leaving is protocol, but I have a bizarre impulse to stop her. To take more from her. To try to figure her out. Yet I shouldn’t. This was an arrangement. I’ve done what she asked me to do. Emotionally, I keep women at a very safe distance. Always have. Now shouldn’t be any different.
“Welcome.” I all but grunt, retrieving my boxers from the floor and pulling them on. My shoulder locks on me, forcing my hand to my flesh to work the pain away. “Fuck.”
“What’s up?” Raya asks, yet I refuse to look at her. It’s safer to keep my eyes to myself. Let her leave.
“Nothing, I just jarred it when I…” I fade off and snap my mouth closed before I divulge anything I shouldn’t. “I just jarred it.”
“Let me see.” She’s before me in a flash, and I’m stepping back even more quickly.
“It’s fine.” I snatch up my trousers. And it goes again—pain bolting through me, reaching my stomach and making it turn. My trousers hit the floor and I hiss, clenching my shoulder tightly. “Motherfucker.”
“Yeah, fine.” Raya knocks my hand away. “I’m a sports therapist. It’s not fine.” Her palm encases my shoulder, her touch leaving me fighting for breath and reason. “Lie down.”
“That’s not a good idea.” I almost laugh, my cock twitching as if in protest at my decline.
“Why?”
Why? Because just the thought of her rubbing me all over makes me hard. “I need to be somewhere.” Her hand, still on my shoulder, melds into my flesh firmly, and the sneaky move has my eyes closing and my body folding under the relief it gives me. “Oh God, that feels so good.”
“Yeah?”
My eyes cross behind my lids. “Don’t stop.”
“Get on the bed, Drew.”
I’m across the room and on my front in a heartbeat. Whatever she says.
Standing at the side of the bed, she kicks her shoes off, and then her leather jeans hit the floor.
My eyes follow them down. “Why are you taking them off?” I glance back up at her, avoiding her long legs.
“There’s not much give in them.” She kneels on the bed and straddles my arse. Oh, Jesus, what have I done? Her hands, gentle but firm, land on my back. “Relax,” she orders softly, working her touch into my stiff muscles.
Relax. Easier said than done. “Do you always straddle your clients half naked?”
“Only my favorite ones.” Her answer is serious, and I laugh a little, forcing my body to soften. But my laugh fades and morphs into a hiss when her knuckles work into my right shoulder blade. “You’re full of knots,” she muses, grinding down into the muscle. “Stressed?”
“No.” I wince, trying to roll the pain away.
“Keep still.” Her body drops forward, her face coming close to mine. I peek up at her and find perfectly arched brows. Then her mouth curves, too, and her eyes beam at me. “Or do I need to restrain you?”
“Very funny.” I quickly close my eyes before I can drink in her gorgeousness any more. “What’s a knot, anyway?”
“Your muscles are layered. Injury, stress or sometimes simply dehydration can make them fuse to each other. Frequent massages are a good cure, but also a great preventative. It’s important to keep the muscles’ suppleness. How did you do it?” she asks, taking my arms and positioning them on the pillow above my head.
Searching for a reason for my injury that doesn’t involve mentioning Georgia is harder than it should be. This woman is playing havoc with my usually stable frame of mind. “I don’t know.”
Her hands stroke over my flesh, and a wave of tingles shortly follows. Sweet Jesus. “I’ll work away some of the stiffness. When I tell you to breathe in, take a deep breath. Don’t release it until I say.”
I nod and soon lose my battle to keep quiet, moaning when her knuckles work into the dip by my shoulder blade. “There.” I groan, somewhere between pain and relief. “Just there.”
Her knuckles sink deep. “There?”
“God, yes.”
“Breathe in,” she commands, and I obey, drinking in oxygen, feeling her push into the spot, her strength surprising. “Hold it.” Her other hand reaches to my wrist and pulls my arm out to the side, the pressure of her knuckles in that sweet spot never wavering. “And release.”
Air sails out of my lungs, and her knuckles are back to rolling into the area. “Fuck, that was divine,” I murmur, feeling drugged.