Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“I need you to relax for me,” he murmured, keeping his voice low, coaxing, as he stroked his thumb up from the nape of Newcomb’s neck to just below his hairline, applying the gentlest possible pressure, before sweeping down to gather the oil spreading in the channel of his spine and gently streak it upward. “This won’t work if you keep yourself locked up. I can’t force you to relax. I can only help you.”
“Sorry.” Newcomb’s voice came out muffled as he buried his face in his arms. “I’m a wreck. My doctor told me if I don’t calm down I’ll have a heart attack.”
“You’re too young for a heart attack.”
“Tell that to my heart rate,” Newcomb retorted with a touch of bitterness. “Dying when the ticker kicks out isn’t exactly at the top of my list, but seems pretty unavoidable right now since I can’t exactly slow down.”
There it was—talking about it seemed to get him to unwind a little, body softening a touch. It worked that way for some of Amani’s clients; they didn’t realize the stress they were carrying until they spoke it out loud, making him an impromptu therapist more often than not. But the more Newcomb spoke, the easier it was for Amani to work at the deep knots of tension and stress that seemed stitched into his body, slowly playing his way out from the trapezius muscles to his shoulders, occasionally dipping down toward his shoulder blades in a circular, sweeping rhythm that used just enough pressure to coax those knots to unravel. He’d come back again later for a second pass, once the muscles were looser and more malleable, to work the massage deeper without forcing it so much that it would bruise or otherwise cause pain. In some ways this was just as soothing for him as it was for his clients, and even though he preferred to remain clinical there was a quiet pleasure in the feeling of a man’s body coiled hard and taut underneath his fingers, only to melt as he guided them and led them where he wanted them to go.
“You can keep talking,” he murmured. “Tell me about what’s causing you so much stress.”
“Mm…in a minute.” Newcomb sounded much more content already, breathy and low and relaxed, and he let out a sensuous, purring groan. “Bloody hell, that’s good.”
“Is it?” Amani smiled slightly. “You’re pretty tight. Do you want to try a facial massage to relax you a bit more before I try your back again? I can keep working like this, but the looser you are, the better the effect.”
“Ah?” Newcomb lifted his head slightly, glancing over his shoulder at Amani; his eyes were heavy-lidded, dark. “Sure. What do you need me to do?”
“Just roll over onto your back.”
Newcomb complied, his body rippling languidly in an easy flex of strength and power as he twisted himself over, supporting himself on his hands as he settled sitting half upright, half leaning back.
And exposing the rather prominent rise beneath his towel, thrusting upward and hard enough to make a draped tower underneath the terrycloth.
He colored hotly, cheeks crimson, and made a spluttering, undignified sound, covering his crotch with both hands and staring at Amani with wide, mortified eyes.
“Oh God. Oh, God.” He shifted to start to climb off the table, then froze as his towel started to slip, grabbing at it with one hand and keeping the other over his groin. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear I’m not some bloody creeper—”
“Calm down. Breathe.” Amani hid a smile behind his hand, meeting Newcomb’s eyes. He was like a puppy in the body of a Great Dane, really. Had his own erection really crept up on him that easily? “I see a dozen of these a day. It’s just a natural reaction to physical stimulation. It doesn’t mean you’re creepy. It means I’m doing my job right.” He tilted his head, arching a brow, tapping a finger against his lower lip. “Unless you are a creeper.”
“No!” Newcomb spluttered, that red in his cheeks deepening. “I’m…uh…I’m straight, anyway. So, uh, sorry.”
“Sexuality has nothing to do with it. It’s not about me.” Amani curled his hands against Newcomb’s shoulders—loosely, so he could easily twist free if he wanted—and gently nudged him down. “You’re relaxed and your body had a reaction. That’s all. But if you’re uncomfortable, we can stop.”
Awkwardly, Newcomb lay back—but didn’t move his hand from over his crotch, as if he could flatten it back down if he just pushed hard enough. “No—no, it’s all right. It…kind of defeats the purpose, anyway.” He sounded almost miserable, and he avoided meeting Amani’s eyes. “I’m supposed to be relaxing, so I’m going to relax. Like I said, do your worst.”
Amani leaned against the edge of the table, looking down at him with a small smile. “How about I try to do my best, instead?” He swayed in a little closer. “And how about you shift your arms to your sides? Any longer, and you’ll be touching yourself.”