Page 34 of The World Undone

My back arched against the bed, my body loudly begging for more, but she denied the request.

And of course, that only made the ache deeper.

I sensed her smug grin, even if I couldn’t see it. Right now, I desperately wanted to taste it.

She peeled my pants off next, the maneuvering a little more clunky than my top as I leaned back into the bed to allow her a better angle.

Gently, she shifted me so that I was lying on my stomach, my head resting to the side on the pillow.

It was such a vulnerable position, not being able to see anything as I was splayed out before her, like a willing—and, let’s be honest, fucking eager—sacrifice.

My stomach muscles tightened as the bed sank softly to my right, waiting with anticipation for whatever touch she was willing to bestow.

But the next sensation didn’t come from her touch.

Liquid heat pooled on my lower back.

I inhaled a sharp hiss of surprise as the strength of the heat dimmed. The hot wax carved a small stream down my spine, dripping in branches along my side.

Her hands kneaded the oil into my muscles, and I couldn’t even be bothered to suppress the low moan.

I felt some of the knots and tension fight against her fingertips, her knuckles, sighing in relief as each one gratefully lost that battle. She poured more of the candle along my upper back—the first hit of the heat, both unexpected and exciting. Then, with careful strength, she rubbed it into my shoulders, my neck.

I relaxed beneath her touch, savoring every massage, every featherlight touch of her hair as it tickled my arms, my back, the smell of strawberries mixing delectably with the coconut candle.

It shouldn’t have been surprising—that Dec somehow seemed to know, to understand my body better than I did. Like she could anticipate and identify points of pleasure, of tension that I hadn’t noticed. My skin sparked with waves of tingles, my toes curling each time she relieved a new ache.

When she dripped wax along my ass, my thighs, I jerked up slightly in surprise as the oil slipped between my legs, joining another liquid heat already soaking me from her touch. Her fingers dug into the back of my right thigh, starting closer to the back of my knee and growing closer and closer to an entirely different sort of ache—one I knew she wouldn’t relieve. Not yet, anyway. And somehow waiting for that relief just made me all the more desperate for it.

I fisted my fingers into the bed sheets as her hand slipped between my legs—so very close to where my body was begging her touch—just to keep from grinding into her.

Every inch of me was alive and sparking with a pleasure that I couldn’t contain.

“Fucking hell,” I moaned as her thumbs traced either of side of my spine—starting at my neck and then ending at the apex of my thighs.

Need pulsed through me and I wondered, briefly, if it was possible to come from a massage—without her even once touching me between my legs.

“Flip over,” she whispered into my ear, punctuating the request with a soft nip of my earlobe that drew a pathetic-sounding mewl from my lips.

I did as she asked, lying on my back as I felt her eyes rove over me as if they were her fingers.

My nipples were hard peaks, and there was no denying that the wetness between my legs was more than hot oil. I could hear my breaths coming out in fast, heavy pants, with every moment of anticipation.

Not knowing what she was going to do next made every sound louder, every breath of air against my skin sharper.

The muscles in my abdomen tensed as she poured another small stream of oil along it. She rubbed it into my skin, her hands and fingers molding to the curves of my sides, my stomach—going lower, lower, lower with each stroke, but never quite reaching where my body was silently screaming for her to go.

The tops of my thighs felt hot and tight as she massaged into them, and I groaned in frustration when her thumb grazed over my pubic bone, denying again the release I was desperate for.

“Please,” I muttered finally, the word a breathless prayer on my lips as my hand sought hers.

She pulled back, pressed my hand back to my side. She leaned over me, hair grazing my chest, as she whispered, a sultry, “Don’t make me tie you up,” as her teeth bit into my bottom lip, tugging lightly. I groaned as raging need shot straight to my core. “Because I will. Happily.”

I grabbed the bedding, my grip so tight that I wouldn’t be surprised if it tore.

“Good fucking girl,” she said, clearly pleased with my hard-fought restraint. Her oily hands caressed my clavicle, my breasts, pinching my nipples lightly in reward. I could hear the coy grin in her voice, husky and low, and I desperately wanted to press my lips to the smug curve of her lips that I knew was there, even if I couldn’t see it. I wanted to taste her smile, to devour it. Mine. All of her. Mine. “And good girls get rewarded.”

The mattress shifted as her weight left, and I suddenly felt even more bare, more vulnerable without the softness of her thigh against me.

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