Page 8 of The Build Up

He wraps me up in warmth and softness. Another towel is procured, this one wrapped around his waist, barely concealing his erection.

The plush white towel contrasts with his silver hardness: chiseled torso and sculpted abs, the result of years and years of brutal training and combat.

“Tarak…” I whisper, engulfed by wonder all over again.

Itnevergets old.

“Shh.” He puts a finger to my lips as if not wanting to break our trancelike spell.

Then, he proceeds to dry me all over with the soft towel before letting it drop to the floor.

Naked, I’m led to our bedroom, my bare feet crushing the soft carpet.

“Sit down,” Tarak orders.

“All right.” Flushed, warm, tingling all over, with the aftershocks of climax coursing through me, I smile, wondering where he’s going with this.

I perch on the edge of the bed.

He gets on the bed, too, behind me.

Then, he starts to massage my lower back, which has been carrying a lot of weight.

I ache down there. I’m stiff and uncomfortable—I didn’t realize how much.

Tarak gently kneads my body and works out the knots, making me feel tender and supple.

A sweet aroma fills the air—lavender and jasmine. His fingertips are coated in silky liquid.

Is he using…massage oil?

How would he even know about that, or where to get it?

But he is Tarak, after all.

He can do anything and everything.

Rule the Nine Galaxies with an iron fist. Give me the best pregnancy massage of my life, and make it sensual as hell.

My toes tingle from how good it feels. My cheeks are burning. I could disappear into delirious, happy eternity right now.

I moan softly as he works on my back. He knows exactly where the tension is, how much pressure to apply, and what points to press to send a goosebumpy ripple of pleasure all over my body.

He’s both tender and firm, and his patience is seemingly endless.

But I can’t ignore the obvious—his unsated arousal.

So I let him have his way with me, surrendering to the feeling of being taken care of. When he’s done, I slowly turn around and look up to see him staring at me with deep, crimson intensity.

I uncap the small glass vial of oil and pour it onto my hands. Then, I rub it all over him, making his already gleaming skin glisten even more.

And he lets me.

Stars,he’s so delectable. I just want to eat him up.

He watches in fascination and surprise, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

I ogle him even more, hardly believing my blessed luck—that I get to have this powerful, otherworldly being all to myself, and he isn’t distant or lofty when he’s with me.

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