Page 10 of Falling

“Fine, grouch. I’ll be outside.” I close the bathroom door behind me and try not to imagine Peter in all his glory. I’ve seen him plenty of times in nothing more than a swimming suit, but never au naturel. Not that we need to be prancing around naked in front of each other. That would certainly bring a whole new dimension to this road trip.

I hear him groan as he sits in the tub. I need to get out of here. Nothing good can come from hovering outside the bathroom while fantasizing about him in the tub.

Breakfast should keep me occupied for a little while. Hopping into the kitchen, I find cereal and milk. Normally, nothing passes my lips that isn’t either healthy or made by Peter. I’ll just have to make an exception this morning. I don’t think either of us is in any shape to cook. No one would want to eat my cooking anyway.

By the time he rises from the tub, I’m back sitting on the bed. I’ve already dug my bar of muscle rub out of my bag. We’ll both smell like old men shortly.

Peter emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped low around his waist. I pat the bed next to me and he lays down on his stomach with the towel still covering him.

“You’re not going to beat me with twigs or something else equally ridiculous, are you?” he asks, and I roll my eyes. It’s lost on him though since he’s face down in the pillows.

I don’t deem to answer him. Instead, I carefully straddle his legs. My ankle protests a little, but nothing I can’t handle. His mumbling turns into moans when I begin to work the bar over his neck and shoulders.

When he’s good and greased up, I use my hands to knead the muscles. Every time he winces, I work that area a little more. I make it to the small of his back eventually. There’s not a lot I can do here with the towel. Grabbing it with both hands, I work it out from under him.

“What are you doing?” he complains. “Give me that.” He makes a lunge for the towel. Not easy while lying on your stomach.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”

“Not mine,” he points out. Managing to snatch the towel back, he throws it over his ass.

“How am I going to get to your glutes?”

“Your hands don’t need to be on my glutes. They’ll just have to work themselves out. They’re fine.”

That’s one thing we can both agree on; they are fine. I’ve admired those glutes hiding under his pants for quite a while now. From the brief glance I got, they did not disappoint. I run my hands under the towel, pressing against his perfect ass. He groans.

“How do you have such a smooth ass?”

“Geneva.”

“What? It’s a legitimate question.” I knead his glutes harder this time. He forgets he should be protesting. I know what it took to carry me down the mountain. They have to be killing him. “I’d sort of like to bite them.”

“Jesus, Geneva.” Pushing up on his forearms, he looks over his shoulder at me. “Just keep your hands out from under the towel.”

“Scared you won’t like it?” Fine, I’m taunting him. It’s fun though.

“I’m scared I would. So, hands off the goods.”

“Can I at least give it a good spanking?”

Peter lets out an exasperated snort and collapses back among the pillows. Does that mean I can? I laugh to myself. He’s good at dishing it out; not so great at taking it.

“What if I let you spank mine first?” I tease.

“Don’t tempt me,” he mumbles.

I laugh again and slide down his legs. I don’t think I’ve ever felt tighter hamstrings. You could bounce a quarter off of these suckers.

“Oww,” he complains.

This time, I do smack his perfect ass. He jerks slightly. But I’m back working on his legs before he can protest.

“Stop whining,” I say. “Or I’ll give you something to whine about.”

“What else could you possibly do that’s worse than getting spanked?” he mumbles around the pillows.

“You’d be surprised.”

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