Page 9 of Her Possessive Valentine

Feeling her soft skin against my fingertips makes my manhood tense and press into her back. Hana lets out a gasping moan at the sensation, which makes it happen again, only this time far more strained against my pants.

“Well, someone’s excited.”

“I’ve played this over about a thousand times in my head,” I start nervously, slowly peeling myself off Hana. “Not once did it go this well.”

I’m almost too nervous to look at her. From my periphery, I can see she isn’t wearing a bra, and the only thing covering her ass is a thin band. I’m already feeling the effects of too much blood coursing to my loins instead of my whole body, and I might pass out if anything goes off course. But Hana steps, twirling on the balls of her feet to face me, and her tits drop with a satisfying bounce. My eyes lock onto them, mesmerized.

Her black hair rests over her shoulders in stark contrast to her otherwise porcelain skin. But the two pink buds of her nipples poke through the forest of hair resting over them. The front of her g-string is a nearly see-through mesh material that leaves nothing to the imagination. She cocks her hips to one side, hooking her hands on them.

“Like what you see, big boy?” She runs the tip of her tongue over her lower lip. “Coz it looks likehesure does.” She bobs her head toward my aching manhood.

Yup, this pretty much seals my fate.

Hana has sunk her claws in deep, and I’m never getting free.

6

HANA

I’ve never seen anyone undress as quickly as Vance Valentine just did. From full suit and all the fixings down to nothing but his boxers in seconds flat. But I meet his eagerness with my own, crawling over the massage table, pressing my ass in the air in his direction as I do it. Had he not been so adamant about doing this, we’d have already shared our moment of bliss. Spent, exhausted, and lying on his sofa, trying to regain some semblance of self-control.

But teasing works just as well. Doesn’t mean I’m going to make it any easier on him.

“How do you want me?” I ask once I’ve gotten onto all fours at the table. Vance’s hand hovers dangerously close to the monster inside his underwear. If it were up to me, I’d tell him to stroke it. Rub himself before he rubs me down. Dinner and a show. Whatever the hell you’d call it. My mind is on one thing, and there’s no changing what it wants until I’ve had him inside of me.

“You can stay like this.” Vance circles the table with one hand extended to brush against my skin. It stops as it hits the waistband of my panties, but he keeps walking until he’s standing behind me. “Hard for a massage, but you’re used to making things hard on me, aren’t you?”

I open my mouth to say something, but the words get lost behind a soft moan as Vance tugs on my panties. He hasn’t pulled them down completely, not yet, enjoying the view of my slick pussy. Not that my poor excuse of underwear is doing much to block his view.

“Anyone ever tell you how gorgeous you are?” he asks, making my temperature spike to feverish levels.

“Not as many as you’d think,” I answer honestly. And it’s not out of want for pity. It’s just that most men use different verbiage to describe me—hot, sexy, and one time, I even gotfuckable piece of ass.

I think most men just have very different interests than Vance does. And I’m liking his way more than I ever imagined I would.

“Do I need to apologize for the whole male species again?” His voice is distant, almost as if it’s trailing off to the farthest points of the globe.

I throw my head over my shoulders to find out why and see him staring straight between my legs. Yeah, that makes total sense. Trying his darndest to be flirtatious but stuck in place at the sight of what he could be doing instead.

“If I said yes, how would you do it?” Butterflies explode in my tummy with the question. Is there any other answer than what’s coming? Definitely not.

But Vance subverts my expectations, and instead of pulling my panties down and stabbing me with the rock-hard slab tenting his boxers, he starts walking around the table again.

He grabs one of the many fancy bottles of oils and lotions on a small table next to the massage bed and squirts some into the palm of his hand. “It isn’t much, but I can ease some of the tension we must have caused.”

“You’re doing a saint’s job then,” I tease, doing my best to sound playful while my whole body practically vibrates in anticipation of what Vance will do next.

“On your belly,” he orders, and I obey, resting my head on my arms and shutting my eyes.

He smashes his palms together, and the first few drops of the liquid fall onto my back. The cool sensation trickling down my skin makes me shiver, but Vance has already started rubbing his hands together to warm them and the oil.

“It must be hard.” His slick fingertips brush against my skin. “Having, what? Half the population be so blind. So foolish.” He gathers whatever remnants of the trickle down my sides he can, coating my back in liquid and easing me into his touch. “But never fear, not while I’m here.” He walks his fingers across my skin. Soft at first, but the higher they climb, so too does the pressure he’s applying. “I’m going to make it all better.”

The electrifying jolt his touch sends through my body is indescribable—an intense rush of desire and need for more. More of this, more of him, more of everything. Every part of me wants to be right here and accept what he’s doing while simultaneously desperate to move on to what comes next. It’sa total mixed bag of emotions and feelings, and my brain can’t keep up.

So, I won’t try to. Instead, I purr a soft, satisfied hum and let Vance work his magic. Depending on where his hands fall, Vance continues adjusting his pressure. Harder on the upper back, but gentler the lower he goes. And like magic, all the tension in my body escapes with a soft sigh.

I jump when his fingers press into a pressure point on my side, and an involuntary giggle escapes. He does it again, and this time, I laugh out loud, fighting off the fingers pressing into my overly sensitive sides.

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