Page 56 of The Overtime Kiss

“Sit down on the couch,” she tells me.

“Who’s bossy now?”

“Me. I can’t have my boss going to work with his neck all jacked up,” she says, like she enjoys saying that word. “Especially when I can fix it.” She looks at the massage gun, then at my neck. “Tell me where it hurts, boss.”

She’s enjoying saying that far too much. I’ve got to stay in control, so I lift my hand and rub the back of my neck, indicating where it’s killing me.

She presses the button on the gun, and it vibrates with an intensity that feels like it could send me across the room.

“That thing is supercharged,” I say, speaking over the buzzing.

“Oh, it is,” she says, sounding way too pleased. But she doesn’t press it to my skin. Instead, she studies the vibrating end with some concern before turning it off. “I don’t think I’m supposed to use this on your neck. It’s too strong.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” I say, disappointment creeping into my voice.

Then, in a light tone, she asks, “Do you want me to rub it out?”

If I were drinking something, I’d do a spit take. Because yes. Absolutely yes.

“Sure,” I mumble, because I’m too deep into this to say no. Actually, that’s a lie. I could say no, but I don’t want to. I want her hands on me. Badly.

And I’ll take what I can get. She moves behind the couch, pressing her thumbs and her full weight into my shoulders. Her touch is electric. It vibrates through me as she kneads and rubs.

Holy shit, she is strong. Soon she’s working over my neck, rubbing out the soreness, getting rid of the knots, and making me feel so damn good that I am groaning.

Yep, I’m sighing and moaning, turning into putty under her hands.

“Mmm. That’s fantastic,” I murmur.

I can feel her smile. Then hear it in her voice, soft and warm. “That’s the point.”

“You’re definitely making the point,” I say.

She digs her thumbs into the knot at the base of my neck, and I’m enjoying this way too much.

Especially since my kids aren’t around. It’s just her and me. I’m free to think about how much I want to reach for her hands, cover them with mine, pull her over the couch and into my lap, and kiss the breath out of her.

Instead, I reach for the gun on the cushion next to me, so I keep my hands to myself. I busy myself looking at it, pretending it’s an oddity I’ve never seen before. “So…you keep this in your bedroom?” I ask, even though I should keep my mouth shut about how she uses it.

“I do.”

I should stop. I really should. “What do you use it for?”

She presses her thumb deeper into the muscles of my neck, harder, massaging out the dragon’s egg. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says, teasing.

“I would,” I rasp out. “Does it work?”

“It works so well,” she purrs.

My famous dick control? Gone. There’s no way it’s going down while her hands are all over me. So I shut up, close my eyes, and just let myself savor this unexpected massage.

The closeness of her. The way her talented touch works wonders. How she’s so willing to help.

I sink into the couch and sigh happily.

Sometime later, I startle awake and look around with a yawn. Shit. The kids! What time is it? Is it night? It’s not dark though. I glance at my watch. Oh, it’s only forty minutes later.

But I should go check on them. Especially since…I look around Sabrina’s place, at her sparse yoga corner, still decorated with only a mat. It’s dead quiet in here. I’m all alone. I push up, scratch my jaw, then get the hell out of here.

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