Page 23 of Climb Me Maybe
I hear her enter the room, warming oil in her hands.She settles her palms on my shoulders and begins those long, flowing strokes across my back.I immediately let out a breath.Damn, how did I already miss this?
“You okay?”she asks.
"I’m confused," I admit."About last night.About this."
"What's confusing about it?"
Her thumbs swirl around a knot near my shoulder blade, and I groan."Everything.I don't know how todo—whatever this is."
"Maybe you don't have todoanything."Her hands work down my spine."Maybe you just let it happen."
"That's not how I work.I like to have a plan."
She laughs softly."How's that working out for you right now?”
Despite everything, I smile."Point taken."
She moves over the familiar territory of my back and shoulders, but her touch feels different—slower, softer.Every stroke lingers, and she’s using her nails over my skin, alighting my nerve-endings.
Oh god…
“Let’s talk more about this fear of yours," she says.
"About what fear?"
"About you being afraid to take what you want."
I blink, trying to understand what she’s saying."I don’t…"
She sweeps down to my legs."You want something, but you're convinced you don't deserve it.Or that you're too old, too inexperienced, too whatever."
The words hit closer to home than I'd like.“Okay.”
"You think your grandfather would want you to be hiding from life?That he’d want you to shy away from experiences…from people?"
"No," I say quietly."He always said life was meant to be lived fully."
"Then maybe it's time you listened to him…and to your heart."
When she asks me to turn over, my heart hammers against my ribs.I flip onto my back, adjusting the sheet across my hips, and watch as she moves around the table.
Her nails skate over the sheet, dangerously close to my stiffening cock, and I gasp.“And you should definitely start listening to your body,” she says, climbing up onto the table and straddling my hips.
"What are you—" I begin, but the words die as she settles her weight on top of me, the heat of her body pressing against mine through the sheet.
My cock goes rock hard under her instantly.
"Working on your chest," she says innocently, but there's nothing innocent about the way she sinks down onto my groin, or the way her hands press against my pectorals.
"Imogen..."
"Just relax."Her fingers trace the lines of my tattoos, following the curves of dragons and waves across my chest.
Her touch is firm but teasing, working the muscles of my chest with slow, deliberate strokes.When her thumbs brush across my nipples, I gasp, my hips jerking.
"Sensitive," she murmurs, doing it again, and I bite back a groan.
"This isn't—" I swallow hard as she circles my nipples with her fingers then drags her nails over them."Fuck….this isn't therapeutic massage."I’m writhing, it feels so good.
