Page 125 of Right Side of Paradise
In minutes, I’d settled into the ritual of his hands on me, and his soft voice in my ears.
I breathed when he told me to breathe.
Moved when he told me to move.
At the midway point, when he helped me turn over on my back, all I could think about was how good this room smelled, and how I never wanted him to stop touching me.
Once he had the cushion positioned under my knees, he rolled the sheet and tucked it so only my right leg was uncovered before he reached for his oils again.
The sound of him warming the oil between his palms almost put me to sleep.
“Let me know if I need to adjust the pressure,” he said, massaging it into my skin before he closed his fist and rolled it over my bunched muscles.
“Fuck,” I hissed. I’d been doing good. Keeping my whimpers and moans to myself in exchange for long exhales. But dammit, that felt good.
The oil slicking my skin made it easy for him to roll his knuckles over my thigh and down the side of my leg.
Then he held the sole of my foot and walked his elbow down my shin.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he instructed softly before repeating the action over and over again.
“Fuck, Soul.”
“I know, my love. But you’re doing so good.” He let go of my foot and focused solely on my thigh and knee. “We’re almost done with this leg.”
By the time he settled the sheet back over my body and moved to the other side, my fists were balled at my sides, and my exhales were coming out in pants.
I didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that my briefs were tight enough to keep me from turning this sheet into a tent, but if he moved any higher up my thigh, he was going to see what he’d done to me.
My dick had been stiff since he called me ‘my love,’ and if I came in my pants during this damn massage…
“What’s wrong?” Concern coated his question as he held my left leg suspended just above the table and looked at me. “Am I hurting you?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I promise you’re not.”
He hummed but continued the massage, and when he put the sheet back in place, my hips bucked on their own.
I was begging, albeit silently, for him to take care of me.
Now it was time for him to massage my hands and forearms, and when he found my fist balled against the table, he eyed me curiously. Patiently, he unclenched my fist and started on my hands. “What’s going on with you?”
“Soul, I’m hard as fuck right now.”
“I know.” He pressed his thumb into my palm. “You thought this sheet was hiding it?”
His words weren’t taunting and his face stayed neutral, but his eyes darkened a shade and my dick jumped against my thigh.
“It’s natural, Chris. Don’t worry about it.”
He was tripping if he thought I wasn’t going to worry about it when he followed that up by biting his lip and letting his lids form slits.
He breathed in and exhaled raggedly.
Like touching me was affecting him as much as it was affecting me.
I was rigid, swollen with arousal and my tongue felt thick in my mouth. But I was learning to ask for what I wanted instead of keeping it to myself. And I really needed him to want the same thing I wanted right now.
“Soul?”
