Page 59 of Three
“The water is getting cold.” He slowly makes his way out of the tub. I follow, and as I straighten, the headache starts pricking my head again.
“Throw me the blue towel, you can use the yellow one.” I point at the towels hanging from the hooks on the wall near him. He tosses mine way too far to my left, and I have to stretch my arm to grab it.
“Thanks?” I frown at his bad aim, and the facial movement worsens the ache between my eyes.
“What’s that?” he asks while drying himself.
“What?”
“That furrow between your eyebrows. Are you in pain?” He tosses the towel toward the laundry basket, but misses it by a lot. He really has the worst aim.
“Um, just a slight headache.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me into the bedroom.
“Lie down, ass up,” he orders me. But I remain standing near the bed.
“Just do it, Hunter. I’ll give you a massage.”
I still don’t move. “Do you know how?” I don’t think he does, considering his previous numb condition.
“I assure you, you won’t be needing Phil’s slimy hands anymore!”Slimy hands?“Remember our deal,” he adds. His challenging eyes hold a strong determination as well.
“Okay, but first tell me, did you get a happy ending from Ted?” The other fucking masseuse.
He frowns. “I was just messing with you. I would’ve never let him touch me.”
“Because you couldn’t feel it?”
A defeated sigh leaves his lips. “Yes. But I think I still don’t like to be touched.”
“But you want me to touch you, Red.” Do I sound hopeful? Since when does the thought of not being able to touch him, fuck him, own him send a cold sensation down my back?
“I meant touched by strangers. You’re different…I mean, with you is different.” He shrugs, trying to be nonchalant, but instead looking all vulnerable and shit with those bright gold eyes on me. And all I want to do is hold him close to my chest and kiss his damp hair.
Instead I sit on the sheets then roll face down, my cheek pressed to my crossed arms. Hands balled up.
“Body oil?” he inquires.
“Dresser.” He moves away, and I hear the sound of a drawer opening.
I’m tense as fuck. It’s not that I don’t want him to touch me. It’s that I’m not used to being this intimate with someone I have sex with.With someone full stop. Intimacy means trust, and that’s a real issue for me. But I like Ramiel touching me after sex and his pinky-to-palm stroking.
I turn my head to check what he’s doing, and I find him staring at the cross pendent hanging from my neckless. Fuck, I forgot it was in the drawer. My jaw clenches, teeth grinding, head pulsing. My body has turned to stone and unwanted memories flicker through my mind.
He puts it back where he found it and returns to the bed. I don’t comment on that, and thankfully, he doesn’t either. He straddles my hips, wiggling his ass until he finds a good position.
“Serena, instruct me how to give a relaxing massage,” he utters.
“Red, you should—” I start, trying to move away from him.
“Shhh! I can’t hear!” He presses my already aching head back on my arms.
I feel the oil dropping between my shoulder blades. His hands spread it around before they start pressing, rubbing, and manipulating my skin, tendons, and ligaments.
He goes from light strokes to deep pressure, kneading my tense muscles just right and making me grunt and moan in bliss. I push my forehead to my crossed arms and let go a long sigh. He’s not only massaging me but also cataloging my body. He pauses on every scar, mole, and small imperfection, taking his time.
“Your skin is like a river of chocolate.” He drags the pad of his fingers up my spine before sliding them back down. “Can’t stop the urge to taste it.” He leans down for a moment, just enough time to lick the side of my neck. His warm tongue makes me shiver.
