Page 88 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
He squirts some massage oil on his hand, then strokes me, his grip firm. “Just relax.”
“O-okay.” My voice is breathless, and I feel him smile against me as he feathers kisses along my cheek. I turn to him, thankful we both fit on the massage table. He moves an arm around me, so I don’t fall onto the floor, and he inhales, as if he really likes having me next to him.
My heart sings, and he continues to stroke me in firm motions.
I turn my head toward him, gazing at his symmetrical features, his thick brows furrowed. The warm, spa-like light settles on his features, casting a golden glow over his profile. He looks like one of those sculptures of Roman gods I find at the MFA, every feature masculine, his expression focused.
He turns toward me. “Hi there.”
My cheeks warm. I guess I was staring. “Hi.”
He grins at me.
“I guess this is different for you.”
He shrugs. “Is nice.” Then he leans toward me and kisses me.
My mouth melds against his, and I open up for his tongue. His kisses are long and deep, and god, maybe one day he’ll be putting his cock in me with the same rhythm, the same force.
My heart expands, swelling under his attention.
How did we get to this place?
Happiness flits through me, and in the next moment, I start to shake. He withdraws his hand from me.
“You...” I swallow hard. “You...”
“Took your breath away?” He winks.
“Yeah. That.”
He pulls me toward him, and I curl against him. My pants are still unbuckled, my briefs are still pulled down, dignity is not exactly something I’m emitting now, but it doesn’t matter.
Then we’re kissing once again, and I feel his lashes flutter against my cheek.
A noise at the door startles us apart.
I stiffen.
He stiffens.
“Is locked?” Dmitri whispers.
“The masseuse is never here,” I say miserably.
He grins. “Bad boy Oskar.”
The handle turns again.
“One moment!” Dmitri calls, hastily straightening his clothes. I do the same, though from his amused look I’m not quite achieving “professional workplace appropriate.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Dmitri
“Take your time,” I tell Oskar. “Is fine.”
“Dmitri?” Coach’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “Are you in here?”
