Page 35 of Lily In The Valley
“Come on. We have one more thing for the night.” He took my hand as he led us back to our casita. Shadows danced along the desert landscape. Waist-high cacti with pointed tips. Tall, skinny grass laid at the roots. Weathered stones lined thepathway to the patio. Warm lighting glowed from within the adobe walls and flickered against the glass windows and sliding door.
Stepping into the casita, eucalyptus and neroli fragrant the air—minty, woodsy, with a slight sweet, floral citrus undertone. Soft R&B played through the hidden speakers from dinner. Khalil left the sliding door to the patio open just enough to let in the refreshing night air.
I circled the massage table placed in the center of the living room, eyeing the setup with suspicion. One robe, various bottles of massage oils, one pair of slippers. A perfectly prescribed dosage on unwarranted relaxation. A soft voice entered the space. The masseuse—an older Black woman named Lorraine with deep laugh lines and a calm aura—smiled gently as she stepped down beside the table.
“Welcome to Serenity Wellness Resort,” she said warmly. “You’re in for a special treat Ms. Reid. I’ll be guiding Mr. Grant through one of our famous massages. My job is to set the tone, show him the technique, and help with pressure.”
“Wait,” I said, holding up my hand. “He’s doing the massage?”
“Don’t worry.” He grinned. “I took anatomy in college. Don’t forget, you helped me study.” Before I could speak, he nodded his head side to side and pointed to the table. I peeled off my dress, leaving the nude-colored bikini on, climbed onto the table, and slipped beneath the warm sheet. A sigh escaped me as I settled onto the soft padding.
The lights dimmed. To my left, Lorraine poured a bit of oil into Khalil’s palms, motioning him to rub his hands to warm up the liquid. “Khalil, you’ll start with the shoulders, then follow my lead.”
His first touch was tentative, carefully gauging my reaction to see how far I’d let him go, how much control I’d turn overin this moment. Dual sets of hands slid along the curves of my shoulders, then paused.
“It’s very tense here, no?” Lorraine asked.
“Yeah, she carries her stress in her shoulders,” Khalil replied.
“I see,” Lorraine murmured. “Use firm pressure when you feel the knots like this, but don’t rush.”
Khalil’s palms pressed down, slow and steady, working through the tension just beneath my skin. I inhaled sharply, sinking into the way the touch sent a wave of relaxation throughout me.
“You good?” Khalil asked.
“Too good,” I replied into the pillow. He chuckled in response.
Then, his touch changed—softer, more deliberate. He moved to the base of my neck, his thumbs working in small circles down to my shoulder blades. My muscles melted into the table, breath by breath.
“How’s that?” he murmured into my ear.
“If I cry, pretend I’m not,” I said, my eyes closed.
“I got you,” he said, as if it were a vow.
His hands moved lower, following Lorraine’s guidance—over my back, my arms, even my temples. Each motion was slow, intentional, never rushed. He touched me like he was learning me all over again. Not to take. Not to fix.
There was no pressure to respond. No performance. No pressure to flirt or joke or seduce.
He took care of me.
I tried peering over my shoulder to see what the soft rustle and exchange of words were between Lorraine and Khalil. The soft click of a door being closed was followed by the soft thuds of Khalil’s feet against the tile floor. He pumped more of the massage oil into his hands, then walked over to where I lay on the table.
His strong, oil-slicked fingers moved up the backs of my legs, slowly making their way to my thighs. The fingers kneaded into my flesh, fire crackling in every slow inch. The pads of his thumbs glided over the bare skin of my back like they’d done it a thousand times. I suppose in another life, they had. Perhaps in this life, I’d been too scared to let them.
“Relax,” he murmured, his voice a low command against the shell of my ear. “I’m going to take care of you.”
I should’ve bristled. That was my default, right? A reflex sharpened by years of masking my feelings through overachievement. But something about the weight of his palms against my ass, the slow drag of his thumbs against my spine, the scent of lavender and clove hanging in the air—all of it softened me, unraveled the apprehension lacing my muscle fibers one by one.
I breathed out shakily, my face cradled in the massage table’s opening.
“That’s it, Lily-girl,” he praised. “Just breathe. You don’t need to hold anything right now.”
My thighs clenched under the sheet.
I cursed myself for reacting, but damn, his voice—deep, gravel-slicked. It had aI know what you needtone that melted straight between the cradle of my legs.
He pressed down into my lower back, circling his thumbs over the dimples just above my ass, and I gasped.
