Page 22 of Just the Sex: Erotica Shorts

Why was I nervous? Massages, once a foreign treat, had become commonplace in my new life of luxury. My body had been accustomed to strange hands, to men and women alike oiling up my body, to nudity a hairbreadth from gentle touches. I should be calm, relaxed, and ready for a treatment I have had fifty times before. But I wasn’t. I was tense. Jittery. Wet. Why the hell am I wet? The panicked question flitted through my mind at the same time as I heard him enter.

The sound of the door first. It opened, then soft steps, the pad of feet against carpet, a sound I had to strain to hear. When he spoke, I flinched, my nerves a bundle of live wires. “Do you have any sensitive areas? Or places you’d like me to focus on?” He spoke softly, the husky tone sending a shiver through my body.

Sensitive areas? A few. Places I’d like him to focus on? Yes, please. “No. Just a normal Swedish massage, please.” My voice behaved, coming out casually and unaffected, the right amount of offhand decorating its syllables.

“I understand. Mr. De Luca left very particular instructions,” he said the words with a hint of seduction, his sentence causing my eyes to open.

Particular instructions from Brad? That could be worrisome. His earlier threat echoed in my mind. Be careful what you wish for … I had wished, hopefully he hadn’t granted.

I let out a quiet breath. Willed my body to loosen, willed my tense muscles to stop telegraphing my stress. Why was this so difficult? Maybe I could blame it on the fact that we were in a bedroom instead of a spa. But more likely it was the tan Adonis whose hands were feeling a little too perfect. Mr. De Luca left very particular instructions. Trouble. I was definitely in trouble.

My nervousness melted a little with his movements, confident strokes of sensuality, attending to safe areas: my hands, forearms, and biceps. When he moved higher, I tensed; his hands kneaded me back to butter, his focus on my neck and shoulders. He slid his hands into my hair, used his fingers to massage and release tension. I exhaled, my lips parting slightly, and he traveled, a scent of candlewood and eucalyptus trailing behind him, and ended up at my feet, starting at my soles and working upward.

Ten minutes later I fully relaxed, still on my back, almost asleep, almost convinced that this was a standard service and not some fantasy come true, when his hands started their massage of my upper thighs. The sheet was tucked tightly around my body, and the flow of his hands over and around my thighs created a small puff of wind under the sheet, hitting my bare and waiting sex. It was a reminder, suddenly alerting me that I was, in fact, naked, his hands inches away, nothing but air between them and me. He moved higher, his hands separating, one on each thigh, and he slid them upward, dipping slightly under the sheet before continuing—his hands on top of the sheet.

I breathed easier, having the sheet between us—a barricade of sorts, and one that should keep my sinful thoughts at bay. His hands traveled, two palms across my body and then, I lost my breath.

They moved, in practiced, perfect paths, skimming across my breasts, the sheet underneath his hands only an additional weapon in the game of seduction. My nipples responded, instantly hardening, every light sweep of his hands a throb to my lower half. They swept, twin weapons of passion, down the sides of my stomach, the sheet dragging a little with them, hands moving back and forth, from breast to hip, a delicious sweep that moved a little lower with every pass, my pussy tightening in response, the thin sheet sticking to the moisture between my legs. I fought my pelvis, which, with each stroke of his hand, seemed to tip upward, trying to shorten the length and allow his fingers to reach my sex.

His hands slowed, his strokes shortened, and then, to my utter dismay, stopped.

“Ms. Campbell, if you could flip over, I will start on your back.” His voice was professionally calm, an embarrassment, since I was at the point of practically gasping with need.

Flip over? Are you fucking kidding me? “Sure. That’s fine.” Miraculously, I didn’t sound like a wanton slut, barely hanging on to her sanity. I sounded almost, practically, normal.

“Thank you, Ms. Campbell.”

I turned over carefully, and he repositioned the sheet, exposing my back.

“You’re so tense,” he whispered, running his hand down the scoop of my back, his hands fanning out along the curve of my ass.

Shocker. I tried to relax, letting out a breath that ended up sounding like a moan. A sexual moan. Fuck.

He massaged, slow circles along my spine before making long swipes of his hands from one side of my back to the other. Traveling up along my back, he moved closer and closer to the sensitive skin along the side of my breasts. He slowed his movements, his fingertips grazing the outer swells of my breasts, my breath hitching despite myself.

Oh my God. I was getting wetter. I was naked, underneath the cool sheet, and could feel the moisture pooling between my legs, threatening to drip from my shaved lips. This was so bad, and I did some kegels, trying desperately to stop my body from reacting to his touch.

This was bad. This was bad in one of those ways where bad was good, and I didn’t know if I wanted to be bad, or if I was even being bad if I followed temptation. Temptation was currently running his fingers slowly up my ribcage—my body still facedown. Temptation was now gently tracing the side of my breast, and I let out a moan despite myself.

The masseuse’s fingers stopped their tease over my back and moved, trailing down the edge of my side, growing more aggressive as they reached the bottom of the sheet, dipping slightly underneath the fabric before gripping it.

Then he spoke, his voice unexpected in the candlelight darkness. “Ms. Campbell, may I remove the sheet?”

I swallowed, trying to bring some moisture to my dry mouth, then spoke, all offhanded casualness gone. “Yes. Please.”

He tugged on the sheet drawing it slowly down the length of my lower half, every inch of exposure one more step down the staircase of desire. Then, it was off, my ass and body fully exposed to him, and I heard his breath quicken in the quiet bedroom.

With his question, with my response, I had given more than just permission to remove the sheet. I had opened the door, and I was slightly terrified about what would walk through it.

I lay on my stomach, my head on the pillow, grateful for the hide of my face, the layer of protection it, like my blindfold, gave. He started at my feet, behaving, normal kneading movements that shouldn’t have been sexual, shouldn’t have made my heart race and my pussy wet. Then he gently lifted and moved, one leg and then the other, spreading my legs slightly, the cold air of the room hitting my folds, alerting me to the fact that I was exposed, open to his eyes. His hands ran along my calves, oiling up my skin, his touch incredible on my tense muscles. I wondered how much he could see, if the moisture glistened between my legs. He worked silently, his touch slow enough to be sensual, practiced enough to be effective. I should have been relaxed, my muscles putty in his hands, but the fight to stay unaffected was only making me more aware. Aware of my open legs, aware of his strong hands, his masculine presence, the fact that I was naked before him. What would I do when it was time to turn over?

He moved closer, his hands sliding over the back of my knees and starting a slow, leisurely knead of my thighs, his large hands running and gripping their whole width, each movement insanely close to me, to the spot between my legs that was now soaked.

His hands stopped, releasing me, and he moved, coming around my body, my eyes opening and watching shadows pass until I felt his hands on my opposite side, taking the movement there. I closed my eyes, trying to relax, willing my muscles to loosen. I tried to concentrate on my breathing, tried to think about anything but the ten fingers that were inching their way up my thighs.

A hand touched my back, sliding up the curve of my spine until it reached the back of my neck. I frowned, my eyes opening, trying to understand the placement of the hand, and the location of the masseuse, my bombarded brain confused, then realizing the impossibility of the situation, the impossibility of three hands on one man, and I stiffened, starting to rise, but feeling the hand on my neck keep me down.

“Relax.” Brad’s voice was in my ear, his hand turning from strong to caressing in moments. “It’s me.” I obeyed, my body instantly releasing the tension, his presence reassuring to my nervous body. My limbs became loose, and the masseuse’s hands continued their perfect manipulation of my thighs. He nuzzled my ear, placing a quick kiss on my neck. “Do you want him to continue, or should I ask him to leave?”

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