Page 103 of Fly with Me

“Okay, good. Scoot over just a little.”

Olive slid over and felt the bed shift. Shit. Stella Soriano was in her bed. Stella Soriano was in her bed, and Olive’s shirt was off. She could almost feel the heat of Stella’s breath on her bare skin as she spoke again.

“My grandmother always started at the temples.” Stella rubbed some of the ointment in a smooth, circular motion from her temples to her ears.

Tension in Olive’s forehead eased, and her body melted into the pillow.

“She always put it on our feet with socks too. I bought you some fuzzy cheap ones at the store, are you okay if I…”

“Anything.” Olive gave a tiny fake cough this time and tried to make her voice sound less like she was in a low-quality porno and more “normal” hoarse. “I mean, sure, anything would be great. Anything, like, to help with the cough, I mean.” So smooth.

The bed shifted once more, and Stella moved down near Olive’s feet. She rubbed the salve into the arches, the toes, the heels. Olive’s mouth went dry, and she stifled a moan at how fucking good it felt. Jesus Christ, this woman had missed her calling by becoming an airline pilot. She had magic hands.

Once Stella seemed satisfied the Vicks was applied thoroughly, a bag rustled. Olive opened her eyes to find Stella pulling out a pair of furry magenta socks. She ripped the tag off and moved back to Olive’s feet.

Olive pushed up to her elbows. “Oh, I can put them on—”

“Just relax.” Somehow having Stella slide soft socks onto her feet was unexpectedly erotic. Although it occurred to Olive that Stella doing absolutely anything was erotic. Olive would probably want to fuck Stella after watching her brush her teeth or boil an egg or do her taxes.

Olive’s entire body grew warm as fucking Stella was now all she could think about. All the ways she wanted to fuck Stella. Starting with those damn magic hands on Olive’s…

“Be right back,” Stella said, completely oblivious to the X-rated fantasies that had taken root in Olive’s brain because of some socks. Oh god, did this mean Olive had a foot fetish now? No. Only people like Elvis and Quentin Tarantino had foot fetishes. She calmed her brain, reminding herself that kink-shaming was bullshit, but her thoughts wouldn’t slow down.

“Are you okay?”

Olive jumped at the sound of Stella’s voice. Her eyes popped open. “I’m fine.”

“You’re supposed to be relaxing, but you look really tense.” Stella held a steaming mug in her hand. “I was supposed to make you drink this before the Vicks, but I got distracted.”

Distracted? By Olive? Olive internally begged that Stella was distracted by her own similar horniness.

“Sip a little and then I’ll finish up applying the Vicks.”

“Chamomile?”

Stella nodded. “My favorite. I hated it when I was little and forced to drink it, but it does work wonders when you’re sick. I also use it for insomnia now.”

Olive drank a third of the tea before Stella seemed satisfied. She took the mug back and slid it onto the nightstand next to Olive’s ginger ale. This time, Olive didn’t need to be told what to do. She scooched over, lay down, and closed her eyes.

Stella sat beside her. “Are you okay if I rub it on your chest, or do you want to do it?”

“You doing it is fine.” It came out more like a croak.

“Do you need more tea?”

“Nope. Throat’s fine.” She shut her eyes and tried to remember what arms were supposed to do when they were relaxed. After a couple of twitching movements, she glued them to her sides. Warm softness shifted beside her. She heard another twist of the lid. Olive opened her eyes a slit in time to see Stella lean over her. Her perfect breasts were right at Olive’s eye level. Olive closed her mouth to stifle whatever treacherous sound threatened to come from her.

Then a warm hand was on her chest. The circular motion was similar to what it had been on her temples, but over her sternum instead. Olive’s spine begged to arch into the touch. She felt her nipples harden and couldn’t decide whether she wanted Stella to notice or not.

She shifted, letting her thighs rub together as she took a deep inhale.

This was torture. Pure, unrelenting torture. Stella’s fingers rubbed over the areas of tension along Olive’s collarbone and upper ribs. Those muscles that were sore from days of coughing now loosened.

“Take a deep breath, Olive.”

She did. Her chest rising into the gentle comfort of Stella’s palm.

“Again.”