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Maria goes to the massage bed, the widest I’ve ever seen, and pulls the top blanket back. “If you’d like to slip off your robe and bra and get comfortable front down. There’s a hook on the wall by the bathroom. I’ll give you a few minutes.”
“Thank you.” The soft sound of waves registers, the subtle scent of roses breaking through the lavender. God, I need this. I need someone to work the tension out of me and relax me, because I am strung, my heart thumping relentlessly. I slip off the robe and hang it up, shivering a little, despite the room being warm, as I remove my bra, leaving my knickers on. Lying on my front, I pull the blanket up my back as far as I can, resting my face in the padded hole, closing my eyes and exhaling.
Relax, relax, relax.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Someone please rub this stress and tension out of me.
The door opens and closes, and in the darkness, I hear Maria moving around, the clinking of glass bottles delicate. Her hands press into my back on top of the blanket a few times before she takes the edge by my shoulders and draws it down to the base of my spine, exposing my bare back.
And I wait for her warm touch to meet my skin. And wait.
For a moment, I wonder if she’s left the room. But then I feel her palms rest on my lower back and gently press into me.
And an inferno instantly rages within.
My eyes fly open, staring at the carpet below, and air leaves my lungs in a rush, my body erupting with tingles. I would know his touch amid a million touches. My body already knows him.What the hell?
I start to turn, needing to check I’m not losing my fucking mind, but his touch slides up to my shoulders and presses down, encouraging me to stay.Oh my God.His breath is suddenly in my ear, my senses invaded by the musk and oud smell that’s wholly Jude. He doesn’t speak, just breathes.
But he doesn’t need to speak.
I hear him.
The universe hears him.
The energy in the room is supercharged, electric.
What’s happening?
His hands leave my back, and mine clench into balls. It takes all my resistance not to spin over. See him. Is he naked? “This is so wrong,” I whisper, knowing he can’t hear me. My body is screaming for him, my skin demanding his touch. The throb of my inside walls is carnal, sensing what it wants is close by.
The wave music dies and something else starts. And it doesnothelp my condition. The sound of a woman breathing heavily fills the room, mixing with my own fitful breaths, and then a choir of men singing in French. It takes me only a few seconds to recognise the music.
Enigma. “Sadeness.”
“Oh my God,” I murmur, as the fire of his touch meets my back again, melding gently into my flesh, kneading, stroking, feathery touches mixed with firmer ones. I groan, unable to stop myself, surrendering to his masterful hands working my body, drifting away, the music filling my head, his hands taking me to new realms of pleasure. And that’s all I can think about. How just a kiss and a touch can blindside me. How him massaging my hands with soap can render me useless. Have me imagining all the ways he can use those hands on me. How his voice over the phone built me up to an explosion.
It started with a look.
Then a touch.
Where is this leading?
I don’t mean sex, I know that’s going to happen. And I know it’s going to be biblical. But where then?
I haven’t the capacity to think about that while I’m at the mercy of this gift. I roll my head as he pushes his thumbs into the space between my shoulder blades, feeling like I’m spiralling into complete delirium. I can smell him, I can sense him, I can feel him, but I need to see him.Taste him. I try to turn again, but he forces me back down. I growl my frustration but obey his silent order, and he continues to massage me all over, his soft, firm hands unreal, my mind lost.
Coolness meets my spine, and I jerk. Oil. He’s dripping oil on me. The heel of his hand pushes into the base of my spine and glides firmly up to my neck, seeming to push every inch of doubt out of me. I’m taking this. Takinghim. I couldn’t say no if I wanted to, and in this moment, I don’t.
His palms splay across each side of my back, drifting down onto my hips, spreading the oil, then back up again, brushing the edges of my breasts. My breath hitches, and for the first time, I hear his breathing too. Deep, long breaths. The blanket is pulled off my legs, leaving me completely bare except for my knickers. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Another brush of my breasts as he drags his hands back down, hooking his fingers into the top of my knickers when he reaches them. My eyes open. My hands ball and flex. My heart pounds. Harder and harder and harder.
The music goes on as I lift my hips and let him draw my knickers down my legs. His palms wrap around my ankles and hold me for a few seconds before he slides them up my calves. Onto my thighs. Stops. Works circles, kneading a little. Then up some more, stroking softly over my arse. I gasp when I feel his lips push into my left cheek. His mouth opens, he bites down gently, and my lips press together, but a smile breaks as he sinks his teeth into my butt, the pain tolerable.
And then he swats it before spinning me onto my back.