Page 126 of The Holiday Clause

She didn’t object to the kiss. As a matter of fact, she moaned into his mouth as if she wanted more, but somehow found the will to pull away.

“We’re not done yet.”

He wanted to be done. He wanted to take her home and?—

“Deep breath for me,” she said, pressing her palm flat to the center of his chest.

His eyes flew open as she pushed, and something cracked within his ribs. Tension he’d been carrying for God knew how long disappeared, and he exhaled roughly.

“What was that?”

“Just a little trick to release your pecs so your shoulders can move back into alignment. That should also help with the strain on the rhomboids and traps. That kind of tension builds in the thoracic spine until something gives. Releasing the chest wall can help decompress that entire chain.”

“You’re fucking hot when you talk like that.”

She laughed. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

For him, it was a great thing. However, it did make him want to hunt down all her past male clients and skin them alive.

“I’m going to do a rosemary mint scalp massage next,” she said, moving behind him again. “It’s cooling, invigorating—really good for clearing mental fog. You okay with that?”

She owned him now and he was basically her greased up bitch. “Yup.”

She worked her palms through his hair, massaging his temples, scalp, and the nape of his neck. Her thumbs made slow, lazy circles just behind his ears and down into the hollow where tension pooled at the base of his skull.

He groaned in ecstasy as she introduced him to new kinks he’d never considered before. Who knew pressure points were the g-spots of the spine?

“That good?” she murmured, still working his ears.

“Too good.”

She chuckled, the sound light and nonchalant. Of course, she felt unfazed. She was in her zone. Meanwhile, he was distracted by how close her tits currently were to his face.

He would literally die of ecstasy and blue balls if this didn’t stop soon.

She placed a warm towel over his chest, tucked it around his shoulders, then moved to his side. “There’s one more strain I want to check.”

Cool air ghosted over his abs as she pulled down the sheet. He jackknifed forward. “What are you doing?”

She gently pushed him back to the table. “Just relax.”

“Wren—”

“It’s fine, Greyson.” She moved to the door and flipped the lock.

That soft click changed everything. All professional pretense vanished, replaced by something electric and inevitable. The air thickened with possibility as she turned back to him, her eyes holding a heat that had nothing to do with therapeutic massage.

His alert gaze followed her back to the table where she looked down at his swollen cock, her fingers trailing slowly up his thick thigh until she casually gripped his engorged flesh. “You’re very tense here.”

He should have been riddled with shame, but he wanted her to do whatever she had planned. How had this become his sweet little Wren? She stroked him like a woman with years of experience under her belt, and so help him God, he was about to blow his load and embarrass himself like a teenage boy.

She rounded the table, never taking her hand off of him. Something buzzed, and the table lowered. Lifting a knee to the padded surface, she pulled herself up.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes,” he croaked, voice dry, unsure how far she was willing to go. The wait, though only a few seconds, felt excruciating. He sucked in a sharp breath as she knelt between his legs and held him in both hands.

“Is the pressure okay?”