The Masseuse (22 page)

A
lec closed his eyes. The quake started in my heels, rising up my body. The tension between us was sizzling, and I yearned for it to finally break. His hands moved over my shoulders, down my arms, but never touched my skin. It was like being trapped behind glass.

His eyes opened. “What do you want me to do?”

“Touch me.”

“Where?”

I wet my lips, then pressed my index finger against them.

The kiss came with bruising force. His lips found mine, parted. His tongue pushed past my teeth, thrusting into my mouth and tangling with my own. My knees turned to water, my hands gripped his shoulders for support. Something profound was happening; it was as if his soul had entered my body. I could feel him inside my chest, burning me, consuming me. And when I recognized it, I gave back every ounce of passion so he could feel the same.

His mouth lowered then, burning a trail down my neck to the base, where his tongue scraped the soft, sensitive skin. At some time while he’d been kissing me senseless, his arms had slipped around my waist and were holding most of my weight.

“Where?” he demanded.

My eyelids fluttered open. I reached for one of his hands, sliding it up my side to my breast. The oil made the path slippery, and his burning hands ignited it, creating flames to lick my skin.

He bent his knees, and to gain leverage he pushed me back, hoisting me up just in time to soften my fall to the couch. The air fled from my lungs as I hit the soft cushions. He hovered over me, pinning my legs closed against the padded armrest as his mouth found my right breast.

His tongue swirled over the sensitive bud, and as he sucked it into his mouth, a hoarse shout tore from my lips. His thumb worked the other hard peak, flicking it gently, then circling the areola. He knew exactly how to touch me, every move that drove me crazy. He’d taken the time to learn all of me, and I was at his mercy. My knees struggled to bend so I could open myself to his weight, but his free hand lowered and held my pelvis still.

My fingers laced through his hair, holding his head to me one second, then trying to push him away the next as the pleasure became too intense. Sparks shot across the floor of my pelvis, coming faster and faster as he worshipped my other breast.

“Alec.” I reached for something to anchor me and found his shoulders, but the oil made him too slippery to hold. “
Alec
.”

The explosion came with shocking force, causing my legs to scissor in order to create some friction to relieve my pulsing sex. The pressure there was sharp, demanding. It hit me again, and again, pummeling my body with heat. My sounds seemed to make him wild, and his hands dove beneath my arching back, pulling me deeper into his mouth. I didn’t know if the first orgasm ended before the second began; all I knew was that the sensations suddenly doubled in strength, and I stretched straight and tight, crying his name.

And he had yet to be inside of me.

Finally I succeeded in dragging his head up, but he didn’t kiss me. Still, the hunger in his face was clearer than ever.

“Where?” he demanded. And when I could only pant, one hand slipped behind my neck and forced my gaze to his. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

“Everywhere,” I gasped. “Everywhere.”

His hands raced down my belly, spreading the oil over my hips, beneath my buttocks. And then he was spreading my legs, lifting me, plunging his fingers into my vagina with a force my body demanded of him. I was already wet; my inner thighs were slick from what he’d done to me. Urgently he stroked, rubbing my inner walls. My cleft was swollen and needy, and my small muscles clenched, pulling him deeper.

“Feel me,” he rasped. “I need you to feel me.” The look in his eyes was that of desperation.

His fingers twisted, and the wave hit me by surprise. There was no chance for breath. It wrapped me in hot velvet, turning me to liquid in his hands. While I was still spinning, his mouth found my swollen clit, and began a slow, tortuous lapping, scraping his teeth against it every few moments to heighten the sensation.

I was gasping for oxygen, fumbling for his hair to push him away, but my fingers had gone numb. My knees attempted to close, lock him out, but he held me wide open with his elbows and feasted. His tongue was everywhere. His fingers everywhere. Touching me. Fucking me. Teasing me to the point of insanity. I lost myself, became a riot of colors and heat, a never-ending pulse of pleasure. When I thought I could take no more, he tilted my pelvis up and pressed my knees open wide. The cool air on my wet skin brought a chill, which he dissipated with long, lapping strokes that circled my center.

His tongue prodded inside of me, but it was too shallow. Not enough. If he was going to push me to the line, I wanted us to cross it together.

“You.” My voice was small, the words difficult to find. “I need you.”

“Not yet,” he said.

“Now,” I begged. “Now. I need you, Alec.”

He lowered my hips, and wiped my juices off his lips with the back of his hand. He was primal now, hedonistic, and I drank in the sight of him. Bronzed body, slick with oil and perspiration. Heaving chest. Thick, defined arms. Cock jutting out, heavy and veined and so huge it sent a shiver of panic through me.

I’d taken him before, and I would again now.

The speculative look on his face caught me off guard. But before I could think clearly enough to make sense of it, he crawled over me, pulling me lengthwise on the couch beneath him.

I felt him at my opening, prodding gently through the soaked lips, letting my still spasming muscles adjust to his broad girth. My heels hooked around his calves. My hands reached for him, but he stopped me, and pinned them against the pillow over my head.

I knew something was wrong. A cold feeling seeped into my lungs, spreading silently, reaching for my racing heart. But I couldn’t concentrate on it, because he was still entering me. That delicious contact I’d craved was happening at last. Inch by inch he claimed me, until my insides compressed to accommodate him, and the spark of pain blended with the searing pleasure. I could feel his pelvis against mine, his balls brushing against my ass.

I exhaled.
Finally
.

With his jaw flush against my cheek, his face was hidden from me. I could feel the sweat on his brow, feel the tips of his wet hair tickle my ear. His mouth pressed to my neck, to the scrambling pulse that beat within.

“Anna,” he breathed. The broken way he said it brought a pang to my heart, and again I felt that coldness inside my chest.

I hated that he was constricting my hands. I needed to hold him.
He
needed me to hold him. An awareness filtered through my trembling body: I’d wanted the truth, and this was it. His body was trying to tell me what his mouth couldn’t.

I was a masseuse; it was my job to listen to people’s bodies.

I closed my eyes and focused on the clenching of his thighs between mine, on his flexing biceps and his ragged breaths. On his hard body as he rotated his hips to rub the deepest part of me. On his heart, as it hammered through his ribs against my breast.

He rolled his pelvis, then again, allowing no friction but increasing the pressure all the same. Another roll and I was coming, losing my focus on him for timeless moments as I crested the peak.

“I can feel you,” he said into my hair. “Your hungry little cunt gripping my dick.”

His words made me cry for more, and soon he was sliding in and out, angling at just the right place to keep me soaring. His strokes quickened, grew harder.

“Come again, baby,” he demanded. But I twisted my head into the pillow, and I was unable to tell him that it hadn’t stopped. It kept going and going, even as the sweat soaked my hair and ran in rivulets between my breasts. I was dying.

And just as I thought he would join me, he stopped.

Arms shaking, he released my wrists at last and rose, pressing his forehead to mine just for a moment before rising on his knees, and pulling my hips around his. We never broke contact as he began hammering into me from above. His eyes fixed on my breasts, which I held in place against my chest.

Again the pressure increased.

And again he stopped.

He turned me over, and though I tried to help, I was so weak I could barely hold my weight on my forearms as he took me from behind. He couldn’t come, or he wasn’t letting himself. I didn’t understand; he’d never done this before. Tears streamed down my nose as he reached around and massaged my aching clit.

When I groaned, he went faster, driving every sound he could from me. He was close, now. I could feel his fingers tighten around my hips. His strokes lost their rhythm.

I sobbed his name, needing him to come with me.

But he pulled back again.

“Stop,” I said.

He froze.

“Alec, stop,” I said again.

As if I’d struck him, he jerked back, leaving me empty. I was so sensitive, I gave a stunted cry, but before I could turn around, he’d sat me up, and was kneeling on the floor below me.

My hands were in his, and the look on his face was that of horror.

“Are you okay?” He brushed the hair out of my face. “Anna? Baby, did I hurt you?”

I was crying. He had hurt me, but not in the way he was thinking. Physically I was fine—exhausted, satiated, maybe a little sore, but fine. But the cold inside had taken over and was spreading down my limbs.

He had fucked me. Like I’d asked him to. But unlike every other time he’d been inside of me, we’d been out of sync. He hadn’t felt that same connection I’d felt. He’d never been so far away.

“Anna? God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His thumbs traced my cheeks to wipe away the tears. “I fucked up. What can I do? What do you need?”

“You!” I shouted, the rage taking hold of me.

His hands dropped, and he fell back so he was seated on the floor.

“I don’t . . .”

“You’re such an idiot!” I yelled, the moisture in my eyes blinding me now.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Shut up!”

“Okay.”

I hunched over, elbows on my knees, the heels of my hands pressing against my eyes to stop the tears. When I had myself back under control, I looked up again, only to find him staring at me worriedly.

“Where are you?” I asked. “Because you’re not here with me.”

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. One hand dragged down his jaw, the other fisted on his knee.

“I thought . . .” I shook my head. “I thought you felt it.”

He looked as though I was cutting his heart out.

“Felt what, Anna?”

I hugged myself, wishing I had a blanket. “
Me
. I thought you felt me.” I forced myself to breathe. “I don’t just want your body, or your fancy apartment, or your body.”

His mouth quirked, though his eyes stayed sad. “You said that already.”

“I thought you needed me as much as I need you. But you don’t.”

I recognized the cold then. It had morphed into something more intimate, but its origin was the same. My own mother hadn’t needed me, and Alec didn’t either.

“How can you say that?” Anger hardened his features. He touched me then, hands cupping my calves. I glanced down and saw that he was still rock hard. It looked like it must have been painful.

“You just tried to orgasm me to death,” I said, exasperated. “But you didn’t feel anything.”

“You have no idea what I feel.”

“Because you don’t tell me! You’re a complete fucking mess, and you won’t share any of it with me. You told me I don’t trust you, but you’re the one who doesn’t trust—”

Before I could finish, he’d jerked me down to the floor. I steadied myself on his shoulders, while his mouth frantically sought mine. He pulled me into his lap, hands on my face, then in my hair. His arms circled my back and smashed me to his chest. My knees slid open, and hit against the floor as our hips came together. Between us, his hard cock was pressed, still slick from being inside of me.

“You think I don’t need you?” he growled, lifting me and then sliding into me. I cried out as my nerves went haywire.

“You’re everything, Anna.” His lips crushed mine. “Everything.” His hips began to move and I helped, lost by the sudden passion pouring off him. “I can’t breathe without you.” His movements became more insistent, and I held his face in my hands while he stared into my eyes.

“Your body is fucking paradise.” He lifted me. Lowered me. Not enough to ride his full length, only enough so that we stayed deeply joined. “When I’m inside you, nothing else matters.”

His thighs were solid beneath me. My breasts stayed pressed against his flexed chest. He was chasing the cold away, one word at a time. One stroke at a time. And finally, finally, I was full.

“I would die for you,” he said through gritted teeth.

He moved faster, and I held him close, even as his gaze flicked to the side.

“Stay with me,” I murmured, forcing him to look at me. His eyes were breathtaking, infinitely deep.

“I don’t want it to end,” he confessed. I realized in the back of my mind that this was what he’d been doing before. Prolonging what we had. Making it last as long as possible.

“Stay with me,” I begged.

Beads of sweat rolled down his temples. I felt it again, the melding of his soul with mine, that undeniable connection. Only now I knew he felt it, too.

“Anna.”

“Alec.
Alec
.” I held him against me, feeling the tension swell, and swell, until it became hard to breathe.

“Anna,” his forehead fell against my shoulder. “I love you.” His thrusts turned hard. His abdominals clenched. “I love you.”

The separation between us was severed; there was no he and I, only us. I no longer felt where he ended and I began.

He loved me.

He
loved
me.

I broke with a sob as my body finally gave its last, and he followed, filling me with all his could offer.

When he was finished, he lifted me gently and carried me to the couch. He kissed my brow tenderly, then my lips. I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

I heard his feet on the hardwood floor as he made his way to the bathroom, but I was drifting in and out of consciousness. When I opened my eyes, he was standing close, fully clothed. That same twisted expression was back on his face, and at the sight of it, I was filled with dread.