Chapter 26
Cal
We haven’t even got to the dirty-lite bit, and I can already tell I’ve warmed this beautiful creature up as much on the inside as I have on the outside.
Her skin is supple, soft, and these famous legs of hers feel even better than they look.
Toned and shapely. I bet they could hold on tight if she wrapped them around my waist.
As I cover her leg with the towel and smooth my hands over it, I allow myself to enjoy the sharp stab of pleasure that hits me at knowing I’m affecting her.
My—so far, relatively innocent—touch is arousing her.
I’ll have her writhing on this massage table before too long, but right now I’m content just to know she feels amazing.
I uncover her other leg and proceed to repeat my actions: warming the unctuous oil between my hands, placing my palms on her skin and oiling it up, working my fingers into those tight muscles in her calves, rolling my thumbs back and forth over the arch of her foot.
This time, there’s no surprised hitch in her breath when I bare her gorgeous arse cheek to me.
This time, I allow my fingertips to graze further around, till they’re at the very top of her inner thigh.
I drag my thumb along the crease of her arse.
I knead that toned cheek just a little harder than the other one.
And I even permit myself to bend and press a kiss right in the middle of it as my fingertips trail so lightly along her inner thigh that I know it must tickle.
She lets out a surprised little moan at the kiss, and I smile to myself. ‘Delicious,’ I mutter against her skin. And she is. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to sink my teeth into it.
All in good time.
I straighten up, my rock-hard cock complaining silently to me, and dutifully fold the towel back down to cover her leg.
This time, when I run my hands up both towel-covered legs, I allow my thumbs to press right in between her thighs.
Right where that fleeting pressure of terry towelling must feel the most torturous.
Sure enough, the moan she makes this time is a little more frustrated.
‘Is my warmup working?’ I enquire idly as I circle the bed, coming to stand at its head.
‘You know it is.’ Her response is muffled, but her tone is clear.
She’s getting pissed off.
‘Good.’ I lean forward and fold the towel away from me so it exposes her entire back, right to the curve of her ass.
Fuck, her back is beautiful. Flawless skin, bronzed to perfection aside from a sweet little white bikini strap mark.
I trail a fingertip across it. ‘No topless sunbathing for you this summer, sweetheart?’
‘I may be Italian, but I’m way too anglicised for that,’ she says drily. ‘My sons would’ve killed me.’
‘Shame,’ I say. ‘You’re not the only one who’s turned on, you know.’
‘Seriously?’ She lifts her head slightly, even though she’s still blindfolded.
‘Seriously. I’m hard as fuck touching this beautiful body of yours. But I’m dealing with it. So be a good girl, and be patient, and I’ll reward you. Okay?’
I take her frustrated groan as acquiescence and get to work, warming more oil before sliding my palms down her back.
Her muscles are tense, but the skin covering them is pure silk.
She’s fine-boned and slim, the arms I’ve already seen on display the feminine kind of toned that a conscientious gym or yoga routine creates.
‘You are beautiful,’ I tell her, my hands doing lazy laps of her body.
‘Just beautiful.’ I spend a few minutes working on her shoulders and upper back, because they really do feel stiff.
Then I let myself have a bit more fun. I bend right over her body, my hands digging under the towel to grab that arse again, fingers grazing her crack before I drag them back upwards along her sides.
I push them under her body so I can cup her tits, and she lets out a surprised, happy gasp that goes straight to my dick.
‘Fuck,’ I say, finding her nipples and rolling them around as best I can with barely any space. ‘I want to play with these properly. What do you say you turn over and we lose the towel so I can make you feel good?’
‘God, yes,’ she gasps.
‘That’s my girl. Keep the mask on.’
I have the towel on the floor with a single tug, and then she’s fully, gloriously naked in front of me.
I get a fleeting glimpse of the perfect violin shape of her arse and hips and waist before she’s flipping over onto her back, dark hair falling over her face and sleep mask as she does, and holy fuck.
‘Oh, yeah,’ I growl, raking my fingers through her hair to get it off her face. ‘You are fucking perfect.’
She really is. Jesus Christ. The way she’s been carrying on about her age, you’d think she was wrinkled and decrepit.
She’s a fucking smoke show. I can’t wait to see her tits when she’s upright, but they’re perfect and plump with taut, dark pink nipples.
Her stomach is flat, smooth, and the landing strip of dark hair has my name on it.
I can’t wait to slide my fingers and tongue into her wet heat, but it’ll have to wait.
First, I bend and cup her upside-down face. ‘You’re so sexy,’ I say. ‘Gimme your hand.’
She raises one arm over her head and I pull it backwards to cup my very hard, very angry cock.
‘Feel that?’
‘Fuck,’ she says. ‘Yes.’
‘Good. That’s what you do to me. Now, you lie here like a good girl while I enjoy you. Got it?’
‘Yes,’ she says, back arching involuntarily.
‘Good,’ I repeat, my gaze sweeping over her body.
I love having my women blindfolded. Love the control it gives me, love the dampener it puts on their insecurities, the way it dials down their self-consciousness and dials up their anticipation.
Right now, the famous, dazzling Aida Russell is naked and blindfolded and fucking dying for my touch, and Jesus, the things I could do to her—
Dirty-lite, I remind myself sternly. Get a grip, you horny fucker.
She’s laid out like a feast, and I barely know where to begin.
But this isn’t about me, it’s about her, so I begin where I think she’d like it.
I keep her jaw cupped and lean down to kiss her, tugging at her plump lower lip with my teeth when she opens her mouth.
I release it, gripping her face harder as I invade her mouth with my tongue, and fuck, it feels so carnal having her spread out like this for me.
I enjoy her mouth for a few more seconds before releasing her jaw and straightening up.
‘Don’t move,’ I warn her as I tip more oil into my hand and warm it up.
Then I’m back at the head of the table, sliding my palms over her soft tits and hard, needy nipples and all the way down to her stomach before I drag them back up.
The sound she makes when I brush over her nipples is a thing of great wonder. Her lips part involuntarily, and I admire the pretty way she arches her back, needing more of my touch.
‘Aren’t you responsive,’ I mutter. ‘More?’
‘Yes.’ It’s a prayer.
‘I’m here to serve,’ I tell her, and I make another lavish sweep of her torso. Fuck me, I could do this all day. This time, I linger on her tits on my way back up, kneading them and weighing them, flicking those little nipples of hers till she’s wriggling on the bed and inhaling sharply.
‘That feel good?’ I ask, my extreme arousal making my tone more brusque than I intended.
‘Yes—don’t stop,’ she begs.
‘You need more?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
She hesitates, though her body is still moving. Writhing. Chasing sensation.
I tweak both her nipples with my slippery fingers, and she bucks. ‘You’re the client. This is your massage. Tell me where you want my fingers.’