Chapter 15 – Roman
ROMAN
“You know I’m not really a massage or spa kind of guy, right?” I say to Braelyn as she drags me along the stone path from our suite toward the spa.
“It’ll be good for you,” she explains. “We have an appointment with the sensei for a wellness consultation too.”
I give her my best what the fuck does that mean look. “Braelyn, I’m not sure I even have words for that.”
“It’s for our mind-body wellness. When the concierge called the room this morning and offered it to us, I jumped.”
I sigh. “They want us to post about it online or something. They likely saw the pictures from Vegas.”
She gasps and covers her mouth with her hand.
“Not the wedding picture. The picture from the soft opening. If anything, people think you’re my girlfriend, not my wife. I’m not a travel blogger. I’m a chef. One who doesn’t particularly like the limelight or people I don’t know.”
She snorts. “And yet you’re like one of the most famous chefs out there so…” She trails off with a shrug.
“Not by choice.”
“Bro, you just opened another restaurant in Vegas and are going to do the same here at this fancy resort.”
And three more in Europe, but who’s counting?
“Bro? Did you just bro me?”
She beams at me, and why is that look so fucking irresistible? I’m already melting at it, my resistance for a sensei and a wellness consultation pooling at my feet in a lame-ass puddle.
“I did. Come on. It might be just the thing to relax all those tense muscles. And think about your forehead. If you keep scowling and furrowing at everyone, the amount of Botox you’ll need will deplete your trust fund.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re very funny.”
I get a cheeky wink. “I have my moments. Come on. We get a couple’s massage and body scrub out of this.”
“Couples?”
“Yeah, that’s just what they offered me. They think we’re an item. Besides, they have a hydrotherapy room and a beachfront pool.” She pats the large tote bag on her shoulder. “I brought my swim stuff, and you’re already in trunks. It’s perfect.”
“We have a beachfront pool.”
“Are you always this much of a downer on vacation?”
My lips reluctantly twitch. “I can’t remember.”
“I want to be scrubbed and rubbed and come out like a shiny new coin on the other side.”
I open my mouth, only to immediately close it. That talk of getting scrubbed and rubbed suddenly has my stupid dick getting chub. Maybe it’ll be hot. A couple’s massage sounds like that, but it also sounds like torture.
“You’d better have a female masseuse,” I mutter, but of course, she doesn’t. We meet with the sensei, who asks us a million questions about our health routine and goals and blah, blah, fucking blah. Not my thing. Braelyn, ever the nurse, is loving it, so I play along.
After we’re done with him and he’s tailored our treatments to our health needs, we’re each brought to a gender-specific side of the spa and given robes to change into.
I leave my briefs on, not knowing if I’m supposed to get fully naked, especially when I know Brae will be in the room with me.
Then again, I’m now thinking about Braelyn getting fully naked, and once again, my stupid dick is acting like an eager-beaver high school kid.
Not an uncommon thing with me when it comes to her, but I had it better in check until we shared a bed last night. I woke up hard as a rock and have pretty much been in varying stages of that since this trip began.
“Senor Fritz,” the attendant calls. “This way, please.” I’m led down a hall that smells of rosemary and citrus into a treatment room.
There are two beds about three feet apart, a large shower with a glass door, shiny green glass tiles, and multiple showerheads.
I don’t understand the shower, but then again, I don’t exactly find myself in spas, well, ever.
Instead, I focus on the two beds when Braelyn walks in wearing a similar robe to mine.
My throat dries. “Hi.”
“Hi.” She licks her lips and shifts her weight, looking at me and then looking away.
“Are we supposed to get on the table?” I ask.
She shrugs. “My attendant told me to wait for our technicians.”
Before I can respond, the door opens, and a man and a woman enter, each holding two glasses filled with an orangish-pink liquid.
“It’s our antioxidant, purifying cooler,” the woman explains and hands one to each of us.
Brae and I exchange looks, but both drink it down.
It’s tart as fuck but oddly delicious and refreshing.
“We’ll leave the room, and you can both remove your robes and get onto the tables face up to start. There are towels to cover yourselves.”
Then they leave, and I blink at Braelyn, blood already pulsing loudly through my ears, making my brain slower than perhaps I otherwise might be.
“I’m only in my briefs.”
She laughs, but it’s strained. “I’m in nothing but a thong.”
I choke and cover my face with my hands, breathing out slowly so I don’t collapse. “Jesus, fuck, Brae.”
“Clearly, I didn’t think all this through when I agreed. Turn around, and I’ll get on the table first, and then you can. I’ve seen you in your briefs.”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t seen you in only a thong.
” I turn around, trying not to listen as she gets undressed and onto the table, but I have bigger problems at the moment, and yes, once again I’m talking about my dick.
Because I’m going to embarrass myself when I’m lying on a table and pitching a fucking tent under the towel.
I adjust myself, but it’s useless. There is no hiding it, and when she says, “I’m ready,” all I can think is, I am too.
Keeping my back to her, I remove my robe, hang it on the hook beside hers, remove my uncomfortable flip-flops, and climb onto the bed. I don’t look at her. I don’t. But it’s like my peripheral vision is running the show, and I catch flashes of her with two towels covering her tits and pussy.
The bed is heated, which isn’t great, considering I’m already sweating. I stare up at the ceiling and think about how to make croquembouche, a complex French dessert that is a test of time and patience.
It works for a bit, especially since neither of us is talking now, but then the attendants walk back in and the guy goes for Braelyn and the woman for me, and I hate this.
All of this. He’s going to touch her when she’s practically naked, and I’m not.
Adding to that, the woman snaps on gloves before she dollops a cold, goopy salt concoction onto my body and starts scrubbing the hell out of my skin.
The only good thing about it is that it gets rid of my hard-on because it fucking hurts. By the time she’s done, I’ll be completely raw, bleeding, and lucky if my tattoos are still visible.
After the longest fifteen minutes of my life, she tells me to roll over and does the same torture to my backside.
“Now you can both shower,” the technician tells us. “Just press the button on the wall when you’re done, and we’ll be in five minutes after that. Make sure you dry off before you get back onto the bed, face down to start.”
They leave us alone, and I blow out a harsh breath.
“You are so grounded.”
She laughs. “Do you remember how often our parents used to say that to us?”
I don’t reply. I’m trying to figure out how this will work without me showering essentially naked with my best friend. Because while she’s my best friend, I’m also seriously in love with her and seriously attracted to her. To where I don’t even see other women at this point.
It’s all her.
She’s the most beautiful. The funniest. The smartest. The sexiest. Other women are gray, while Braelyn is painted in every color.
“Braelyn… I can’t shower with you like that.” I’ll touch you. I’ll touch you everywhere. I’ll fuck you in the goddamn shower, spa technicians and a lifetime of friendship be damned.
“No. Agreed. Do you wanna go first?”
“This was supposed to be fun and relaxing, right? This is the opposite of that. You owe me… I don’t know. I’ll think of something, but my skin feels like a tuna.”
She giggles. “A tuna?”
I climb off the bed and head for the shower, keeping the towel around my waist, forcing myself not to look at the bed beside mine. “Yes. A tuna. I just had my skin flayed off me and now it feels like my flesh is being seared. Is it supposed to burn?”
Suddenly, it’s like my skin is on fire while someone is taking pins dipped in acid and stabbing me with them.
“Ah! I don’t know. Hurry up. Because it’s totally burning me now too.”
“Shit. You go first.”
Her hands wave frantically through the air. “No. Just do it fast.”
“That’s the first time a woman has ever said that to me.”
She laughs, but it’s pained. “Not funny.”
I start the water to cold instead of hot. “Get in the shower with me.”
“But…”
“I won’t look. I’ll keep my eyes closed. But we have to get this salt off us now.”
She screeches, and I hear her moving, but I drop the towel and get my ass in the shower. Immediately, I start to rub the scrub off, pumping copious amounts of bodywash onto my hands and lathering it everywhere I can.
“Wash your body, kid. It’s helping.”
The shower door bangs behind her, and then she’s pushing into one of the streams.
“Oh my god! I thought this was supposed to be pleasurable. It’s horrible.”
I stand with my back to her, refusing to move from the cold water of my stream. Lucky for me, between the burning on my skin and the ice water dumping down on me, I’m not exactly thinking about her being naked.
“Are you okay? Is your skin burned or anything?” I ask, peeking open my eyes to take in my chest, which shockingly isn’t even red.
“No.” Then she laughs incredulously. “Actually, it’s softer than a baby’s ass. Feel.”
“Is that meant to be a joke?”
More giggling. “I meant feel your skin.” Then her hand is on my back, and what the actual fuck is she trying to do to me? “Oh, yours is too. Maybe we just didn’t move fast enough into the shower.”