2. The Cesare Special #2
“You’re very tense,” he said, his thumbs working up the nape of my neck, his fingers caressing around the sides. The image of this man giving me a hand necklace came to mind. Yeah, I was going to hell. “Try to relax, beautiful.”
My stomach swooped. Did I hear that right, or did I imagine it? Was he flirting with me? Was that part of the Cesare Special?
“Sorry,” I muttered to the floor.
He chuckled darkly; the sound made me tingle all over. “You apologise too much.”
“Oh. Sor–”
I stopped myself when his hands moved down my lower back, his thumbs massaging into the top of my ass, dipping beneath my bikini bottoms. Oh, that felt unfairly good. His hands were magic. Whatever they paid him wasn’t enough. This experience alone was already the best I’d ever had at any spa.
He rolled half of the towel over my leg, exposing the other to him.
I licked my lips, suppressing a moan as his hands massaged the oil into my thighs and down my calves.
When he reached my feet, he gently lifted one and placed it against his rigid torso as he squeezed it with his large, powerful hands before pulling my toes.
The fantasy of him taking my toe in his mouth and twirling his hot tongue around it came to the forefront of my mind.
And then I was thinking about his tongue and what else it could do.
“Is the pressure good for you?” he husked, and I swear his voice was deeper than before, tinged with a sultry darkness. “Hard enough?”
Butterflies swarmed in my stomach. Flirt back, Aria. Now is your chance. Come on.
“Um, I can handle harder.”
A low groan filtered through the room. I wanted to look at him to check I hadn’t imagined it, but I didn’t dare.
The tension in the room tripled to a heady level.
My body tingled; every touch from him set me alight.
There was no way I was going to miss the full experience.
I just needed to find the courage to ask for the special before this heavenly massage ended.
Hopefully, he’d ask, and I’d only need to nod.
After he massaged my other leg, his fingers slipping between my thighs and dangerously close to my pulsing pussy with each glide over my skin, I decided this man knew exactly what he was doing.
There would be no money back. Without a doubt, he knew his way around a woman’s body.
When he lifted the towel back into place, concealing my body from view, I nearly whimpered with disappointment.
“When you’re ready, roll onto your back.”
Oh, thank goodness it wasn’t over. There was more.
And there was that commanding tone again that compelled me to obey.
I raised my upper body with my hands on the table as he lifted the towel and allowed me to twist onto my back.
With the towel blocking his view of my tits, he lowered it back down, leaving only the top of my chest exposed.
For the first time since the massage had begun, I risked a glance at his face.
His jaw was clenched, twitching at the side, popping a muscle every few seconds, and when his eyes met mine, I saw a captivating storm within them.
My lips parted, a small, breathless gasp escaping as his nostrils flared.
Who knew men like him even existed? I bet he made an absolute fortune doing what he did here.
He walked around the table to the top, stopping above my head. I peered up at him, feeling so small as he towered over me in this position.
“Close your eyes, bellissima.”
There it was again. Beautiful. I knew he probably said it to every woman he had on his table, but it still gave me a zap of delight all over. I closed my eyes, steadying my breath until he spoke again, knocking the air out of my lungs.
“And do me a favour? Don’t hold back your moans. I want to hear what makes you feel good.”
My lips parted, and I squeezed my thighs together. His hands gently caressed my shoulders before applying more pressure.
A moan escaped as one hand glided up my throat. I opened my eyes, my cheeks flushing crimson. He peered down at me, that sly smirk curling his lips once more.
“Brava ragazza,” he murmured, his voice like velvet across my skin.
Good girl. Those two words earned another moan that I couldn’t contain.
My chest rose and fell a little faster while his hands continued to play my body like an instrument, moulding every muscle to his whim.
I didn’t shut my eyes this time. Feeling braver, I stared straight up into his dark gaze because he was watching me too.
I was pretty sure this intense eye contact wasn’t standard massage etiquette.
When he moved around to the end of the table, lifting the towel to my hips so he had access to my legs again, I was ready to combust. I had never been this riled up before. He was a master of foreplay.
His hands caressed my thighs, his eyes fixed on mine. When his thumb brushed the fabric of the bikini bottoms, just beside my clit, I moaned. Loudly. I think if he’d just circled it once, I’d explode.
But he didn’t. He kept torturing me. Getting close but not close enough.
“I–um–” Oh, God, this was mortifying. I was about to ask for it. Hell, I’d even beg for it at this point.
He paused, holding one foot as he kneaded my heel. He waited, his eyes narrowing slightly at the crimson blush creeping up my neck.
“I–um,” I struggled to find my voice and courage below the arousal that was making my head spin. “I’d like the Cesare Special, please.”