The Masseuse (11 page)

I believed him. I could feel the truth in his serious gaze. He circled one of my wrists with his strong hand, careful not to squeeze too tightly as he lifted it to his chest and dragged it down his solid, muscular abs to his belt.

My breath caught.

His hand lowered, pressing my palm against his hard cock. A moan slipped from my mouth, and then my breath came faster. My clothes, light as they were, chafed my sensitive skin. The desire I felt for him overrode my anger, shoved aside my insecurities. Maybe he wanted me, but I
needed
him. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. Every cell existed to give him pleasure, and take it in return.

“It’s time to go,” he said.

I nodded.

He took my hand, holding it firmly as we walked through the loud bar in silence.

Mac waved to us from the front door. “I’ll stop by the house later this week.”

Alec only nodded and led me out the door to his car. He opened my door, and shut it once I was inside. I’d begun to feel feverish; I could hardly hold still.

“My apartment is in Ybor City,” I said when he’d entered the driver’s side.

I wasn’t sure if I could keep off of him that long.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded. “But don’t come.”

A dark thrill trembled through me. Slowly, I pulled back my skirt. I lifted my leg and placed one bare foot on the dash, the other on his thigh, giving him a clear view even as the overhead lights dimmed. Slowly, I lowered one hand to my aching center.

Gravel sprayed from under his tires as he hit the gas.

He drove fast.

I
could barely concentrate enough to direct Alec to my parking spot. He was out of the Jeep before I could unlatch my seat belt. I wasn’t sure how he knew to climb the stairs past the Chinese restaurant to my apartment, but I was in no shape to argue. My legs were trembling, my hands clumsy. The ache in my sex had become so demanding my head was beginning to throb.

I dropped my keys on the welcome mat in the hallway. With a hard, impatient expression on his face, he stooped down to pick them up and held them out in the palm of his hand.

“That one,” I said.

He opened the door.

The curtains were still open, and the streetlamps outside bathed my apartment in long shadows. I didn’t care that dirty clothes were strewn over the back of the love seat in the center of the room or that my bed was unmade. My nerves were raw from the energy sizzling between us. He stepped close behind me, and his warm breath on the back of my neck sent hot shivers down my spine.

“Alec, I . . .” I didn’t know what to say, or how to begin. It was like I’d never brought a man home before. Was I supposed to offer him something to drink? Make small talk?

I didn’t even get a chance to flip on the lights.

He spun me around to face him, and the door closed forcefully as he pressed my body against it. His mouth found mine, and his kiss stole my breath. There was a fierce passion in the way his tongue thrust past my teeth, in the almost bruising pressure of his lips. He held my face in his hands, burying his fingers in my hair. It was as if he were starved for the taste of me. Like he couldn’t get enough. Like I was the most wanted woman in the world.

His hands cuffed my wrists, a gentle, but solid prison that he moved above my head. The weight of him against me, and the intensity of his mouth made me moan. I could feel his hard length pressing against my pelvis, begging to be freed from his pants. I rose to my tiptoes as he rocked down, then pressed his hips to mine—a promise.

“Christ,” he said. “You’re killing me.”

I was so tightly coiled, I nearly came from the friction of his movement. He swallowed my stunted cry, dragging his hands heavily down my sides to my hips. Automatically, I lifted one knee, and he grabbed the underside of my leg and ground hard against me.

“Oh God,” I managed, careening down the tunnel toward release.

He froze.

“Tell me I can have you,” he said hurriedly. “Say it.”

“Yes,” I said, and gasped as his mouth made a trail of urgent, wet kisses to my neck. “Yes. Now.”

The storm took us, a frenzy of scraping teeth and fast, desperate touches. He fumbled with the zipper on the back of my dress as I ripped the T-shirt over his head and revealed his broad, sculpted chest, already glistening with sweat. Before my dress was loose enough to pull completely off, he’d tugged it down between our bodies, pinning my arms to my sides with the straps that had sagged down to my biceps. I fought the restraints, desperate to touch him, but his hips pinned me in place. He weighed my breasts with the palms of his hands, a hiss escaping through his teeth, then in a flash, unhooked my sheer black bra and cast it to the side.

The coarse, groomed hair on his chest tantalized my nipples as he adjusted positions and lowered, just enough to hoist me up with his muscled arms. My legs wrapped around his waist, pressing my needy, swollen sex against the rough denim of his jeans. I yanked the dress over my head, hearing the zipper rip just as my sandals clunked to the floor.

“Your cunt’s so hot I can feel it through my pants,” he growled. “You’re going to burn me alive.”

Using the door as leverage, he held me in place with one arm while the other hand returned to my breast. He squeezed it, then teased the nipple to a hard point with the rough stroke of his thumb.

I squirmed, throwing my head back, vaguely aware of the pain as it smacked against the door. His mouth skimmed down my chest to my left breast, and he lashed my nipple with his tongue, a series of relentless strikes that made my pussy spasm as the orgasm surged through me.

“Fuck,” he said, rotating his hips to help me ride it out. “I can’t wait anymore. I’m sorry.”

Still pelted by waves of satin heat, I clung to his body, struggling to find my equilibrium as he backed away from the door. He took a few steps and crashed into something, staggered, but caught himself before we plummeted to the ground. When he swore, I kissed him, urging him to hurry as my emptiness became unbearable.

“Alec, please. I need . . .”

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

He lowered to his knees, keeping one arm locked firmly around my lower back, the other beneath my rear. And then the wooden floor became my support as he pulled away to remove his pants.

He was mouthwatering. A god. In the fractions of light that sliced across his chest I could see the swell of his muscles, the ripples of his abs, the cut V that lowered beneath his waistband.

His pants were shed, along with his boxer briefs, and his erection, a shaft of smooth steel, bobbed free. He stretched it down with one hand and my breath caught. He was a portrait of masculinity and, watching him, a part of me woke that I hadn’t known existed. A part that needed to be claimed. A part of me that needed to claim him as my own.

Then he was tearing the foil off a condom and leaning over me. The look in his eyes made my heart stutter: urgency, need, and a whisper of something else, too, that I didn’t understand. I pulled his perfect face down to mine, feasting on his mouth while he pulled on the condom.

Our legs tangled, my nails dug into his shoulders. He placed himself at my entrance and held my gaze. One last breath before the dive.

My body craved him; I couldn’t help myself. My heels dug into the floor and my hips thrust up. The head of his penis nudged through my slick lips and a hoarse cry tore from my open mouth.

“You’re going to take all of me, Anna,” he said tightly. “Every inch. But you have to be still right now. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He pressed my hips down with one hand, making it clear we would be doing this his way. I wriggled beneath his firm hold. In that moment I would have welcomed the pain if it cured this fever raging through me.

“Fuck me,” I demanded. I tried to twist out of his hold, change positions so that I was on top and could get what I needed faster, but his knees parted my thighs, and his cock once again forged through my folds. I tried to open myself as much as I could for his incredible girth, turning my knees out and latching my ankles behind his thighs.

“That’s right,” he said. “Pull me into that hot, sweet little cunt.”

Bearing his weight on his arms, he pushed into me. One inch at a time. Stretching me, filling me, until the pain blended with pleasure and I was nearly blind with lust. His face buried in my hair; the feel of his cheek against mine added a tenderness I didn’t expect.

“So tight,” he murmured. “God, your body, Anna. It’s perfect.”

He drew back slowly, fighting for control—I could see the tension spanning his body in every taut muscle. Beads of sweat dripped down his jaw. He pinched his eyes closed in concentration.

More. I needed more. I needed all of him.
Now
.

My nails scratched down his back and he arched, teeth bared. When his eyes shot open, I could see only the pupils.

He drove into me hard, burying himself to the hilt, holding me with his gaze and steely cock. I could feel him all the way to my womb, all the way to my soul as he tore down the barriers I’d carefully guarded for so long. He pushed past my defenses and stripped me bare, and as he found a hard, consistent rhythm, I held tightly to him, afraid of losing myself so quickly.

“Like that,” he coaxed. “Squeeze my cock like that.”

His words made me so hot.

The pressure was rising again, and as he shifted his weight and his pelvis began rubbing against my clit, I could feel myself beginning to unravel. I thrashed beneath him, straining when his grip slid beneath my shoulders so that he could lock me in place.

He pushed deeper, then traded his measured pace for faster strokes, angling upward. My inner walls clamped down, needing more. Taking more. I became blind to everything but how good he felt.

The sensations were new to me. I could come by my own hand or another’s, but I’d never been able to orgasm during sex. Some past lovers didn’t care; others found this a challenge and, to spare their feelings, I occasionally faked it.

I was not faking now. This was real, and more intense than anything I’d ever imagined. The heat spiraled away from a center deep inside of me, a place he rubbed with each thrust. My hips rocked up to meet him, taking everything he gave.

“Feel how deep I am,” he said. “I’ve never been so hard.”

Our bodies slid against each other, damp with sweat.

“Alec,
Alec
.”

“Let go, baby,” he said. “Come. Now.”

I did as he commanded, and when the orgasm tore through me, I screamed. Blinded by white stars, I clawed the wooden floor, shocked as the sensations went on and on.

Swearing sharply, he rose to his knees, grabbed me beneath the thighs and lifted my hips, driving into me in a series of fast, deep strokes.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted.

The next orgasm chased the last, just as intense, just as powerful. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. And as my muscles contracted, he slammed into me one more time and held. A tight expression crossed his beautiful face. The look sent a new wave of tremors through my body.

“Ah, God, Anna.” He collapsed over me, drawing me tightly to his chest as he rolled onto his side.

*

I don’t know how long we lay there; long after our breathing slowed and our hearts stopped hammering. I stayed where he held me, sprawled over his chest with my head resting on his shoulder. He fanned my hair over my back, twisting the ends with his fingertips while his other hand teased down my waist. He was still inside of me, hot and semihard, and as I slid my knee up his side, he gave a soft groan.

“Um . . . wow?” I grinned, unsure what else to say.

“Yes,” he said. “Agreed.”

I lifted up on my elbows to face him, and for the first time he slid out of me. The ache returned immediately, a soft but anxious throb reminding me how perfectly we’d fit together. He tucked my hair behind my ears.

“Goddamn,” he murmured. “You really are beautiful.”

Shyness crept over me. It seemed impossible that he could make me feel so many different things in one day.

His hand lowered, thumb skimming the side of my breast. I gave a little gasp. My nipples hardened instantly.

“Are you okay?” he asked, tracing my spine now, and lowering around the curve of my thighs. Whispers of heat remained in the wake of his touch. Already I was becoming aroused again.

“Are you kidding?” I kissed him gently, reveling in the soft feel of his lips. “I’m better than okay.”

“I was a little rougher than I meant to be,” he admitted. “You were making me crazy in the car.”

“You’ve been making me crazy since I met you,” I said. “And how did you mean to be?” I wondered how he’d envisioned our first time together. Whatever
I’d
imagined, reality had left far in the dust.

A slow smile warmed his face. “I’d tell you but then, you know, I’d have to kill you.”

“You almost did,” I said. “I came three times.”

“Just three times?” he asked, a devilish glint in his eyes. “I think we can do better than that.”

He rolled over me in a move that made me squeak in surprise. Slowly, he drew my arms over my head and held them in place with one hand while he removed the used condom with the other.

“That’s better than anyone else has ever done,” I said, feeling that wave of shyness again. “I can’t usually get off during sex.” I immediately regretted mentioning it when his mouth flattened and a line creased his forehead.

“You can’t?”

I shook my head. “That was the first time.”

He studied me, as if trying to see if I was telling the truth.

“Things are different with us,” he said after a moment.

I nodded, unable to help feeling that he meant in more ways than just the physical.

He kissed my lips, worshipping my mouth with a slow, gentle caress. As his mouth trailed down my throat, my pulse scrambled.

“Do you have a bed?” he asked gruffly.

I giggled. “Of course, I have a bed. You didn’t see it?” I lived in a studio apartment, you couldn’t
not
see it.

“I was preoccupied.” He flexed his hips, and his bare cock, once again erect, pressed against my tender flesh. My breath caught.

“That’s right,” I said. “I remember now.”

He didn’t enter me again. Instead he pulled upright, dragging me with him. He stood, tossing me over his shoulder like I weighed no more than a sack of laundry.

“We can do better than three,” he said.