Page 12 of Muffin Top
"Breathe, babe. Relax. Let me take care of you." His words were delivered in a low tone that felt like a caress to my soul. I loved the way he made me feel, both languidly relaxed and tensely aroused. It was a feeling I'd never experienced before – both achingly sweet and intensely erotic.
Tristan worked his way down my body, from my neck and shoulders, to working one arm and then the other. As he finished with the final finger he shifted, fingers dancing lightly across the towel covering me.
"Ready?"
I nodded; my tongue suddenly too thick for my mouth, making speech impossible.
He left the towel in place, instead moving to my legs.
"Lift up."
I followed his command, my eyes still scrunched shut, my breathing now beleaguered as I thrust up, giving him the space to pull my leggings and underwear down.
I heard him suck in a breath as he revealed my skin. I was tempted, but kept my eyes closed, lost in this dark erotic fantasy between us.
"Beautiful," he whispered as he pulled the clothes away. I heard him move, heard the clothing drop to the floor, then his hands were on my feet. His thumbs pressed into the arch of my foot and I moaned at how good that felt.
"Relax, Honey. I just wanna make you feel good. Remember, you can stop me at any time."
I'd give the man credit, when he’d said massage, I'd expected a quick ten-minute rub. Instead I was getting a full body and I couldn't have been happier.
Sure, we were likely breaking about eight hundred health and licensing codes, but I really couldn't find it in me to care. His hands were wonderful, his occasional directive both seductive and gruff. Everything about him spoke to me.
His hands glided slowly up the inside of my thighs, stopping a hairs breadth away from my core.
I shifted restlessly on the bed; all sense of modesty now gone. The man could have whatever he wanted so long as he touched me.
Please touch me. Please.
His fingers brushed up my thighs, drifting closer and closer.
Please.
A fingertip brushed against my core; pleasure spiraled out.
"More," I panted, eyes firmly closed, body on edge. "Please, Tristan. More."
He chuckled, low and deep. The sound decadent and delicious. "Like this?"
He grazed two fingers over the seams of my pussy, teasing but not really touching.
"Or this?" One finger dipped, finding my clit, the barest of touches before it danced away.
"Yes, that!" I thrust my body up, chasing his hand.
He laughed again, this time the sound deeply erotic. "As you wish."
His fingers, his clever, naughty fingers, big and blunt and a little rough, returned to my clit. They teased, circling, pressing, rubbing in a way that felt oh so good.
I begged. I panted. I moaned. I wanted it to end. I wanted him to keep touching me forever.
This is Tristan. Tristan is touching you. Tristan - who looks like sin on a stick but with a good boy attitude -Tristan.
"Baby, you gonna come for me?" He pressed harder, pulling all sorts of noises from me, playing my body like he was a professional musician and I his instrument of choice.
He circled once, twice, and then I broke apart. I bowed off the bed, my body clenching as the waves of painful-sweet orgasm washed over me. Pleasure suffused my every cell, imprinting Tristan's name, scent, feel onto my soul.
I came back into myself, slowly becoming aware of him rubbing soothing circles across my thighs.
