Page 65 of Vipers & Roses

I spot golden hair caught by the sun and recognize Lucy and Josh chatting closely. I wonder if she feels bad about her affair with Lyons. They kiss on the lips and part ways, and I pull away from the window to find Cormac has rolled over onto his back, and his navy briefs are strained by the mountain underneath.

“Your turn,” he suggests and gestures me to lie on the bed, “I’ll be gentle, and I won’t strangle you or anything.”

“Well, that makes me feel so much better,” I chuckle, trying to understand his dark humor.

“I mean, I won’t hug you,” he corrects. “I’m too fucking scared that you’ll have another panic attack.”

My heart sinks. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out, and I don’t want to be untouchable or frigid,” I say, stepping toward the bed and removing my T-shirt as those studious blue eyes examine my B-cup breasts neatly bound in a bra.

“Nice,” he hums, standing up and kissing my lips while his large hand finds my butt cheek in shorts and gives it a tight squeeze. “Not untouchable when I can do this and,” his other hand cups my breast, “this.”

“Don’t sit on me,” I tell him as I kneel on the bed and then lie down on my stomach, apprehensive about putting myself into this position that could easily hold me down or cage me.

“I won’t,” he promises, “but let me just say you’re welcome to sit anywhere on me.”

He kneels next to me on the bed and unhooks my bra, then starts covering his hands in menthol balm, suitable for muscle strain and pains. It's probably not the best scent for a romantic massage, but he won’t get any complaints from me.

“You’ve got to get used to people touching you again,” he says quietly as he rubs his hands together so they’re nice and warm.

I moan in agreement as his strong hands start working my lower back, and it feels so good, but I’m aware that I’m tense and take deep breaths to relax a little more.

“What are these marks here?” he inquires as his hands slide along my sides up to my underarms. I snap my arms down so he doesn’t tickle me.

“Huh?” I’m half dozy and don’t register what he means.

“Along the sides of your ribs,” he outlines, running the back of his fist gently along. “They’re like scratch marks or something.”

“Oh, they’re nothing,” I try to convince him, but now that he’s noticed them, I become subconscious and have the urge to cover my secrets, while internally, I’m begging that he doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

I sense his curiosity as if questions to ask are on the tip of his tongue, but instead, he moves his hands away from that area and focuses on my lower back again. “You’ve got a damn nice ass, Rae,” he tells me, and I sigh in relief that he’s not going to pursue the marks along my sides where I’ve scratched myself raw, often when I’m lying in bed. Copious amounts of rosehip oil have helped to fade most of the scars, but sometimes, in certain lights, the streaks are visible.

“Thanks. So do you,” I answer, as his hands slide further down my body to my butt cheeks as he tugs on my shorts, followed by a pinching. I look back at him to find he’s biting my butt over my shorts and leaving a wet patch on the fabric.

“Take these off,” he orders me, yanking on my shorts.

I lift my hips from the mattress, unbutton and unzip my shorts, and he whisks them down my legs along with my panties, leaving me naked and vulnerable.

“You’re already wet,” he points out, rubbing his thumb over the crotch of my panties before tossing them on the floor. His big warm hand grabs my bare butt cheeks and squeezes as he leans forward and possesses fleshy mounds with his mouth and sucks.

Sharp pain from his teeth quickly levels out to a dull ache that I find strangely tantalizing. A sigh draws from my lips, spurring him on some more. This wasn’t what I had in mind for a massage, but I like it, and his slow, gentle hands relax me into a giddy high.

After leaving a mark on my left butt cheek, he bites my right cheek and sucks hard and this time I hit my heights and moan, “Cooormac.”

A devilish chuckle muffled by my butt flesh trembles along my spine as a hand slides between my legs, drawing another longing moan from my lips.

“You’re soaked, Rae,” he growls from the back of his throat, and I can’t take the foreplay anymore.

“I want you inside me,” I demand, wriggling against his fingers that are finding my wet core and worming their way in. As soon as the menthol hits my G-spot, I cry out, panting from the penetrating sensation that’s both hot and cold at the same time, pushing me to the edge of an orgasm.

“Shush,” he snaps, smacking my butt cheek. “Be patient.”

“I can’t,” I whine, hungry for him to fill me up and ram me so hard that my troubles fall to the back of my mind where they belong.

He forces my legs open with his free hand and kneels in between, then pauses his movements, doing and saying nothing as the menthol sensation starts to fade. I twist behind me to see what he’s doing, and there’s a wry expression on his face. “How much do you want this, Rae?”

“A lot,” I answer as his fingers are stalled inside me, and I push my butt against him to stir them to move.

“Beg me,” he whispers, taunting me.

---