Page 76 of Devotion

My throat aches from a lump of pained emotion. My eyes burn as I stare up at him. “I don’t mind if it takes a while. You always feel better if?—”

“I can’t today.”

There’s no arguing with the tone or the expression on his face. It’s not cold or angry. It’s tense and guarded. Unyielding.

“Okay,” I mumble, standing up and fighting the instinct to reach out and caress his face. “Can’t you please tell me what’s wrong?”

“I told you nothing’s wrong.”

“But I don’t believe you.”

His jaw works. His eyes drop briefly. For a few seconds I hope he’ll relent, but he doesn’t. “I can’t control what you believe.”

That’s the end of the conversation. I go back to my seat, stare out the window, and try not to cry.

The next morning,when Gabriel returns from his morning swim, he takes a long shower. When he finally emerges with a towel around his waist, he says he doesn’t want to have sex.

I fight off my hurt feelings so that I don’t burst into tears as we talk. “Okay. That’s fine. I can?—”

“I’m just going to get dressed and start working.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to have sex. We don’t have to do anything sexual. I could just give you a massage.”

He stares at me. If he appeared resentful or impatient or annoyed or reluctant, I would immediately drop the subject. If he was getting bored with me—the same mouth, the same pussy, our same repeated routine—I could maybe understand. But he’s not any of those things.

He’s wounded.

He needs me.

“Gabriel, please,” I whisper, a single tear sliding down my cheek.

“Okay,” he mumbles, looking away and toward his bed. “Just a massage.”

I’m so relieved by his acquiescence I almost burst into tears. I can barely fight back the sobs. I usually take off my nightgown for our morning session, but I keep it on today, going to get the massage oil and then climbing onto the bed beside his outstretched body.

He’s on his stomach, his face turned away from me. I don’t say a word as I oil my hands and begin the rubdown.

We’re both silent as I work my way down his body, and it’s not until I’ve reached the back of his legs that he really starts to let go of the tension. He makes long exhales as I knead the strongly developed muscles of his thighs and calves. By the time I reach his feet, he’s even releasing a few soft groans.

I’m so relieved by those small sounds of response that I almost start crying again.

“You can flip over,” I murmur when I’ve pulled on each of his toes.

He does as I say. The towel has come unwound from my moving it out of the way for the massage, and it stays on the bed when his body turns.

He’s completely naked. His cock is partly erect.

I ignore it as I turn my attention to his right foot and ankle.

He makes more guttural sounds of release as I move back up one leg and then the other. His cock is hard all the way when I reach his hips.

But he told me he only wanted a massage, so I don’t touch him the way I want. I stroke his belly. Move up to work on his chest and shoulders. Then each of his arms.

“Jess,” he says, thick and low.

My eyes shift to his face.

He stares at me, hot and intense.

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