Page 17 of Girl Anonymous

Maarja hated that this powerful, muscular man possessed a self-deprecating sense of humor. She wanted tousehim, notlaughwith him. If they went down that road, toward communication and mutual appreciation…that compounded the passion and made it…more.

She didn’t know what exactly; she hadn’t the experience to define it. But she knew it was…more.

He took his hands away and pulled off his T-shirt. “I promise to make it more than one moment, and yes, memorable in a way that will drive every other thought from your head.”

Because she was a practical woman, she gave the sensible response. “I’m not expecting miracles! But—”

“Shhh.” He put his finger over her lips. “Let me manage this. You just…relax. Crisscross your legs.”

He’d already buried his face there, which made it a little late for caution. But what she’d learned in her youth couldn’t be so easily dismissed, and she hesitated.

He tsked, took her ankles and crossed them under her, and turned her to face the wall.

Maybe she’d misunderstood the basics of human mating rituals, but this was weird.

His hands lightly stroked her shoulders.

She jumped.

He shushed her again, and nudged his fingers into the muscles and tendons of her neck. “Let me help you relax. I don’t suppose you’ve ever had a massage?”

She shook her head.

“It seems like the antithesis of something someone who doesn’t like to be touched would do. Lean forward.” He urged her to put her head against the wall and stroked her spine. His hands slid smoothly along her skin; the scent of citrus and lavender grew stronger as the oil warmed under his palms. His thumbs moved more and more deeply along her vertebrae, down all the way to the crack of her ass, then up to her shoulder blades. There he dug under the bones and into the muscles, making small coaxing noises as if she were a new pet being lured to allow his touch.

It worked. She hovered on that plane between pain and relaxation. Every time he moved to a new position, her shoulders, neck, ribs, waist, he eased more tension away. “Breathe,” he whispered. “Breathe slowly. Deeply. Do you meditate?”

She nodded.

“I knew you would. You do what’s good for you, don’t you?”

She nodded again.

“Let’s allow those beta brain waves to take over now.” He removed one hand, brought it back, and knelt behind her. Another wave of scent rose from her skin; his fingers glided around under her armpits. “Breathe.” His voice crooned in her ear. “Breathe…”

Her chest rose, her breasts reached his cupped hands, and as she exhaled, he followed, his palms massaging, his rough-edged fingers stroking in circles that closed on her nipples until she wanted to scream at him to hurry. When he finally brushed the tips, she shivered convulsively.

“That’s so good, isn’t it?” His lips touched her at the base of her jaw. “Lean back, let me support you.” He didn’t wait for her to decide, but eased her back onto his chest.

He could see her now, his hands on her breasts and her legs spread. She felt his breath hitch and she whispered, “Breathe…”

He chuckled deeply and kissed her ear, then with his hand on her jaw, he tilted her head back. “Close your eyes,” he whispered, and kissed her. She opened her lips for him and he used his tongue to tease her, and when she answered him, he hummed his approval. Breaking off, he said, “Look at you. Leaning against me, kissing me back, letting me pet your breasts…” His hand appeared with a bottle and he squirted the golden oil on her chest. “That rolls down, tracking toward your cunt which pouts with my neglect and begs for my attention.”

She felt as if she should make a response. “Earth’s gravity,” she told him.

Briefly his chest shook.

He was laughing at her, but she didn’t have time to tense before his palms had chased the droplets across her chest, breasts, belly, and stroked them across her clit. She watched his darkly tanned hands touch her in her palest, pinkest place—she refused to call itthat—and rub and enter her again.

“Does it feel different when your legs are crossed wide than when they were close together?”

“Yes.”

“How different?”

She swallowed. “I feel more exposed.”

“More helpless? As if you couldn’t shut me out?”

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