Page 15 of Climb Me Maybe
"Tell me more about your tattoos," she says as she works down my spine."You mentioned they were your grandfather's designs?"
"Mostly, yeah."Her thumbs dig into a knot near my shoulder blade, and I pause to breathe through it."He was a master tattoo artist in Japan before he came to America.Traditional irezumi style."
"They're beautiful."Her fingers trace the edge of a dragon that curls around my ribs."What do they mean?"
“Each symbol’s a story.”I find myself talking as she works—about my grandfather's stories, the symbolism of the koi swimming upstream, the cherry blossoms that represent the beauty and fragility of life.
Her touch makes the words flow easier, like she's massaging my lungs along with my muscles.“Hammer waves for resilience.Peonies for prosperity.Kintaro battling the koi—tenacity.”
Her finger lingers on the warrior’s face.“And this?”
“Strength beyond brute force.”I swallow as her hand drifts away.“Wisdom.”
"Your grandfather sounds like an amazing man," she says, rolling her fingers into my lower back.
"He was.Taught me that the body tells stories, even when we don't mean it to."
She huffs out a chuckle.“That’s so true.He taught you climbing, too?”
“Yeah.Found himself at a logging camp when he first came over here…and thoroughly embraced it.Loved nature.”
She hums.“Fascinating.”
Her hands move lower, working the muscles near my hips."These are definitely tight.I'm going to work down the backs of your legs now, okay?"
"Okay,” I reply, and she adjusts the sheet, exposing my legs while keeping everything else covered.Her touch on my hamstrings is firm and purposeful, but there's something sensual about the way she works—the glide of her hands over my skin.The care she takes in making sure her touches don’t stick or snag.
“Let’s stretch this hip flexor out.”She rests her hand on the back of my knee.“I want you to pull your knee up and out to the side.I’ll have my hand under it so you don’t need to hold it up.Just let me take the weight.I’ll pull the sheet down as you do to keep your lower half covered.”
I do as she says.The stretch is good, and she rocks me slightly, pushing gently on my thigh.
I groan into the stretch.
"Your flexibility is incredible for a man your age," she says, continuing to hold my knee and press downward on my thigh, stretching my hip."Most guys are locked up like Fort Knox by their forties."
"Climbing keeps you limber," I manage, trying not to think about her innocent, yet backhanded compliment.Yeah, I’m old.Probably too old for this beauty with her hands all over me.
She does the same thing to my other side, then works my calves, my feet, finding tension in hidden places.By the time she's massaging my toes, I'm floating in that same blissful haze as yesterday.
"Ready to turn over?"she asks.
This is the moment I've been dreading.
Even relaxed, just being near Imogen makes me half-hard.Despite Connor's advice, despite taking care of business this morning, I'm still nervous.
But I nod and flip over, settling onto my back with the sheet across my lap.
The first thing I notice is how different this feels—being able to see her face, watching her as she moves around my body.She starts with my arms, working my shoulders and biceps with the same focused intensity.
I relax into it, listening to her breath.
"Your range of motion is amazing up here," she says, manipulating my shoulder joint."No real restriction at all."
I try to focus on her words instead of the way her tank top gapes slightly when she leans over me, or how her hair slides over her cheek.I wonder how soft those pink strands are…?
Then she moves to my chest.
Her palms press against my pectorals, fingers finding the tight spots where my harness sits during climbs.The touch is professional, therapeutic, but being able to see her face while she works adds an intimacy that makes my heartbeat speed up.
