Page 124 of Mexico Can Choke On It
This is catastrophically stupid. Like entering a flamethrower contest while doused in gasoline.
“Could you focus on my glutes?” Bryce requests casually. “They’re incredibly tight from last night’s… exertions. I think I may have overextended myself.”
Oh, did you now?
I peel the towel down just enough to reveal the glorious, unfairly sculpted ass I know intimately well. “Da, glutes is important muscle group. I vill make loose for you, no problem.”
My hands hover over his skin. This is where I should run—where any sane person would flee.
But apparently,saneis not what I am anymore.
My palms sink into him, and—yep. There go my girly bits. I bite my lip so hard, I nearly give myself a piercing.
Bryce lets out a low, satisfied groan, and my thighs tighten instinctively, every dirty memory from last night plays in high-def across my eyeballs.
No, focus!I must channel my inner Oksana—aim for torture instead of pleasure, keep this professional, and get the hell out of here before he realizes the woman massaging his naked ass is the same one he’s ignored all day.
This plan is foolproof.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BRYCE
“You’vegotstronghands…I like that in a woman.”
“Vell, vell,” she replies in a truly offensive Russian accent, her thumbs digging deeper into my glutes. “Zis is vhat all ze men tell me before zey cry like leetle babies asking for mercy.”
My ass clenches.
That accent should be flagged by Interpol and sent to rot in a Siberian gulag. But those hands… Those warm, smooth, dangerously familiar hands? My body clocks them immediately. They’re the same ones that clawed at my back last night. That gripped my shoulders. That clung to me—trembling—when I made her fall apart.
Again. And again. And again.
Six times.
Not that I’m counting(Okay, I totally am).
I have no clue why Petra is pretending to be a masseuse, and honestly? I don’t care. After a self-inflicted day of icy distance, I’ll play along. Let her knead my spine and talk in her ridiculous drawl. If it means I get to be close to her—I’ll take it. Being in her presence lifts the weightfrom my chest.
“You ver’ stiff here,” she says.
“Yes, I’ve been carrying some particularly… stubborn tension.”
“Must fix.”
Her response is immediate and merciless. She drives her elbow into a pressure point just above my hip bone as though she’s trying to rupture an organ.
“Christ!” I hiss, fingers curling around the edges of the padded table. “That’s… effective.”
“Is healing,” she chirps. “In my village of… Russi-vania… you want feel good, you first suffer.”
Without warning, she pinches my ass. Hard.
I jolt. “Jesus!”
“Much stiffness in ze gluteus butticus.”
She has no idea how stiff she’s making me, her palms kneading my ass. Lying face down on this table is getting increasingly uncomfortable by the minute.
