Page 28 of Mrs. Pandey
"My back is killing me," I said. But part of me wanted to say: My heart too but I stayed quiet.
"Let me help with your back pain," Prashant said, slowly taking off his shirt.
"What are you going to do?" I asked, watching him as a grin played on his lips.
"Lie on your stomach," he ordered.
"Prashant..."
"Lie down."
I wanted to fight but I was too exhausted and too weak for this shit. I laid on my stomach, bare-backed, a towel draped from my waist down. My arms were folded under my cheek, my eyes closed, my heart pounded harder under my chest.
Prashant walked into my kitchen and returned with a bowl of cooking warm oil. He knelt beside me on the mattress, his skin warm from the room, shirtless. I could hear the faint sound of him warming oil between his palms, a soft, slick sound that comforted my ears.
Then his lips were by my ear, his voice a low rumble. "Tell me if I go too hard," he murmured. I wanted to snap him. He had been harsh to me all this time.
He began at my neck, his thumbs moving gently, exploring the sides of my spine without pressing, just feeling. Slow circles bloomed under his fingers as he worked his way down, pausing often, his touch was gentle and sensual. Every now and then, a shiver would ripple through me, my skin twitching beneath his hands. The more he touched the more I wanted him.
When he reached the place where my neck met my shoulders, he lingered longer than he should have. Oh, that spot. His thumbs dipped into the slope of muscle there, and a deep, forgotten stress seemed to simply melt away.
I exhaled, a long biting into my lower lip not to moan at his massage. His palm was rough yet tempting at the same time. I clenched my thighs when his warm skin of his chest brushed against my skin.
"That good?" he asked, his voice thick with desire that mirrored my thoughts.
"Mm-hmm," I breathed, barely a sound.
I imagined his smile as he continued, tracing along the edge of my shoulder blade with such care, never pressing on the bone, always alongside it. One hand worked its magic while the other steadied my lower back, his thumb skimming just below my ribs. This wasn't the rhythm of a healer, but the touch of a man learning me, understanding the language of my body, and wanting to take me.
He moved to the base of my skull, rubbing gently with his thumbs in slow, pulsing motions that sent tiny waves of pleasure through me. He leaned in again, his breath tickling the strands of hair at my temple. I could feel hard ridges of his chest. God, I wanted to feel more of his body.
"You always carry too much up here," he whispered sexily.
"Then help me forget," I whispered back, the words weighted with longing and needs.
His hands obeyed. Sliding down my shoulders with the flat of his palms, he applied firmer, steadier pressure now. Long strokes melted over my back, gliding along the curves of my muscles. His hands were so warm, so hot. With every pass, the distance between us shrank not physically, but in every way that truly mattered, as if my very soul was being drawn closer to his.
He worked on the muscles beside my spine, pressing deeper with the heels of his palms, then sweeping up and down in a rhythm that felt almost like a dance. When he reached my lower back, he paused, and I almost protested the sudden stillness.
"Still okay?" he asked, his voice soft and teasing.
I tilted my face toward him, my lips parted, my eyes still closed.
"Don't stop," I murmured, the words a plea.
And he didn't. He removed the towel as his fingers drifted to the back of my thigh, gliding up the muscle with gentle strokes, his thumbs teasing the tendons. A shiver ran through me, a delightful tremor. He worked along the curve of my glutes, careful, deliberate, then back to my spine in one smooth,continuous line, a seamless flow of touch. I could feel his rough hand on my most sensitive spot. I bit into my lower lip not to make sound and gave him a satisfaction.
The oil had left my body slick and yielding beneath his touch. He leaned over, and I felt the length of his forearm now, dragging slowly from my shoulder to my hip, pressing just enough to draw a soft, involuntary sound from my throat.
His knuckles followed next, rolling firm and slow along my lower back, sending little shivers, delicious and exhilarating, up my spine. Then he returned to long, full-body strokes, his palms sweeping from the base of my skull down to the edge of the towel, moving so languidly it felt less like a massage and more like an intimate caress, drawing me further into his spell.
"You're driving me crazy." The words were breathy.
I felt his smile against the top of my spine as he pressed a soft kiss there.
"That's the idea," he whispered back.
Had not noticed how wet I was or he just ignored it? I wanted his fingers just slid inside me and worked professionally as he did to my back. I almost begged him to do more dirty things with my body but I just swallowed the words down my throat.
