Page 18 of Script
But no. He had other ideas, shuffling me through a door to an office with a long table and a desk. The table was a low-rent massage space, and when he encouraged me to sit on the edge of it, all I wanted to do was curl up and sleep. He pulled off my T-shirt, eased my pants over my ass and helped me wriggle out of them, plus shoes and socks, then assisted me in lying on my front.
“Where does it hurt the most?” he asked.
Was it wrong to tell him my cock was hurting and that I needed him to start there?
Probably.
“My big toe is okay,” I deadpanned.
“Okay, hang on.”
He disappeared from my side, and then reappeared with a bottle of oil, and my traitorous cock attempted to get a word in, even if I was lying on it. Oil was good.
Oil was fun.
He rubbed oil into his hands, concentrating so hard a small line appeared between his beautiful eyes, and then he smoothed a hand from my shoulder to the base of my spine, stopping just at the swell of my ass.
Fuck. My. Life.
Was he going to pull down my underwear, start to massage my ass, circles that grew smaller and smaller until he had his fingers inside me.
I groaned, my cock erect and ready to go.
Do not mess with the hockey player. Not everyone wants sex when they see oil.
“Okay. Now relax.”
Relax? When my cock was drilling a hole in the thin cover of the table?
So not happening.
Chapter6
Cameron
Why didthis scenario feel so familiar?
Oh right. It was the starting scene of about ten thousand gay porn movies.
Originality—zero. Potential to get clocked in the face—one hundred.
But only if I let my hands wander, which I wouldn’t because this might be a thing a trainer did for his client.
In porn movies yeah.
I blew off that chastising voice that sounded a lot like my older brother for some bizarre reason. Tax lawyers were so dry, and my big brother Lyle was as dry as a fucking desert. Good thing my baby sister Kelly and I were free spirits. We evened out the priggishness at any family meal with my hockey talk and her discussions of her meditation instruction classes. Mom liked to tease that Lyle had been swapped out in the nursery because no one in our clan was so buttoned-up. Mom and Dad had met at school only ten years old at the time, but they’d stayed friends and eventually went to the same college. Mom was a cosmetic dentist, dad a podiatrist. They doted on us but were waiting with very little patience for someone with their genes to make a baby or two.
Lyle for sure would be first to procreate. Kelly was too young, and I was too… well, too devoted to hockey. That would work as a reason. So yeah, Lyle and his steady girlfriend of seven years, Carmine, would be the baby makers. Maybe he would make little kidlets who resembled the rest of us even if he had been switched at birth.
That was just joshing though because Lyle looked like the rest of us with dark hair and Dad’s gray eyes. He even had Mom’s chin. So, despite his uptight ways he was a Chavkin, and we loved him.
“Are you okay?” Finn asked, spread out like a holiday buffet.
My mind snapped back from my brother and centered right on that sweet ass covered with dark green cotton briefs—well-fitted briefs at that. Finn was fidgeting, moving his hips as if lying on his stomach was uncomfortable.
“Yep, just warming up the oil,” I lied. I was not all right. My dick was in complete control and that was never a good thing. I positioned myself with my erection hidden beneath the table Finn was twitching nervously on.
I rubbed my hands together after applying lots of peppermint-scented oil to warm them then placed my slick palms on Finn’s tense shoulders. The aroma of peppermint and abject fear filled the room. Finn tightened even more when my hands landed on his back.
