Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
"Eyes front, baby," Porter says, and my breath hitches.
I tear my eyes away from his muscular chest and stomach, closing them. Then, his hands are on me, and I let out a gasp, my body tensing.
"Baby, relax."
His hands are so warm, and I realize as they start to knead my shoulders and back that I'm still tense. Porter's hands feel so good, and it doesn't take long before I'm melting into the table.
"That's it," Porter praises. "You've got beautiful skin, Bailey. You're so smooth and soft."
The oil is warm and slick, and when Porter's fingers dig into a particularly sore muscle near my shoulder blade, I let out a whimper.
"Sore?" he asks right next to my ear.
"Mmhmm," I murmur, unable to stop the noise when his hand massages the aching spot.
"Just breathe and relax," Porter says, and I think he's enjoying himself.
Every time he touches me, he's so gentle and kind but firm at the same time. I'm amazed at how easy it is for me to trust him.
Porter's hands slide down over my sides and to the small of my back, where he digs in. The pressure is just right, and I groan, squeezing my thighs together and shifting on the table.
"Feels good?" Porter’s voice is low and deep.
"Mmhmm." I nod at the table.
"I'm going to pull the sheet down a little more now. Don't worry, it's normal for your glutes to be tight and sore after working out as hard as we did."
I'm pretty sure Porter is lying. There's no way in hell it's normal for a butt massage to be part of a post-workout recovery routine. But I also can't find it within myself to argue. In fact, I find myself thrumming with excitement and anticipation.
The sheet moves down, down, down, Porter's hands sliding across my ass. He starts by palming one cheek, and then the other, and the feeling is delicious. When his hands move to the center, the tips of his fingers grazing my pussy, I suck in a breath and freeze.
"Easy now." Porter's voice is firm and commanding.
His tone makes me want to obey, and I like the way it feels. His fingers move closer to my pussy, and this time, when they brush me, I'm wet. There's no question about it, but just when I think he's about to touch me where I want him to the most, he slides his hands away and down my legs again, continuing the massage. My pulse is so loud I can hear it in my head, lust making me dizzy.
After he kneads my legs, I feel his hands pull away. "You're doing so good, Bailey. Now roll over so I can get the front."
My eyes fly open. Roll over? "I—"
Porter chuckles. "It's alright, baby. If you say no, I’ll stop."
"No, please don’t stop. Not now.”
Slowly, I start to roll over, hyper-aware that my tits are basically on full display. I try to pull the sheet up as I roll, but Porter has his hand on the table beside me, pinning it down so I can't. I can't tell if he's doing it on purpose or not, but by the time I realize I can't get the sheet over me, I'm already on my back.
Porter's eyes are hot as he takes me in. They're trailing from my neck to my chest, and the sheet isn't covering anything. Slowly, ever so slowly, Porter's gaze slides down to my breasts, and he looks his fill.
"You're fucking perfect." His voice is so husky that I feel my core clench with need.
The massage oil glistens on my skin, and I can smell its faint scent. It's the only thing that calms me as Porter's fingers begin exploring my upper body. His thumbs slide over my collarbones, and then up my neck, and a moan slips out of me, much to Porter's satisfaction.
"That's it, baby," he whispers. Porter takes the bottle of oil and begins to drizzle it over my chest, his fingers rubbing the oil in. My nipples pebble instantly, and Porter's mouth quirks up.
"Just keep breathing nice and deep." His thumbs have moved up to the base of my throat, stroking my skin over and over. "Is your chest sore? Should I massage there too?"
I can't even speak, but I chew on my lower lip and nod, my brain already foggy with desire. Porter's hands are sliding closer to my breasts, and the question is purely rhetorical. There's no way the man isn't going to massage my breasts too. His palms cup each one, and I squeak, arching into the table. Porter smirks.
"Bailey, you're so sensitive," he growls.
Then his fingers are playing with my nipples, and every brush of his fingers sends shocks of pleasure straight to my pussy. Porter is leaning over me, his eyes on mine. He pinches each nipple, rolling the peaks, and then pulls, tweaking the sensitive buds and making my breath catch.