This material is copyrighted by Shanyn Hosier. Any retranscription or reproduction is illegal. It contains strong language and other material intended for adults only.
“Ready?” Reed called.
“Yes.” My answer was muffled by the donut-shaped headrest. My hands clutched the armrests like the handlebar of a roller coaster car. The sooner it started, the sooner it would be over, and hopefully I could still look him in the eye afterward.
I heard the door open, then shut. Heard his steps across the wood floor, joists announcing his passage. He gently collected my hair at the nape, soft fingertips brushing my neck, and set it to the side.
The thoughtfulness of this last gesture caught me by surprise, and I scolded myself for behaving like an idiot. Employing some meditation tricks I picked up during a short-lived yoga phase, I turned within, commanding my body to relax. Finger by finger, I let go of the armrests.
He rolled the sheet down to expose my back, and I shivered. A plastic bottle clicked open. His hands rubbed together, hissing.
“Just try to relax, Paige,” he murmured.
And then he touched me.
Reed’s touch was quite literally indescribable. Lil was right: his hands were magical, warm and strong, loosening kinks and tension that had accumulated over months, if not years. He worked my shoulders, slow and patient, just deep enough to ease away the stress, never hurting.
He tsked, focusing on a very persistent knot between my shoulder blades. “You need to get better office furniture. Something with more support. Whatever you’re sitting on now is killing your upper body.”
He was absolutely right, but the best I could manage was a nonverbal hum of agreement—I was looser than a junkie well into a hit. I’d complained for years about the torture device masquerading as a chair Newland College had issued me, but never did anything about it. Why was that? I resolved to go shopping the next day and splurge on a proper chair for my new office upstairs. What better motivation to start work on my book?
His hands eased down my back, deeper relaxation coursing through me like a spell. I relished this indulgence, quite literally putty in his hands.
It wasn’t until he reached the small of my back—his thumbs pressing on my sacrum, the fingertips of both hands splayed and reaching my hips, spanning my waist—that a switch was thrown, and my body jolted on full alert.
This wasn’t just relaxation. I was getting turned on.
No longer was I tolerating, or even just enjoying the massage—I wanted him to touch me. I wanted more. Everywhere. My body hummed on some harmonic sensual vibration, attuned to his every move. Every hair on my skin stood on end.
No! This couldn’t be happening. Embarrassment rushed through me like the mental dam holding it back had burst.
I tried to fight off my arousal as he worked on my legs. His strong fingers wrapped around one ankle, lifting it and hooking my toes on his shoulder. His thumbs slid down my calf, stretching and kneading the muscles, to the sensitive back of my knee. Oh, God!
Dammit, I wasn’t strong enough. If only Reed was unattractive—but that sweetly crooked smile and those huge, dark eyes haunted my thoughts. And then I thought of his legs, his muscular calves as he vaulted up the front steps carrying my boxes of books.
But the combination of that body with his unbelievably pleasant disposition and bubbly personality was my kryptonite. I couldn’t resist the thought of his arms around me, his body pressed against mine, the weight of him…
Ingenue: a feminist BDSM adventure is now available in ebook and paperback formats from Amazon.