Massage
"Jesus Christ, keep your voice down," Daniel hissed against her inner thigh, though his fingers dug harder into the soft flesh of her hips, betraying how much he loved the way she arched off the massage table. The scent of lavender oil and her arousal clung to the air, thick enough to taste. He'd spent three agonizing Sundays watching her lounge by the pool in that white bikini, imagining exactly this—how her thighs would tremble when he finally got his mouth on her.
Sophie's laugh dissolved into a gasp as his tongue dragged slow and deliberate over her clit. "You—" Her hips jerked when he sucked lightly, fingertips scrambling against the vinyl padding. "You brought me here for a *massage*?" Her voice cracked halfway through the word, breathless in a way that made his cock twitch against his slacks.
Daniel flattened his tongue against her, savoring the way her thighs tensed around his ears. He'd memorized the exact shade her cheeks turned when she caught him staring—pink deepening to red—but this was better. The wet heat of her, the muffled curses when he crooked two fingers inside and found that spot that made her toes curl.
Sophie bit down on her lower lip hard enough to leave marks. She'd imagined this too many times—his Rolex glinting in the sunlight as he adjusted his tie, the way his voice dropped when he told the waiter "she'll have the oysters" like it was a threat. Now his stubble burned against her inner thigh, and the thought that someone might walk in only made her clench around his fingers.
This wasn't the fumbling of boys who came too fast or stared blankly when she faked it. Daniel worshipped her with the precision of someone who knew exactly what an hour of his time cost—only now, the currency was her gasps, the way her nails left crescents in his shoulders when he added a third finger.
Sophie had thought she knew what pleasure felt like, but the slow drag of his tongue now rewrote everything. It built differently—not the jagged climb of hurried dorm room hookups, but deep waves rolling through her until her vision blurred at the edges. When he withdrew his fingers, the emptiness ached worse than any craving she’d known.
Daniel pressed his forehead against her trembling thigh, exhaling hot against slick skin. “Look at me.” His voice was rougher than she’d ever heard it—not the polished boardroom tone, but something that sent a fresh shudder through her. She forced her eyes open, surprised to find his pupils blown black with want. “Tell me what you need.”
The words tangled in her throat. She’d rehearsed dirty talk in showers with lukewarm water, but this—the weight of his gaze, the way his thumb circled her clit like he was memorizing the rhythm—made her feel drunk. “Inside,” she finally managed, hips lifting off the table in silent pleading. “I need you—” The rest fractured into a gasp as he stroked deeper with his fingers, teasing the spot that made her spine arch.
Daniel’s belt buckle clattered against the tile floor, sharp as a gunshot in the humid room. He barely paused when the knock came—three quick raps, followed by his assistant’s muffled “Mr. Kensington, the Dawsons are—” His palm smacked against the doorframe. “Reschedule them.” Sophie bit back a moan at the rasp in his voice, at the way his cock sprang free, flushed and heavy in his hand.
The assistant’s footsteps faded down the hall, but Daniel didn’t move. He watched Sophie instead—how her chest rose too fast, how her fingers twitched toward him before curling into fists. “Say it again,” he ordered, thumbing precum down his length. “Properly.” Her breath hitched when he nudged his tip against her, slick with her own arousal. “I need you to fuck me,” she whispered, and the raw honesty in it shattered his control.
He flipped her before she finished the sentence, the vinyl squeaking under her knees. One hand fisted in her hair, tilting her face toward the full-length mirror beside the massage oils. “Watch,” he growled, spreading her open with his thumbs, revealing the flushed, glistening proof of how badly she wanted this. Her reflection stared back—lips swollen, pupils blown, cheeks the same shade as when she’d sipped his bourbon last week and pretended not to notice him watching her throat work.
The first thrust punched the air from her lungs. Daniel didn’t ease in—he carved space for himself, the stretch bordering on pain until her body yielded with a wet gasp. The mirror fogged where her palms slapped against it, her breath leaving ghostly streaks as she tried to focus. His grip tightened on her hips, dragging her back onto him with a snap of his pelvis that sent her hair tumbling over her shoulder blades.
"Is this what you needed?" His voice scraped low, fingers sliding through slick folds to circle her clit with practiced pressure. Sophie's nod dissolved into a whimper as he twisted his wrist, the dual sensation sparking fireworks behind her eyelids. She barely recognized the sounds coming from her throat—half-sobs, punched-out moans, syllables that might have been his name if she could remember language.
Daniel didn't stop when her thighs clamped around his forearm, didn't slow when her nails scored red lines down his bicep. He fucked her through the first orgasm with relentless precision, watching her oversensitive body jerk and spasm beneath him. "Again," he demanded, thumb pressing harder against her clit, his hips never losing rhythm.
Sophie's startled cry echoed off the mirrors when he flipped her onto her back with a single rough movement. His palm pinned her hipbone to the table as he tapped the head of his cock against her entrance—once, twice—making her shudder with every teasing brush. She arched instinctively when he finally pushed in, the stretch bordering on painful after the emptiness.
Daniel's laugh was dark against her throat as he felt her flutter around him. "You think this is just a massage table?" His hips rolled deep, slow, grinding against her cervix before withdrawing almost completely. "It's practice." The words dripped into her ear like warm honey, thick with intent. "For when I breed you properly."
Sophie's legs locked around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper. Her orgasm crested not with a scream but with a silent, trembling exhale—breath stolen by the way his cock twitched inside her, the sudden pulse of heat that meant he was coming too. They shuddered in perfect sync, his groan harmonizing with her choked sob as his teeth found her collarbone.
Daniel didn't pull away immediately. He stayed buried inside her, his forehead pressed to hers, their breaths mingling in the stagnant air. Sweat pooled where their skin stuck together—her thighs glued to his hips, his palm welded to her ribs. When he finally lifted his head, Sophie saw her own wild-eyed reflection in his pupils, her lipstick smeared across his chin like war paint.
The shower hissed to life before she registered being carried, the sudden cold tiles against her back pulling a surprised gasp from her lips. Daniel's hands slid over soap-slick skin with the same proprietary certainty as when he'd signed the check for her membership last month—like he'd already paid for the privilege of mapping every dip and curve. The water turned her mascara into black tributaries down her cheeks, and when he licked them away, she tasted salt and sin.
Sophie's laugh dissolved into a gasp as his tongue dragged slow and deliberate over her clit. "You—" Her hips jerked when he sucked lightly, fingertips scrambling against the vinyl padding. "You brought me here for a *massage*?" Her voice cracked halfway through the word, breathless in a way that made his cock twitch against his slacks.
Daniel flattened his tongue against her, savoring the way her thighs tensed around his ears. He'd memorized the exact shade her cheeks turned when she caught him staring—pink deepening to red—but this was better. The wet heat of her, the muffled curses when he crooked two fingers inside and found that spot that made her toes curl.
Sophie bit down on her lower lip hard enough to leave marks. She'd imagined this too many times—his Rolex glinting in the sunlight as he adjusted his tie, the way his voice dropped when he told the waiter "she'll have the oysters" like it was a threat. Now his stubble burned against her inner thigh, and the thought that someone might walk in only made her clench around his fingers.
This wasn't the fumbling of boys who came too fast or stared blankly when she faked it. Daniel worshipped her with the precision of someone who knew exactly what an hour of his time cost—only now, the currency was her gasps, the way her nails left crescents in his shoulders when he added a third finger.
Sophie had thought she knew what pleasure felt like, but the slow drag of his tongue now rewrote everything. It built differently—not the jagged climb of hurried dorm room hookups, but deep waves rolling through her until her vision blurred at the edges. When he withdrew his fingers, the emptiness ached worse than any craving she’d known.
Daniel pressed his forehead against her trembling thigh, exhaling hot against slick skin. “Look at me.” His voice was rougher than she’d ever heard it—not the polished boardroom tone, but something that sent a fresh shudder through her. She forced her eyes open, surprised to find his pupils blown black with want. “Tell me what you need.”
The words tangled in her throat. She’d rehearsed dirty talk in showers with lukewarm water, but this—the weight of his gaze, the way his thumb circled her clit like he was memorizing the rhythm—made her feel drunk. “Inside,” she finally managed, hips lifting off the table in silent pleading. “I need you—” The rest fractured into a gasp as he stroked deeper with his fingers, teasing the spot that made her spine arch.
Daniel’s belt buckle clattered against the tile floor, sharp as a gunshot in the humid room. He barely paused when the knock came—three quick raps, followed by his assistant’s muffled “Mr. Kensington, the Dawsons are—” His palm smacked against the doorframe. “Reschedule them.” Sophie bit back a moan at the rasp in his voice, at the way his cock sprang free, flushed and heavy in his hand.
The assistant’s footsteps faded down the hall, but Daniel didn’t move. He watched Sophie instead—how her chest rose too fast, how her fingers twitched toward him before curling into fists. “Say it again,” he ordered, thumbing precum down his length. “Properly.” Her breath hitched when he nudged his tip against her, slick with her own arousal. “I need you to fuck me,” she whispered, and the raw honesty in it shattered his control.
He flipped her before she finished the sentence, the vinyl squeaking under her knees. One hand fisted in her hair, tilting her face toward the full-length mirror beside the massage oils. “Watch,” he growled, spreading her open with his thumbs, revealing the flushed, glistening proof of how badly she wanted this. Her reflection stared back—lips swollen, pupils blown, cheeks the same shade as when she’d sipped his bourbon last week and pretended not to notice him watching her throat work.
The first thrust punched the air from her lungs. Daniel didn’t ease in—he carved space for himself, the stretch bordering on pain until her body yielded with a wet gasp. The mirror fogged where her palms slapped against it, her breath leaving ghostly streaks as she tried to focus. His grip tightened on her hips, dragging her back onto him with a snap of his pelvis that sent her hair tumbling over her shoulder blades.
"Is this what you needed?" His voice scraped low, fingers sliding through slick folds to circle her clit with practiced pressure. Sophie's nod dissolved into a whimper as he twisted his wrist, the dual sensation sparking fireworks behind her eyelids. She barely recognized the sounds coming from her throat—half-sobs, punched-out moans, syllables that might have been his name if she could remember language.
Daniel didn't stop when her thighs clamped around his forearm, didn't slow when her nails scored red lines down his bicep. He fucked her through the first orgasm with relentless precision, watching her oversensitive body jerk and spasm beneath him. "Again," he demanded, thumb pressing harder against her clit, his hips never losing rhythm.
Sophie's startled cry echoed off the mirrors when he flipped her onto her back with a single rough movement. His palm pinned her hipbone to the table as he tapped the head of his cock against her entrance—once, twice—making her shudder with every teasing brush. She arched instinctively when he finally pushed in, the stretch bordering on painful after the emptiness.
Daniel's laugh was dark against her throat as he felt her flutter around him. "You think this is just a massage table?" His hips rolled deep, slow, grinding against her cervix before withdrawing almost completely. "It's practice." The words dripped into her ear like warm honey, thick with intent. "For when I breed you properly."
Sophie's legs locked around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper. Her orgasm crested not with a scream but with a silent, trembling exhale—breath stolen by the way his cock twitched inside her, the sudden pulse of heat that meant he was coming too. They shuddered in perfect sync, his groan harmonizing with her choked sob as his teeth found her collarbone.
Daniel didn't pull away immediately. He stayed buried inside her, his forehead pressed to hers, their breaths mingling in the stagnant air. Sweat pooled where their skin stuck together—her thighs glued to his hips, his palm welded to her ribs. When he finally lifted his head, Sophie saw her own wild-eyed reflection in his pupils, her lipstick smeared across his chin like war paint.
The shower hissed to life before she registered being carried, the sudden cold tiles against her back pulling a surprised gasp from her lips. Daniel's hands slid over soap-slick skin with the same proprietary certainty as when he'd signed the check for her membership last month—like he'd already paid for the privilege of mapping every dip and curve. The water turned her mascara into black tributaries down her cheeks, and when he licked them away, she tasted salt and sin.
1ヶ月前
