My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,103

jobs on the front sides of our bodies, massaging our arms, legs, and across our chests. The shadows of Abigail’s nipples are visible beneath the thin sheet, tantalizingly hard, and I wonder if she’s getting wet too, if her lush lips are coated with slickness, her own juices mixing with the oil on her thighs.

At the prescribed time, the massage therapists end on a synchronized note. “Thank you for visiting the spa during your stay. There is complimentary lemon water on the table for your refreshment, and you may wear the robes on the hooks back to your suite when you are ready. This beach view room is yours for one hour of additional relaxation.”

She points to the clock on the wall above the door as they exit, leaving Abigail and me alone, nude, slick, and aroused.

Abigail sits up, holding the sheet to her chest as if I couldn’t pluck countless images of her bare tits from my mind. As if I can’t pull that sheet right out of her hands. As if she doesn’t want me to do just that.

“Now what?” she asks quietly, biting her lip.

Isn’t that the big question? Unfortunately, I don’t know the answer.

Yes, you do! my heart thumps out, but my brain overrides it with fear and indecision.

“You want more?” I get up, leaving the sheet on the table to cross the scant feet between us naked as the day I was born. Abigail’s eyes try to lock on mine, I can see her trying, but they dip down to my cock almost instantly as she loses the battle. I give myself a few strokes, looking for some relief for this hunger I feel for her.

Her eyes twinkle, and she flips over to lie back down on her stomach, adjusting herself until she turns her head and looks me in the eye. “Show me what you’ve got. I’m ready.”

I flash a cocky smile her way. “You think so?” Challenge accepted, I pick up a bottle of massage oil and pour a healthy dose into my hand.

“We’ll see,” she teases back lightly.

Warming it in my palms, I start with broad strokes on Abi’s back, causing her to moan.

“Mmm . . . where’d you learn this?” she asks.

I work down her spine slowly, stopping just short of the puddle of sheet at her lower back, and then move back up her sides again, my fingertips brushing the sides of her squished breasts. “One of the chef jobs I took was on a cruise ship,” I tell her, remembering the six-month stint at sea. “I picked up quite a few skills on the Rotterdam.”

“Like what?”

I start on her shoulders, keeping both my conversation and touch light. “For one, I can strip and remake a bed in under two minutes.”

“Is that one thing, like stripping and remaking the bed, or two separate things like stripping, and also making beds? Very different things, if you know what I mean? Are you holding out on me? You got some Magic Mike moves I haven’t seen?”

“You’ve seen my dance moves,” I remind her, remembering how we’d run off the sunset cruise ship’s dance floor to find the nearest room with a lock and gone after each other hard and fast. I also remember what I felt, what I said.

Heat builds inside me, my skin suddenly too small for everything I’m feeling. Lust, need, care, doubt, and questions all swirl, but Abigail draws me back to here and now.

“That I did,” she agrees on a moan as I push into a knot between her shoulder blades. She’s carrying a lot, and while I can’t get all the tension out without going to painful extremes, I do soothe her body.

She jumps lightly when I start on her toes, her breath catching when I start massaging her foot with some reflexology strokes that have nothing to do with relaxation at all. From there, I work up her gorgeous calves to the backs of her thighs, again stopping just below the edge of the sheet before switching legs.

“I know what you’re doing, Lorenzo,” she whispers huskily. “And it’s working.”

“Good,” I reply, leaning in and kissing the tip of one toe. She moans, her thighs parting and making a dark cave under the sheet for me to imagine. I’m pulsing hard, my cock oozing precum and wanting me to hurry up.

I don’t. I do everything in my power to control my urges, to focus all of my attention on Abigail and what she needs. Finally, I finish