The Unhoneymooners - Christina Lauren Page 0,52

thighs. I’ve had massages before, so of course I’ve had my butt massaged by professionals . . . but I have never felt more exposed in my life than I do right now.

Strangely, I don’t hate it.

More oil, more slick sounds of hands rubbing together, and then those enormous hands come down on my backside, pressing the heels into the muscle, doing just as Diana instructs. Behind my closed lids, my eyes roll back in pleasure. Who knew a butt massage could be so awesome? It’s so good, in fact, that I forget to be self-conscious, and instead let out a near-moan, “Who knew you were so good at this?”

Ethan’s laugh is a deep, rumbling sound that sends vibrations through me.

“Oh, I’m sure you knew whether he was good with his hands,” Diana says playfully, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to scram and leave us to our brothel room in peace.

He makes his way down my legs, to my feet. I’m ticklish, and it’s sweet the way he’s careful, but steadies me, wordlessly reassuring me that I can trust him. He works his way back up, and then down each arm, massaging my palms, and to the end of each fingertip before he slides them carefully back under the blankets.

“Great job, Ethan,” Diana says. “You still with us, Olive?”

I moan.

“Think you could massage him now?” Diana says with laughter in her voice.

I moan again, longer. I’m not sure I can move yet. And if I did, it would be to roll over and pull Ethan under the blankets with me. The heavy ache low in my belly isn’t going to go away on its own.

“That’s usually the way this goes,” she says.

“Totally fine with me,” Ethan says, and it could be my mushy brain, but his voice sounds deeper, slower, like thick, warm honey. Like maybe he’s a little turned on, too.

“The best thing about this,” Diana says, “is that now you can teach her, too.” I feel bodies shift behind me, and she sounds farther away, close to the door when she says, “I’ll leave you two to swap if you like, or you can feel free to head back to the spa for another warm soak.”

I sense when she’s gone, but the silence somehow feels fuller.

After a few long beats, Ethan carefully asks, “You okay?”

Somehow, I manage a slurred “Ohmygod.”

“Is that a good ‘oh my God’ or a bad ‘oh my God’?”

“Good.”

He laughs, and it’s that same maddening, amazing sound again. “Excellent.”

“Don’t get smug.”

I sense him coming nearer, and feel his breath on my neck. “Oh, Olivia. I just had my hands all over you, and you’re so relaxed you can barely speak.” He steps away, and then his voice comes from a distance, like he’s walked to the door: “You’d better believe I will be smug as hell.”

chapter ten

I wake up and immediately groan in pain; despite the wonder-massage, I am so sore from being pelleted in the woods that I can barely pull the covers back. When I look, my arms are dotted with bruises so colorful, for a second I second-guess whether I showered yesterday after paintball. There is a deep purple one on my hip the size of an apricot, a few on my thighs, and an enormous one on my shoulder that looks like a rare geode.

I check my phone, opening the newest message from Ami.

Checking in for a body count.

We remain alive against all odds.

How are you feeling?

Same.

Not ready to venture out into the world just yet, but alive.

And The Husband?

Oh he went out.

Out?

Yeah. He’s feeling better and was a little restless.

But you’re still sick.

Why isn’t he taking care of you?

He’s been in this house for days.

He needed some guy time.

I glare at my phone, knowing I have no reply that isn’t going to end in us arguing. “Maybe he ran out of beard wax,” I mumble, just as I hear Ethan shuffling down the hall toward the bathroom.

“I can barely move,” he says through the door.

“I am polka-dotted.” I whimper down at my arms. “I look like something from Fraggle Rock.”

A knock sounds. “Are you decent?”

“Am I ever?”

He cracks the door open, leaning in a few inches. “I can’t be social today. Whatever we do, please let it be just the two of us.”

And then he ducks back out, leaving the door open and me alone with my brain while I try to process this. Again: When did the default plan become that we

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