massage. By this point, I’m so worked up I could come just by grazing my crotch against the bed.
When I finish his legs and arms, I take a step back. “Okay, you can turn over.”
“Uhh, no, that’s okay,” he replies.
“Come on, Sammy, don’t be silly. I always massage the front too.”
“Really, Freedom. I’m fine.” His voice is clipped, as if he were in pain.
“Did I hurt you? Did I use too much pressure? Sometimes I forget—”
He grabs my hand and cuts off my words. “You didn’t hurt me. I just…I don’t think I can turn over right now.”
“Why not?” I ask, completely freaking out that I’ve somehow hurt him with my deep tissue massage. I mean, I sometimes get a little aggressive as I’m working over the muscles, but he didn’t really act like it was hurting him. “I’m sorry if it was too much pressure—”
“Freedom.” His voice cuts me off and his eyes meet mine. “I’m having a little problem. Down there.”
It takes a few seconds, but the lightbulb finally clicks on. I glance down, even though he’s still on his stomach and I can’t see anything. “Oh!”
“Yeah, oh,” he grumbles. “You had your hands all over me,” he says, in a weak defense.
“Well, I never shortchange anyone on a massage, so flip over. It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”
He groans. “No, Freedom, I think the massage is over.”
“It’s not. Stop being a baby. I can handle a hard-on.”
“I’m sure you can, but I’d rather you not handle my hard-on.”
“Why not? You don’t think I can take it?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips.
“That’s not what I meant.” He scrubs his hands over his face. “Hell, I don’t even know what I meant.”
“Turn over, Grayson. I insist.”
With another huff and a few more curse words I rarely hear him say, he finally rolls over. My eyes zero in on that dick like I’m a missile and it’s my target.
“Stop staring.”
“I can’t help it. It’s…impressive.”
I grin as he groans. “Let’s call it a night.”
“Are you kidding? We’re just getting started,” I tell him as I grab my oil, lube up my hands, and place my hands on his chest, my eyes locked on that hard cock the whole time.
Chapter Eleven
Samuel
I can feel her eyes on me. Or, on my groin. In fact, I’m pretty sure the wetness that just hit my shoulder is drool from her lip. I’m trying everything I can to get my erection to subside, but nothing is working. Not with her hands on me. Not with her eyes devouring me as if I were her last meal. Not with her pussy framed in black leggings right by my head.
It’s heaven.
It’s hell.
It’s my reality, both all wrapped up in one petite little woman with the ability to set my blood on fire with desire and my head spinning with aggravation at the exact same time.
She digs her thumbs into my pecs. The pain should be enough to cause my cock to deflate, but all it does is fuel it. My blood is on fire, and I can’t seem to stop it. That’s probably why I reach behind her and grab her ass, holding her tightly. Freedom grasps and does this little wiggle, aligning her core right at my face. If I were to turn just a little to the left, I could bury my mouth between her thighs.
A choking sound derives from my lungs as she runs her warm, wet hands down my abdomen and stops just outside of my waistband. “I’m not sure what kind of massage you think this is,” she sasses, yet presses her ass back into my hands.
My brain screams, happy ending, happy ending!
My cock screams… Oh, who am I kidding? It’s screaming the same thing.
Cold air hits my groin as she pulls my underwear down and takes my cock in her hand. My brain officially shuts down as she strokes me long and hard, the oil doing wonderful things to assist in the friction.
Suddenly, she stops. Her movements, her ass wiggling, her breathing. She goes stock-still, even when I thrust my hips upward, my cock seeking the glorious rubbing of her palm. “Samuel?” she whispers.
My name.
She said my name.
“What?” I ask, the desire in my body fighting against all rational thought. I want to pull her to my face and beg her to keep touching me, but her next word is like a bucket of ice water thrown on my entire body.
“Hummingbird.”
My body freezes, tenses so tight I