Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
I lower into the chair beside hers as she joins me, my eyes naturally darting, the vision of Jude standing unapologetically naked in the window unshakably stuck in my mind. Confident. A man who knows he has a body to die for, wields it like a lethal weapon.
And I want to die by that body.
“I’m just checking over your information. Has anything changed since your last visit?”
“Nothing,” I say, distracted, looking up when someone enters the spa. An elderly lady in a fifties swimsuit and swim hat.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hodges,” Maria says as she passes.
“Morning, dear.”
“She’s here every day without fail for her swim,” Maria tells me. “Now, are there any areas I should pay particular attention to?”
I roll my shoulder blades in, feeling the stiffness there. Feeling stiffness everywhere.
Maria smiles and makes a note. “I hear you,” she says. “Let’s get you settled. We’re in treatment room four, at the very end.” She leads me down the glass-walled corridor, the gym on one side, a workout studio on the other. Clean, calming air hits me when she opens a door, the dim lighting not achieving what it’s intended to achieve. Calm. At least, not for me.
Maria goes to the massage bed, the widest I’ve ever seen, and pulls the top blanket back. “If you’d like to slip off your robe and bra and get comfortable front down. There’s a hook on the wall by the bathroom. I’ll give you a few minutes.”
“Thank you.” The soft sound of waves registers, the subtle scent of roses breaking through the lavender. God, I need this. I need someone to work the tension out of me and relax me, because I am strung, my heart thumping relentlessly. I slip off the robe and hang it up, shivering a little, despite the room being warm, as I remove my bra, leaving my knickers on. Lying on my front, I pull the blanket up my back as far as I can, resting my face in the padded hole, closing my eyes and exhaling.
Relax, relax, relax.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Someone please rub this stress and tension out of me.
The door opens and closes, and in the darkness, I hear Maria moving around, the clinking of glass bottles delicate. Her hands press into my back on top of the blanket a few times before she takes the edge by my shoulders and draws it down to the base of my spine, exposing my bare back.
And I wait for her warm touch to meet my skin. And wait.
For a moment, I wonder if she’s left the room. But then I feel her palms rest on my lower back and gently press into me.
And an inferno instantly rages within.
My eyes fly open, staring at the carpet below, and air leaves my lungs in a rush, my body erupting with tingles. I would know his touch amid a million touches. My body already knows him. What the hell?
I start to turn, needing to check I’m not losing my fucking mind, but his touch slides up to my shoulders and presses down, encouraging me to stay. Oh my God. His breath is suddenly in my ear, my senses invaded by the musk and oud smell that’s wholly Jude. He doesn’t speak, just breathes.
But he doesn’t need to speak.
I hear him.
The universe hears him.
The energy in the room is supercharged, electric.
What’s happening?
His hands leave my back, and mine clench into balls. It takes all my resistance not to spin over. See him. Is he naked? “This is so wrong,” I whisper, knowing he can’t hear me. My body is screaming for him, my skin demanding his touch. The throb of my inside walls is carnal, sensing what it wants is close by.
The wave music dies and something else starts. And it does not help my condition. The sound of a woman breathing heavily fills the room, mixing with my own fitful breaths, and then a choir of men singing in French. It takes me only a few seconds to recognise the music.
Enigma. “Sadeness.”
“Oh my God,” I murmur, as the fire of his touch meets my back again, melding gently into my flesh, kneading, stroking, feathery touches mixed with firmer ones. I groan, unable to stop myself, surrendering to his masterful hands working my body, drifting away, the music filling my head, his hands taking me to new realms of pleasure. And that’s all I can think about. How just a kiss and a touch can blindside me. How him massaging my hands with soap can render me useless. Have me imagining all the ways he can use those hands on me. How his voice over the phone built me up to an explosion.
It started with a look.
Then a touch.
Where is this leading?
I don’t mean sex, I know that’s going to happen. And I know it’s going to be biblical. But where then?