Chapter 2

My mom walked back into the sitting room. This time, she had taken off her apron, telling that she had finished cooking. The savory aroma of the meal followed her into the room, cutting through the heavy, charged silence that had settled over me.

"Do you need lotion?" she asked, looking between the two of us.

"I don't think so," he replied, his hand pausing flat against my skin. He looked up at me, his gaze steady and searching. "Are you okay? Or do you want me to massage you more?"

I was supposed to say no. The pains had almost gone, melting away under the heavy pressure of his thumbs, but I still wanted his hands on me. The thought of him pulling away, of the warmth leaving my skin, made my stomach tighten with a sudden, desperate panic. I didn’t want him to stop yet. I wanted this feeling to last as long as possible.

"Let her get the lotion. I want you to massage me more," I said, my voice sounding a little tighter than usual as I tried to mask the breathlessness in my throat.

"Okay, let me get it for you," my mom said, completely oblivious to the heat rising in my chest. She turned and left the room to go and get the bottle.

The moment she disappeared, the atmosphere in the room shifted, growing heavier, more intimate. He looked up at me, his fingers flexing slightly against my skin.

"Don't worry. Once I'm done, you won't feel any pain again," he assured me, offering that same warm, comforting smile he used to give me when I was little. Hearing those familiar words now, only made the current situation feel more intense. He continued to rub his thumb around the area, the slow, rhythmic circles keeping my skin flushed and sensitive.

After a while, my mom came back into the room holding a small plastic bottle. "Here it is," she said, bending down to hand it to him.

"Let me finish this," she added, her eyes drifting over to the puddle on the floor. She picked up the mopping stick, stepping over to continue the chore from exactly where I had stopped.

He took the bottle, popped the cap, and poured a generous amount of the cool liquid into his palm. He set the bottle down behind him on the couch, then rubbed his palms together.

As he began to massage my thigh again, the sensation increased instantly. The cool lotion quickly turned hot, and the slickness allowed his fingers to glide effortlessly over my skin. It was sending chills directly to my core. Every long, sweeping stroke felt entirely different now; his hands were sliding higher, the slick texture making every brush against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh feel magnified, electric, and dangerously close to the edge of my skirt.

I gripped the edge of the couch again as I fought to control the pleasure. My mind was racing, entirely consumed by the slide of his palms. I could feel the heat pooling deep in my stomach, a tight, heavy ache expanding with every single stroke of his hands.

When he noticed my reaction and the shallow, rapid rhythm of my breathing, he slowed down a bit, his thumbs coming to a gentle rest right at the center of my thigh.

He looked up, his eyes locking onto mine with a sudden, quiet intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.

"Should I stop?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, quiet murmur that barely carried over the sound of my mom mopping across the room.

"No. Please don't stop," I said, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I breathed even harder, completely helpless to the touch of his hands.

At this point, I didn't want his hand down there anymore. The painful ache from hitting the couch was completely gone, replaced by a much deeper, heavy throbbing that had nothing to do with pain. I wanted him to go higher. I wanted to feel more of the sweet, intoxicating sensation that was currently driving me crazy. Every second his hands stayed in the middle of my thigh felt like a waste of the burning electricity building up between my legs.

"Can you go higher a little?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly as I tried to sound casual. "I'm feeling a little pain over there."

He looked up at me, his hands pausing on my skin. His dark eyes searched my face, a sudden look of hesitation crossing his face. He knew exactly where the fabric of my skirts ended, and he knew what lay just an inch beyond his current position.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice a low, careful murmur.

"Yeah, the pain went up a bit," I said, looking directly into his eyes, holding his gaze pleadingly while breathing hard. My chest rose and fell rapidly, the shallow, uneven rhythm of my breath making it impossible to hide just how much his fingers was affecting me.