Authors: Jaycee DeLorenzo
Um…
I told myself not to freak. After all, my breasts had always been sensitive and with hands on them – even Ian’s – it was only natural that my body would respond.
Right?
“What about you? What are your plans?” I asked, thinking that talking was the best way to keep my mind off the way my body was responding to Ian’s touch. If I focused on his words, I wouldn’t have time to think about how my breasts were suddenly aching to be touched. Thus far, Ian seemed oblivious to the affect he was having on me and I intended to keep it that way.
“For Friday?” His thumbs were now rubbing small circles in the tissue on either side of my spine, but his fingers hadn’t moved from my breasts. They continued to press into me, making small, circular motions, and driving me all sorts of crazy.
I gritted my teeth, desperately trying to keep control of myself.
Why aren’t his hands moving? And what did he just say?
“Uh, yeah,” I said, hoping my response was correct.
“Casey and I were talking about playing pool at O’Shea’s.”
Right; we were discussing Friday night.
“No big date?”
He made a scoffing noise. “On Valentine’s Day?”
Ian had been preaching how Valentine’s Day was a commercialized crock ever since we were in high school. Maybe I needed to rethink this talking-to-keep-myself-distracted plan. If I kept asking stupid questions, he was going to catch on that something was up.
I gave a weak laugh. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. The massage has my brain all mushy.”
More like extremely turned on,
I thought, fighting back nervous giggles.
“Okay.”
The compulsive giggle faded away when I detected an odd, guttural sound in his voice.
Did he just growl?
No, it had to be my mind playing tricks. I just needed to calm down. I closed my eyes, channeling the calming sounds of ocean waves breaking against rocks and birds chirping in the distance. That’s when I became aware that he was now retying the strings of my bikini top. When had he moved his hands? Better yet, why hadn’t I noticed? Maybe it was because I could still feel them there, still feel their warmth soaking into my skin, radiating outward…or downward, to be more precise.
I sighed. I wasn’t feeling any more relaxed. In fact, I was feeling downright achy.
“Put your head between those pillows,” he said in a low voice.
I did so, lifting my head and resting my nose in the crease between the two pillows.
“Are you comfortable?”
“Yep,” I said, popping the ‘p’. “Comfortable” wasn’t the term I’d use to describe how dizzy and puzzled I felt. The thing was, I wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, either. This was still Ian; still my best friend.
I didn’t even see him that way. So yeah, the whole arousal thing was disconcerting and had my head spinning, but I was a girl with a healthy sexual appetite and had been single for far too long. It didn’t mean I wanted to jump his bones, per se, just that I was horny. Plus, after Amery’s confession the night before, I had Ian’s “sexy hands” on the brain. I liked to think that if there had been more time between that conversation and this massage, my reaction would have been completely different.
I scrunched my face up against the pillow.
Yeah, this is all Amery’s fault.
Ian’s fingers entwined in my hair and began making large, circular strokes against my scalp. A hum of pleasure vibrated in my throat. I loved this part of the massage and the lightheadedness that came from the stimulation of my arteries.
The euphoric head rush hit me the second his hands moved to the base of my skull. Every last thought in my head floated away, and the remaining bit of tension that had been hanging on in my back dissipated, leaving my body feeling like a gelatinous blob.
Ian rubbed the sides of my neck in long, vertical strokes, and then worked down both of my arms, improving the blood-flow. My hips shimmied in delight and I giggled softly.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice soft.
With great difficulty, I lifted my head so he could hear my voice. “My fingers are tingly.”
“It’ll pass. You can put your head back wherever you want.”
“Okay.” I dropped my right cheek on the pillow and closed my eyes. I was suddenly sleepy.
Ian climbed off me and pulled the sheet up over my shoulders. I shivered as the warmth he’d provided went away. I wanted it back. Another shiver rippled through me when the lower half of the sheet was lifted from my legs and bunched up around my buttocks.
He dripped more oil into his hands. After rubbing them together, he began coasting them over my calves in long strokes.
“Mmm,”
I vocalized my approval for him to keep doing that. Soon I had to wiggle my toes just to confirm my legs were still attached to my body. After a few minutes, his hands began going higher, running from my heel to just below the curve of my behind and back down again.
I fell silent, instantly wide awake as the nerve endings between my legs sparked to life. Sucking in a breath, I tensed as he repeated the stroke on my other leg. Moisture pooled between my legs.
Oh, no.
Sweat broke out on my brow and the tingle I felt earlier in my lower belly returned with a roaring vengeance, searing hot this time and shooting down into my groin. Involuntarily, my thighs widened in invitation.
Fighting the gasp rising in my throat, I tilted my pelvis down, attempting to relieve some of the pressure building between my legs. Of course, that only put my clit square against the bed. I bit my lip as a bolt of hot electricity boomeranged throughout my lower belly and back through my thighs.
I imprisoned my moan behind my teeth. Ian’s hand was rising up my leg again…over the back of my knee…up my hamstring…the inner curve of my…
oh, holy hell!
There had been just the tiniest bit of contact there. I clamped my lips together and slowly released a soundless, shuddering breath through my parted lips.
Every part of me stilled as he changed his attention to the other leg and starting moving upwards again. I was sure the touch was just an accident, but my body was screaming for it to happen again. Against all reason and logic, I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to turn me over and see that flash of desire I saw last night. I wanted him to rip my bikini bottoms off. I wanted him to touch me between the legs and massage me to a fevered pitch until I was writhing and screaming in ecst—
I bit the pillow when the back of his hand brushed between my legs and cried into its downy softness as an uncontrollable orgasm ripped through my body. I tried to keep still, but there was no stopping the shudder that went through me or the forward rock of my hips.
I went limp.
Ian’s hands froze on the back of my thigh.
Oh, god!
My eyes snapped open as realization slammed into me.
Oh, god, that did
not
just happen!
“Ivy?” Ian said in strangled voice I’d never heard him use before. “Did…are you…?”
I was mortified.
Oh, God, no! No, no, no!
“I’m fine!” I said in a sharp, strangled voice. I scrambled to my feet, pulling the sheet around my body with jerky motions. I kept my eyes on the sheet while I smoothed it down. If he saw my face, saw the heat in my cheeks – one similar to that of between my thighs – it would be all over. “I only really wanted you to work on my back, so we’re done. Thanks.”
“Ivy.”
I glanced his way and was surprised by the dazed look on his face.
Shaking my head, I marched to my docking station and snapped off the music.
“Look, I’m going to go take a shower, and then I’ll drive you home, okay?”
Ian hesitated. “You know what? I think I’ll walk.”
“If that’s what you want.” I wasn’t about to argue. I needed major distance. “Thanks for the massage.”
He came up behind me and brushed his lips against my cheekbone, causing my heart to seize. “Anytime,” he said, his breath fanning the sweaty hairline at my temple. “Call me later?”
“Sure.” I gave him one last glance over my shoulder. He still had that same dazed and heated look, and the way he was looking at me had my hormones going haywire. I practically threw myself into the bathroom and slammed the door.
I sagged against it and closed my eyes.
What the—?
What was happening to me? Never in a million years could I have foreseen that ever happening. What’s worse, I couldn’t even blame it on lack of sexual contact in the last few months. Those few minutes with Graydon the night before had been about physical contact, and he hadn’t had half the effect on my body. Which meant…
Oh, God, I do want to jump Ian’s bones!
I brought my hands to my face and squealed my frustration, trying to erase that thought. But all I could think about was his hands and how incredibly sensual that massage had been.
I allowed the sheet to slip and one of my hands drifted down to my belly and brushed over the V between my legs. I hissed as my entire body revved up, ready for round two. Sighing, I looked to the side. As wrong as it was, there was only one thing to do about it now.
I walked across the room and turned on the shower.
I avoided Ian for the remainder of the weekend and all through Monday. As soon as I was done “working him out of my system,” I made it my mission to repress the memory of the entire event.
It wasn’t easy. The fact that I brought myself off to the fantasy of Ian’s hands doing some deliciously wicked things to my body had my head spinning for several hours. I spent half of the next twenty-four hours hiding under a blanket, my face buried in my pillow, cringing every time I thought about what happened. After careful consideration, I decided that his massage was to blame for the turn of events and nothing more. It had just been more stimulating than any of the others, so much more intimate. I couldn’t help wondering if it had been on purpose, either.
Yeah, can you say projecting?
Eventually, I gave up my speculation. And with a little distance, a few well-needed distractions in the form of homework and playing a few strategy games on the computer, I managed to stop obsessing over it.
Even so, there were still more than a few butterflies in my stomach as the elevator climbed to the fifth floor of Manchester Tuesday night. He knew I’d had an orgasm. Would he say anything about it? What if things became awkward between us, affecting our friendship and our work?
I took a fortifying breath as I exited the elevator and walked down the hall to get to the station. Up ahead, I caught sight of Amery pacing outside the station door with her cell phone to her ear. She hung up as soon as she saw me, a look of relief on her face. “Hey, I was just calling you. You’re cutting it pretty close.”
“Sorry. I was at the library and lost track of time,” I lied. I’d dawdled on purpose, wanting to minimize the time I had to spend with Ian before the show began in case things were weird.
I wrapped my fingers around the door handle and blew out a short breath.
Here goes nothing.
I’m not sure what I expected – maybe a scene rife with sexual tension straight out of some horrible teen drama, or even a smug smile on Ian’s face – but the sight of him balancing a plastic bottle of milk on his forehead with two bite-sized chocolate chip cookies over his eyes as he howled like a werewolf made me laugh in relief.
Was this what I’d been stressing about? This was just my best friend at his goofiest.
Ian jumped when he heard my laugh, pulling the milk from his head and leaning over to dump the cookies into his hand. Looking up, he gave me a rather adorable grin. So adorable, in fact, that I felt a small flip in my belly.
Best friend or not, he is a cutie.
I closed the station door behind me and then laughed again when I saw small smudges of melted chocolate chips dotting his eyelids. “You’ve got a little…” I pointed to my eyelid.
Ian rubbed his thumb over his eyes, wiping off the chocolate, and swiped his thumb on his jeans. He closed his eyes and lifted his head for my inspection. “Did I get it all?”
“You’re good.” I removed my earrings and put them in my bag, which I then stowed beneath the sound board. I sat back into my chair and studied him. I was still waiting for there to be some weirdness.
But Ian just lifted the small bag of bite-sized cookies from his lap. “Cookie?”
“Sure,” I said, reaching in for one and popping it into my mouth. “Yummy.”
He nodded as he tossed one into his mouth. “They’re not as good as your mom’s, but they do hit the spot.”
I took another cookie out of the bag when he held it out for me. “Is there anything that doesn’t hit the spot in your book?”
“Cottage cheese.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “Vile stuff.”
I considered telling him that Mom put cottage cheese in her lasagna, but…
nah
.
Ian crumpled up the empty plastic bag and tossed it into the trash. “So, I ran into Quinn on the way in tonight. He told me he’s going to have his assistant get some swag together for us to pass out at the panel on Thursday.”
“What kind of swag?”
He shrugged. “Buttons and stickers, I’m guessing.”
“That’s cool,” I said. “I have to admit, I’m getting a little nervous about the panel.”
He studied me, surprise reflected in his eyes. “Why? You’re the one who was all gung-ho about this.”
“I know. I guess I keep thinking about what you said about it feeling stilted. We’ve never done this in front of a live, face-to-face audience before. What if I freeze up or flop?”
He slowly shook his head. “Not a chance. I give it five minutes before that audience is eating out of your hand.”
I bit my lip, pleased and flattered by his confidence in my abilities. “You think?
“I know.” He winked, and then nodded his head to the microphone. “Do you wanna start?”
“You can take it tonight.”
Ian read the information on the first caller on the computer screen. He scratched his chin thoughtfully, and then grinned. “Okay, I’ve got it. Let’s gear up.”
We wrapped our headphones around our ears and watched the timer.