Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Okay. You may have a point.” Mike chuckled, and Rayne loved the way one side of Mike’s mouth turned up higher than the other and the crinkle that appeared in the corners of his eyes when his amusement was genuine.
“I’m going to prove my point right now,” Rayne whispered near Mike’s ear.
Chapter Forty-five
Mike
Mike hadn’t been expecting this. After the horticulturist and Manny arrived, Rayne had retreated to his room for a long time, and Mike thought he’d upset him about picking the exotic flower, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Rayne had planned something big for him, a massage. He never really thought it’d be his thing or that he’d enjoy something like that, but so far, he was in heaven. The room was warm and dimly lit with scented candles, creating some romantic shit he probably didn’t deserve.
Rayne’s hands were satiny as he rubbed a generous amount of oil over Mike’s chest that smelled of lavender and rose. A delicate kiss was placed on his forehead, and warm breath fanned over his lips as Rayne leaned over him, his supple flesh gliding over his own.
“Breathe and relax for me, Mike,” Rayne purred as he slid his hands behind Mike’s neck and between his shoulder blades. The pressure was perfect, and his strong hands kneaded right where Mike carried all of his stress and tension. “Just close your eyes and feel.”
Mike groaned as his head and neck were rotated and stretched. Rayne’s knuckles and fingertips found knots that Mike had embedded so deep he thought they were permanent. He masterfully manipulated tendons and muscles as if he had a degree in anatomy. No wonder Rayne came home bragging every evening about his tips.
Mike didn’t know how long he’d been rubbed, but by the time Rayne got to his lower body, he felt like liquid, as if he was too relaxed to control his limbs. He didn’t really need to—Rayne said he knew how to treat a man’s body, and he hadn’t exaggerated. His voice was lustful but full of empathy and understanding with every groan Mike involuntarily released.
Mike’s dick was already hard, but when Rayne began to knead in the arch of his foot, it went from solid to granite. “Oh my fucking god,” Mike said roughly, unable to recall anyone touching his feet before.
“You deserve to be catered to, Mike,” Rayne breathed as he worked his way back to Mike’s chest. His slick hands glided over his pecs, and he was unprepared for the stimulation when Rayne rotated the pads of his thumbs over his nipples. He arched into the touch as Rayne’s tongue flicked across his left one, fast and wet. His wonderful hands slid lower and lower. “Now for the good part.”
Holy shit. Rayne hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet. Mike felt amazing, like he was floating into space. Somehow, he was relaxed and highly stimulated at the same time. A hot, searing bolt of pleasure struck Mike in his spine as Rayne smoothed his hands down his torso until both palms were around his cock, slippery and tight. Shit, shit, shit. He was only seconds from coming, he knew it. He was about to erupt like a damn volcano over a damn massage.
“Rayne,” Mike sighed, canting his hips to meet the next downstroke.
“I’m not even close to being finished with you.” Rayne sounded as captivated as Mike felt. “Now, turn over.”
How was he supposed to lie on his stomach when he had a steel spike jutting out in front of him? Seeming to sense his hesitation, Rayne pivoted Mike’s body until he was mostly on his stomach, part on his side. Then the professional massage began again, this time targeting the pain that had lived in his lower back since his early twenties. Mike didn’t realize he was thrusting against the cotton sheet beneath him, shoving his hardness into the thick padding of the table.
“I don’t know who’s enjoying this erotic massage more… you or me,” Rayne whispered, squeezing more oil onto his capable hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on, Mike. For anyone.”
Mike’s head got bigger, both of them. Rayne continued to work the sore muscles on the sides of his spine—that he believed all manual laborers suffered from—while he alternated between kneading his fingers into his lumbar to sensually rubbing his glutes. Mike pushed his ass higher in the air, blinded with pleasure, not caring how he looked or sounded, wanting more pressure from Rayne’s fingers working in between his crease. Mike spread his thighs wider and pushed his aching cock harder into the table, seeking friction.
“More,” Mike begged, unable to help it. What Rayne was doing wasn’t enough. He felt like a greedy bastard because he was already overstimulated, but he still craved, needed. He just didn’t know what to plead for. What was he missing—why’d he still feel incomplete?