Exposed

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“Oh, honey—” he smiled as he removed her jeans, the denim rasping over the sensitive skin of her legs, leaving her wispy panties askew “—I’ve only just started. I meant the anticipation. Do you feel that?”

She nodded, rubbing her tongue-dampened lips together tightly. The fog kissed her bare legs. The chill made her shiver, but the sensation was nothing compared to the waves of want rocking her from the inside out.

“It’ll only get better, I promise.”

He tugged the denim off her ankles, then straddled the chair so he could attend to her bare feet. He massaged her arches and toes with a strong pressure that at first made her wince, then he kneaded softly until she sighed. She hadn’t realized how tired her feet were. But with each press and swirl, his hands erased the ache of the workday and enhanced the bittersweet torment of unsatisfied need.

He inched upward, lifting her left leg and placing an anklet of wet-tongued kisses on her skin, followed by a seam of laving up her calf and behind her knee. She started to slip down the fog-slickened cushion. The plunging sensation made her grab the arms of the chair.

“Relax, Ariana. I won’t hurt you.”

“It’s not that. I feel like I’m falling.”

“You are. You’re falling for me.”

She shook her head, smiling at his sweet sentiment, but not surprised that he didn’t understand.

“I’m afraid of heights,” she admitted.

“Heights of passion?” His teasing tone and sparkling eyes drew her into his double entendre. He scooted forward another few inches, then draped her knee over his shoulder. She held her breath, watching, fascinated and vulnerable and thrilled, as he smoothed his hand from beneath her lifted thigh, down to her nearly bare bottom. Wordlessly, he grabbed an elongated cushion from a nearby chair and placed it behind her hips, securing her in the semi-lifted position. She grabbed the neck roll and slid it behind her head, assisting him as he arranged her body for his full view and complete attention.

“I wouldn’t know about the heights of passion, Max,” she admitted. She’d avoided them the same way she’d avoided climbing Coit Tower or walking the span of the Golden Gate. The possibility of plunging down, losing herself, was a real one she’d always meant to avoid. “Never really climbed them.”