L. A. Witt - Rules 1 - Rules of Engagement (18 page)

I laughed. “Okay, watch and learn. It’s hot as hell when a woman does this, but I’ll do the best I can.”

 

“I think I can manage with what I’m seeing.”

We exchanged grins, then I focused on what I was doing. I dropped my hands to the floor, kicked up into a handstand, and gave myself a moment to stabilize. From where I was, I could have easily cast a glance at Brandon, but I didn’t dare. Standing on my own two feet was enough of a challenge when he gave me the look that I could already feel him giving me.

Taking a breath, I tightened my core and lowered myself, then pushed back up. My shoulders, fatigued from my own workout earlier, quivered with the exertion but stayed under me.

After three or four reps, I dropped my feet and stood. “So do you—” I stopped when I saw the knowing grin on his face. “What?”
He chuckled and came towards me, putting his arms around my neck. “Nothing.”
“You’re thinking something.”

“Am not.” He tilted his head to kiss me, but I avoided his kiss and smirked.

 

“Spill it,” I said.

 

Pulling me into a kiss, he whispered, “I’ve been doing handstand pushups for three years.”

My jaw fell open. “You—”
“I just wanted to see
you
do it.”
I laughed and kissed him. “All you had to do was ask.” His fingers trailed up the back of my neck. “I did.”
“Is that the only reason you came to the gym today?”

“Fuck no,” he said. “If all I wanted was to get a hard-on watching you do handstand pushups, I’d have just asked you to do it in the bedroom.” He nudged his hips against mine, letting me know he wasn’t exaggerating about the hard-on.

“So why did you come in, then?”
“Because I wanted to fuck with you.”
I laughed. “Jackass.”
He grinned into my kiss. “You loved every minute of it.”

“Maybe,” I said with a shrug. “I’m still going to get you back for it.”

 

“Oh really? And how are you going to do that?”

 

“You’ll see.” I ran my fingers through his hair. “When and where you least expect it, I’m
going
to get you back.”

He narrowed his eyes. “An empty threat.”
“Is it?”
“I think it is.”
“I guess you’ll find out, won’t you?”

The smug cockiness in his expression couldn’t mask the very slight raise in his eyebrows. I could tell he was trying to decide whether or not to call my bluff, but I just grinned. Whether he knew it or not, I most definitely wasn’t bluffing. Revenge
would
be mine.

“Just wait.” I pulled him closer and kissed his neck. “But now that I have you good and turned on….”

 

“You had me turned on the minute you took your shirt off.” He ran his hands over my shoulders.

 

“I showed you mine,” I said, nibbling his neck and sliding my hands under his shirt. “You show me yours.”

“I think I can manage that.” He stepped back and pulled his shirt over his head. As he tossed it onto the couch, he winced, rubbing his shoulder and neck gingerly.

“You okay?” I asked, putting my hands on his hips.

 

He nodded, but the painful grimace still twisted his mouth. “I’m fine.”

“Are you really that sore?”
“No.” He looked at me, then laughed. “Yes.”

Frowning, I squeezed his shoulder gently, then his upper arm, watching him flinch in spite of his best efforts not to. “Is this just fatigue, or did you pull something?”

“I think you just kicked my ass a little harder than I expected.”

“You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow, then,” I said, furrowing my brow and watching him rub his shoulder.
“Great.”

“A massage might help.”
He smiled. “A massage
always
helps.”

“Come on.” I nodded towards the bedroom. “I fucked you up. I might as well fix it.”
As he followed me down the hall, he said, “And then fuck me, right?”

I glanced over my shoulder. “Doesn’t that go without saying?” “It’d better.”

“Have I ever let you down, Brandon?” I rifled through a dresser drawer, looking for the bottle of massage oil.
His hands slid up my back, making me suck in a sharp breath. “Not once.” He kissed my shoulder.

“And I don’t plan to start now,” I said. “Ah, here it is.” I pulled the bottle out, elbowed the drawer shut, and nodded towards the bed. “Now lie on your stomach.”

B
RANDON
did as I asked, lying on his stomach as I sat on my knees beside him on the bed. He rested his face on his hands and watched me pour some of the massage oil into my palm. “You know, we could have a lot of fun with that stuff.”

“We could.” I rubbed my hands together to warm the cool liquid. “And as soon as you’re not quite so crippled, maybe we will.” He snorted. “I’m not crippled.”

 

I put my hands on his shoulders, circling gently with my palms, gradually applying more pressure as I went. “Maimed, then?”

“Hmm, maimed could—oh my
God
….”
I froze. “What? Too much?”
“No, it’s awesome. Keep doing that,” he said, almost slurring.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

Pushing a little harder, I kneaded the stiff muscles of his shoulders and upper back. “When I was getting my training certification, I took a couple of massage classes just for the hell of it.”

“You obviously paid attention,” he said. “
Jesus
.”

 

“I find some skills worth learning,” I said with a laugh. “I’m a bit out of practice, though. Haven’t done this in a while.”

 

“If this is you out of practice,” he said, “please feel free to use me to brush up on your skills.”

 

“Come on, now,” I said. “I couldn’t possibly use you. That just wouldn’t be right.”

“No, please do. I insist.”
“Well, if you say so.”

Pressing the heels of my hands into his lower back on either side of his spine, I slowly slid them up to his shoulders, my oiled skin gliding over his. I watched his chest rise and fall with long, deep breaths as the tension in his muscles melted away at my fingertips. When he released a low moan, it vibrated up through my skin and raised goose bumps on my arms.

I kept one hand on his back and reached for the massage oil. Then I poured some on the back of my own hand, put the bottle aside, and used my free hand to coax the oil from my skin onto his so that it was warm when I smoothed it on. As I did, I marveled at the sight of my own fingers sliding across his muscles, the ridge of his spine, and the edges of his tattoo.

It wasn’t the first time I’d given a man a massage; I’d worked on men and women alike as part of my classes. Staring at Brandon’s body, massage oil glistening like a sheen of sweat, I wondered how I ever could have overlooked just how sexy a man’s body could be.

More than once, I forgot that I was supposed to be working the knots out of his strained, fatigued muscles. Instead, I just ran my hands over his torso, letting my fingertips memorize every last contour. I knew the human body like a mechanic knows a car, but everything about Brandon’s fascinated me.

Though he was hardly a bodybuilder, he had the kind of toned, sculpted physique most of my clients have would killed for. The kind of physique
I
would have killed for. Fully dressed, he looked slim and fit, but once the clothes were gone, his body looked as powerful as it was beautiful. Even now, as he lay calm and relaxed, the strength and energy just beneath the surface was palpable.

The dragon on his back rose and fell beneath my hands, seeming to draw breath with him. Brandon’s eyes were closed, his breathing so slow and even that I thought he was asleep until he whispered, “I could let you do this all night.”

“So you don’t want me to hurry?”

 

“Please don’t. Take your time.”

I kneaded his shoulders, finding the knots in his muscles and working them out, occasionally stopping to run my hands down the length of his spine and back up. Each time I returned to his shoulders, I explored every inch as if I’d never touched it before. The knots were long gone, but I wasn’t about to stop. The warmth of his skin was hypnotic as my oiled hands slid over it again and again.

It was only the fatigue in my own shoulders that finally stopped me. My hands still had a few miles left in them, but my neck and shoulders were starting to ache. I sat beside him and said “Give me your arm.”

Eyes fluttering open, he lifted his head and freed the arm closest to me, stretching it out, letting the side of his face rest on his other forearm. He closed his eyes again as I kneaded his arm.

“You know, if this is what happens when I show up at the gym, I may have to do it again.”

“Don’t you dare.” I laughed and made firm circles with my thumbs, working my way down his bicep. Holding his forearm in one hand, I massaged my way down his arm with the other, tracing the contours of his muscles and watching my own thumb follow the groove on the inside of his forearm to his wrist.

His fingers closed around my wrist, his thumb gently rubbing the side of my arm. The soft brush of his skin against mine made my breath catch.

Our eyes met. Neither of us spoke, but the look in his eyes drew me towards him. Without releasing my hand, he rolled onto his back, gently pulling me with him. He rose to meet me, putting his arms around me as I leaned in to kiss him, and we both sank slowly onto the bed.

“Your hands are amazing,” he murmured.
“Any excuse to touch you,” I said, kissing him deeply.

“You don’t need an excuse if you’re going to touch me like that.” Then he looked at me with a mischievous grin. “If I told you my feet were killing me, would you give me a foot massage?”

I laughed and kissed him gently. “All you have to do is ask.” “Then I’m asking.”
“For what?”
“Rub my feet, damn it.”
I bent and kissed the side of his neck. “You have to ask nicely.” “Please rub my feet, damn it?”
“Behave yourself, or I’ll make you beg.”

“If your hands are half as good to my feet as they are to everything else, I
will
beg.”

“Mmm, maybe I want to see you beg for it.”
“Please?”
“Please what?”
“Please rub my feet, since you so cruelly crippled me.” “I thought you said you weren’t crippled.”
“If it gets you to rub my feet, I’ll say I am.”

Kissing my way up his neck, I ran my hand down his side. “Might be more fun to make you get down on your knees and beg.”

“If I get down on my knees,
you’re
the one who will be begging.” “Touché.” I kissed him before moving down to his feet. “In the interest of full disclosure, I haven’t done this in a while. I might be a little rusty.”

“I’m sure I’ll—holy
fuck
.” He closed his eyes as I ran my thumb up the arch of his foot. “You can do that as long as you want.”
“Careful what you wish for,” I said. “I can go all night.”

He chuckled. “I can take it.”
“You sure?”

“Bring it—oh my God….” He groaned softly as the heel of my hand followed the same path my thumb had a second before.
Watching him, hearing and feeling his responses to my touch, fascinated me as it always did. I had always enjoyed watching a partner respond, whether it were in the form of a powerful orgasm or simply a catch of breath after a gentle brush of my hand, but Brandon’s reactions did more than just intrigue me. In the beginning, it was the novelty of being with a man, having that kind of effect on a man, but it was more than that now.
It was more than just a turn-on when he responded to my touch. It was almost a sense of relief that the cosmos had somehow seen fit to give me the chance to do this to him just one more time, like giving him this kind of pleasure—whether a gentle massage or hot, sweaty sex, or even a brief kiss—was a privilege I didn’t deserve.
Deserving or not, I was going to enjoy every second of it.

Letting his foot ease back onto the bed, my hand drifted up his ankle and onto his jeans. His breath caught as I let my fingers trail up the side of his calf. Watching his eyes, I gently ran the heel of my hand over his cock, pausing to unbutton the top of his jeans. He drew in a long breath while I slowly drew the zipper down.

Tugging at his waistband, I said, “I hope you don’t mind that I stopped rubbing your feet.”

“Go back to rubbing my feet now, and I might have to hurt you.” He lifted his hips so that I could get his jeans and boxers out of the way.

“You sure?” My fingers trailed up the shaft of his erection, barely touching the skin but enough to make him shiver and raise goose bumps on his skin. I flicked my tongue across the rise of his hipbone. “I could always finish giving you a foot massage now, and—”

“Don’t you
dare
.”

I didn’t. I took his cock into my mouth, stroking the shaft as I licked around the head. There was just enough massage oil left on my hand to let it slide easily up and down his cock.

“Oh my God, that’s….” He was up on his elbows now, abs quivering and chest rising sharply with shallow, uneven gasps for air. He let his head fall back and moaned. “Oh Jesus, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.”

I stroked faster, squeezing his cock as it stiffened in my hand. His back arched and he let his shoulders drop back to the bed. His hands hit the mattress beside him, grabbing at the sheets.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “That’s… fuck…
holy
—” He took in a sharp hiss of breath. Then his body shook with a violent tremor and, a second later, he came with a throaty roar that faded into a growl, then a moan, then a breathless whimper.

I licked my lips and said, “That would be the foot massage with the happy ending.”

“That damn well better not be the end,” he growled. He sat up and pulled me into a kiss. As his tongue explored my mouth, his hands went for my belt. We quickly got my remaining clothes out of the way, then he tried to lower me onto the bed. I grabbed his shoulders, though, and got the advantage just long enough to get him onto his back.

“I hope you don’t think you’re getting on top,” he said. “Damn right I am.” I laughed and pinned his wrists beside his head.

“The hell you are.” He pulled his arms free, slipping easily out of my grasp. I tried to grab him again, but the oil on his skin and my hands made it impossible, and he got away.

“Hey! You’re covered in oil,” I said, rolling onto my back and looking up at him. “That’s cheating.”

 

“You’re the one that covered me in oil.” He kissed his way down my side, trailing his fingers down the center of my chest.