My brain short-circuits as I try to follow her explanation, but eventually the smoke clears. “Makes sense. I guess.”
I’ve never felt so fucking old.
But she’s sweet and patient with all the explanations. Never points out that I’m basically a defrosted caveman lurching into the twenty-first century.
“Anyway.” She points to the screen. “There’s the teaser I posted so my followers know what’s coming.”
While we watch, little hearts pop up in the corner of the screen. “That’s people liking the post,” she explains.
Comments start popping up under the photo.
Cutehiccups2019: omg ure so pretttty!
DustyCarrots: Wow! Can’t wait!
Dreamingofhamburgers17: Love your hair.
Feathergirl515: your voice is so soothing!
FlockingFabulous1921: Great look! Gold is so pretty on you!
She taps a few responses to the comments.
“They seem to like it,” I say, watching the number at the bottom climb into double, then triple digits.
She grins at me. “My followers are really sweet.”
ThorMant08: Whore face.
I lean in closer, glaring at the screen “What the fuck?”
“Ugh.” She waves off the fact that someone just called her a whore. “Some weirdo troll always stops by to give his unwelcome opinion.” She clicks a few times and the comment disappears. “I never engage with them. Just delete and block.”
Animkaz: ur lips would look better around my cock.
“Who the hell is that?” I growl.
“Another creep.” A few clicks later, the comment disappears. She shrugs and closes the screen. “It’s a wild world out there.”
I rest my hands on her shoulders, and she tips her head back and smiles up at me. “I don’t like people talking to you like that,” I say.
Her lips curve into a soft smile and she rests her palm against my cheek. “There’s not a lot I can do about it, so I don’t waste time worrying.”
“Is that safe, though? Having your face out there like that? With those creeps saying shit like that to you?”
She squints at me. “Everyone does it.”
I grunt an unconvinced noise.
She hooks her arms around my neck and drags me closer. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Watching and not complaining. Or making fun of me.”
“Why the fuck would I make fun of you?”
She lifts one shoulder. “And worrying about me.”
“Of course I worry about you.” I gesture to the screen. “If someone said that shit to your face, I’d yank their spine out through their throat.” Christ, my blood’s boiling again.
“How graphic,” she teases and leans up to kiss me.
“I’m serious,” I say against her lips. I urge her up into my arms. She pulls away and stares into my eyes. “Grayson, would you like to see my bedroom?”
“Very, very much.” My heart pounds as she leads me into the hallway and to her bedroom. It’s shadowy and dark, with heavy drapes covering the windows. She flicks a switch and thousands of tiny lights blink on, covering one wall and the ceiling. “That’s pretty.”
“They make me happy.”
I swallow a bitter ghost of regret, remembering how much Rose had loved Christmas lights. Back then I was an asshole who told her it was stupid to leave them up all year long. Such a simple thing brought her joy but I complained and made her miserable until she took them down.
“Grayson?” Serena’s concerned voice sounds a mile away.
The ghosts of my past recede, like Serena’s voice is a magical potion to transform them into dust. “Right here, buttercup.”
“Is your shoulder okay?” She reaches up to touch me.
I jerk away. “I’m fine.”
“Will you let me massage it a little?”
“It’s fine.” Why am I saying no to a massage?
“Please?” She teases her hands under my shirt, her fingers tickling my skin.
“What if I want to rub you down?”
“How about this? If I do a good job, you can massage me when I’m done.”
“Deal.”
She nods to the bed. “Strip down and stretch out. I’ll be right back.”
“Strip down? You ask all your patients to do that?”
“Only the hot ones.” She prances out of the room.
Laughing, I take off everything and stretch my big body in the middle of her bed, resting my head on my arms, facing the door.
My breath catches when she returns wearing nothing but her bra and underwear.
“Mmm. Very nice, Grayson.” The bed dips as she rests her knee at the edge and climbs on.
I reach one arm toward her, sliding my hand along her smooth thigh.
“Not yet,” she whispers. She straddles my body, hugging her legs to my sides. A few seconds later, soft, slippery hands stroke along either side of my spine. I let out a long, contented groan.
“That’s it,” she whispers. “Relax for me.”
Relax, nothing. My dick’s so hard it hurts.
She continues the long, soft, gentle strokes, increasing the pressure with each pass. Slowly, she shifts the focus of her touches to my right shoulder, kneading and rubbing almost to the point of pain.
When I think I won’t be able to stand another second, she switches to my other shoulder, evening out the sensations.