The Masseuse

by Sierra Kincade

  His tongue prodded inside of me, but it was too shallow. Not enough. If he was going to push me to the line, I wanted us to cross it together.

  “You.” My voice was small, the words difficult to find. “I need you.”

  “Not yet,” he said.

  “Now,” I begged. “Now. I need you, Alec.”

  He lowered my hips, and wiped my juices off his lips with the back of his hand. He was primal now, hedonistic, and I drank in the sight of him. Bronzed body, slick with oil and perspiration. Heaving chest. Thick, defined arms. Cock jutting out, heavy and veined and so huge it sent a shiver of panic through me.

  I’d taken him before, and I would again now.

  The speculative look on his face caught me off guard. But before I could think clearly enough to make sense of it, he crawled over me, pulling me lengthwise on the couch beneath him.

  I felt him at my opening, prodding gently through the soaked lips, letting my still spasming muscles adjust to his broad girth. My heels hooked around his calves. My hands reached for him, but he stopped me, and pinned them against the pillow over my head.

  I knew something was wrong. A cold feeling seeped into my lungs, spreading silently, reaching for my racing heart. But I couldn’t concentrate on it, because he was still entering me. That delicious contact I’d craved was happening at last. Inch by inch he claimed me, until my insides compressed to accommodate him, and the spark of pain blended with the searing pleasure. I could feel his pelvis against mine, his balls brushing against my ass.

  I exhaled. Finally.

  With his jaw flush against my cheek, his face was hidden from me. I could feel the sweat on his brow, feel the tips of his wet hair tickle my ear. His mouth pressed to my neck, to the scrambling pulse that beat within.

  “Anna,” he breathed. The broken way he said it brought a pang to my heart, and again I felt that coldness inside my chest.

  I hated that he was constricting my hands. I needed to hold him. He needed me to hold him. An awareness filtered through my trembling body: I’d wanted the truth, and this was it. His body was trying to tell me what his mouth couldn’t.

  I was a masseuse; it was my job to listen to people’s bodies.

  I closed my eyes and focused on the clenching of his thighs between mine, on his flexing biceps and his ragged breaths. On his hard body as he rotated his hips to rub the deepest part of me. On his heart, as it hammered through his ribs against my breast.

  He rolled his pelvis, then again, allowing no friction but increasing the pressure all the same. Another roll and I was coming, losing my focus on him for timeless moments as I crested the peak.

  “I can feel you,” he said into my hair. “Your hungry little cunt gripping my dick.”

  His words made me cry for more, and soon he was sliding in and out, angling at just the right place to keep me soaring. His strokes quickened, grew harder.

  “Come again, baby,” he demanded. But I twisted my head into the pillow, and I was unable to tell him that it hadn’t stopped. It kept going and going, even as the sweat soaked my hair and ran in rivulets between my breasts. I was dying.

  And just as I thought he would join me, he stopped.

  Arms shaking, he released my wrists at last and rose, pressing his forehead to mine just for a moment before rising on his knees, and pulling my hips around his. We never broke contact as he began hammering into me from above. His eyes fixed on my breasts, which I held in place against my chest.

  Again the pressure increased.

  And again he stopped.

  He turned me over, and though I tried to help, I was so weak I could barely hold my weight on my forearms as he took me from behind. He couldn’t come, or he wasn’t letting himself. I didn’t understand; he’d never done this before. Tears streamed down my nose as he reached around and massaged my aching clit.

  When I groaned, he went faster, driving every sound he could from me. He was close, now. I could feel his fingers tighten around my hips. His strokes lost their rhythm.

  I sobbed his name, needing him to come with me.

  But he pulled back again.

  “Stop,” I said.

  He froze.

  “Alec, stop,” I said again.

  As if I’d struck him, he jerked back, leaving me empty. I was so sensitive, I gave a stunted cry, but before I could turn around, he’d sat me up, and was kneeling on the floor below me.

  My hands were in his, and the look on his face was that of horror.

  “Are you okay?” He brushed the hair out of my face. “Anna? Baby, did I hurt you?”

  I was crying. He had hurt me, but not in the way he was thinking. Physically I was fine—exhausted, satiated, maybe a little sore, but fine. But the cold inside had taken over and was spreading down my limbs.

  He had fucked me. Like I’d asked him to. But unlike every other time he’d been inside of me, we’d been out of sync. He hadn’t felt that same connection I’d felt. He’d never been so far away.

  “Anna? God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His thumbs traced my cheeks to wipe away the tears. “I fucked up. What can I do? What do you need?”

  “You!” I shouted, the rage taking hold of me.

  His hands dropped, and he fell back so he was seated on the floor.

  “I don’t . . .”

  “You’re such an idiot!” I yelled, the moisture in my eyes blinding me now.

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  “Shut up!”

  “Okay.”

  I hunched over, elbows on my knees, the heels of my hands pressing against my eyes to stop the tears. When I had myself back under control, I looked up again, only to find him staring at me worriedly.

  “Where are you?” I asked. “Because you’re not here with me.”

  His mouth opened, but no sound came out. One hand dragged down his jaw, the other fisted on his knee.

  “I thought . . .” I shook my head. “I thought you felt it.”

  He looked as though I was cutting his heart out.

  “Felt what, Anna?”

  I hugged myself, wishing I had a blanket. “Me. I thought you felt me.” I forced myself to breathe. “I don’t just want your body, or your fancy apartment, or your body.”

  His mouth quirked, though his eyes stayed sad. “You said that already.”

  “I thought you needed me as much as I need you. But you don’t.”

  I recognized the cold then. It had morphed into something more intimate, but its origin was the same. My own mother hadn’t needed me, and Alec didn’t either.

  “How can you say that?” Anger hardened his features. He touched me then, hands cupping my calves. I glanced down and saw that he was still rock hard. It looked like it must have been painful.

  “You just tried to orgasm me to death,” I said, exasperated. “But you didn’t feel anything.”

  “You have no idea what I feel.”

  “Because you don’t tell me! You’re a complete fucking mess, and you won’t share any of it with me. You told me I don’t trust you, but you’re the one who doesn’t trust—”

  Before I could finish, he’d jerked me down to the floor. I steadied myself on his shoulders, while his mouth frantically sought mine. He pulled me into his lap, hands on my face, then in my hair. His arms circled my back and smashed me to his chest. My knees slid open, and hit against the floor as our hips came together. Between us, his hard cock was pressed, still slick from being inside of me.

  “You think I don’t need you?” he growled, lifting me and then sliding into me. I cried out as my nerves went haywire.

  “You’re everything, Anna.” His lips crushed mine. “Everything.” His hips began to move and I helped, lost by the sudden passion pouring off him. “I can’t breathe without you.” His movements became more insistent, and I held his face in my hands while he stared into my eyes.

  “Your body is fucking paradise.” He lifted me. Lowered me. Not enough to ride his full length, only enough so that we stayed deeply joined. �
��When I’m inside you, nothing else matters.”

  His thighs were solid beneath me. My breasts stayed pressed against his flexed chest. He was chasing the cold away, one word at a time. One stroke at a time. And finally, finally, I was full.

  “I would die for you,” he said through gritted teeth.

  He moved faster, and I held him close, even as his gaze flicked to the side.

  “Stay with me,” I murmured, forcing him to look at me. His eyes were breathtaking, infinitely deep.

  “I don’t want it to end,” he confessed. I realized in the back of my mind that this was what he’d been doing before. Prolonging what we had. Making it last as long as possible.

  “Stay with me,” I begged.

  Beads of sweat rolled down his temples. I felt it again, the melding of his soul with mine, that undeniable connection. Only now I knew he felt it, too.

  “Anna.”

  “Alec. Alec.” I held him against me, feeling the tension swell, and swell, until it became hard to breathe.

  “Anna,” his forehead fell against my shoulder. “I love you.” His thrusts turned hard. His abdominals clenched. “I love you.”

  The separation between us was severed; there was no he and I, only us. I no longer felt where he ended and I began.

  He loved me.

  He loved me.

  I broke with a sob as my body finally gave its last, and he followed, filling me with all his could offer.

  When he was finished, he lifted me gently and carried me to the couch. He kissed my brow tenderly, then my lips. I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

  I heard his feet on the hardwood floor as he made his way to the bathroom, but I was drifting in and out of consciousness. When I opened my eyes, he was standing close, fully clothed. That same twisted expression was back on his face, and at the sight of it, I was filled with dread.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. And with that, he left.

  He walked right out the door.

  I scrambled up, cracking my knees on the floor when they gave way. Adrenaline shot through me, giving me strength. No. He couldn’t leave. Not after that. He loved me.

  I snagged my robe and stumbled toward the door, but already I could hear the car engine turning over in the street below. I ran for the window, looking down as Alec’s Jeep pulled away. My hands banged on the glass. I didn’t understand what had happened, what I’d done.

  The dark street was filled with patrons, making their way to the restaurants and bars, but Alec did not return.

  Over the ringing in my ears, I heard the buzz of a cell phone. I turned numbly, finding it on the kitchen counter. It was his; he must have left it when he’d taken off. I lifted it, and pressed the button to light the screen.

  Sender: Charlotte

  Need to see u right now. Can’t wait any longer.

  There were two previous messages that had come earlier.

  Where r u? Said you would b here.

  Not going to wait all night.

  I threw the phone across the room, watching as it hit the wall and shattered pieces of glass and plastic across the floor.

  Twenty-six

  For a long time I sat on the couch. It was still damp from our lovemaking and smelled like oil. After a while I couldn’t stand it, so I moved to the bed. We’d lain together there too, though, and the soft bedspread and rumpled sheets did nothing but remind me of the last time he’d spent the night. I couldn’t even shower because it made me think of him.

  Alec loved me.

  Alec had been missing for two days.

  Alec was on his way to another woman.

  He had a record—drugs, which he claimed not to have used in a long time, and assault, one count against a woman who had dropped the charges. I didn’t know that person. He wasn’t my Alec.

  But then again, apparently Alec wasn’t even my Alec.

  I stripped the sheets off the massage table and put them in the hamper. Gaining speed, I cleaned up the oils, put away my materials, and blew out the candles. I turned on the lights and sprayed air freshener to kill the sandalwood scent still heavy in the air. I put on sweatpants and a T-shirt—nothing I’d ever worn around him. I swept up the pieces of his cell phone and dumped them in the trash.

  Alec loved me.

  Alec was a liar.

  The constant voices in my head would not shut up, so I turned on the small TV in the corner. I didn’t have cable and only got four channels. One was a Mexican soap opera, but kissing was the last thing I wanted to see, so I flipped to the news.

  As we had made love, Alec said he didn’t want it to end. He’d already known he was leaving. He’d come to say good-bye. That’s why he’d looked like hell. That’s why he’d objected to me giving him a massage. He didn’t want my kindness, because he was there to end our relationship.

  He had already chosen Charlotte over me.

  I was the biggest idiot in the world. The proof had been right there—phone calls in the middle of the night, unexplainable disappearances, Derrick had even seen them together—and still I’d believed Alec.

  I glanced at the clock. It was just past midnight. Alec had been gone hours already. Was he back in Charlotte’s bed yet? Was he fucking her, the way I’d seen Maxim Stein fuck her?

  Sick bastards, passing around women like they were possessions.

  I wanted to throw up. I found a sweatshirt, but even that didn’t stave off the cold. I grabbed my phone and opened the Internet. So Florida had a chill, but Southern California didn’t. Maybe it was time for a trip to the West Coast. I’d never been to L.A. Maybe I could be a masseuse for movie stars.

  “. . . breaking news coming across my desk . . .”

  I glanced up, distracted by the pretty Asian reporter with a graduated bob.

  “A fatal car crash has blocked both lanes of traffic on the Sunshine Skyway between Terra Ceia and St. Petersburg. At approximately ten thirty p.m., the driver of a red sports car lost control of the vehicle, knocked down the median, and drove off the bridge into the water. Rescue crews on site have recovered the body of Charlotte MacAfee.”

  The picture of a woman with orange hair and flawless white skin appeared in the corner of the screen. The photo was clearly professional, and she was smiling and wearing a charcoal suit jacket.

  “Holy shit,” I said.

  “Police are still trying to identify if there was anyone else in the vehicle, investigating a broken passenger-side window, but at the present time, no other bodies have been recovered. The late Ms. MacAfee was the president of Green Fusion, an alternative-energy company on the verge of declaring bankruptcy, according to the Times. The cause of the crash is not yet known. In other news, cat fever is hitting the Tampa Bay area tomorrow . . .”

  Charlotte MacAfee—Maxim Stein’s mistress, Alec’s girlfriend, the president of Green Fusion—was dead. And another person may have been in the car.

  My brain was sprinting a mile a minute. Alec had left around nine. Charlotte was in the crash around ten thirty. That was enough time for them to have been together.

  I hurriedly dialed his number and swore when it went to voice mail. Of course, he wouldn’t answer. He couldn’t. I’d smashed the hell out of his phone.

  The phone that may have had Charlotte’s last communication with him.

  Pacing, I scrolled through other numbers. My pulse was thumping in my eardrums. It felt as if there were ropes tightening around my chest. Finally, I came to Ms. Rowe’s number, from when she’d called last to schedule Maxim’s massage, and pressed Send.

  Only Ms. Rowe didn’t answer.

  “Force Enterprises,” came a creepy male voice.

  “Bobby?” I said. “Bobby, it’s Anna. The masseuse.”

  “Okay,” he said after a moment.

  “I saw the news about Charlotte . . . I know this is probably crazy . . .” I pulled my hair back out of my face and forced myself to take a breath. “Do you know where Alec is?”

  A pause.

  “What about
Charlotte?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I mean, I just heard that she died on the Skyway.”

  “You did,” he said slowly.

  “Alec,” I said. “He might have been with her. I need to find him.”

  I closed my eyes, imagining what Charlotte must have seen in her last moments. The dark drive, the lights from the bridge. The crash as she hit the cement median and then swerved off the bridge. Had Alec been with her? Was he still alive?

  “He has a cell phone.”

  Dammit.

  “I know. I know he does, only he left it with me, and I was thinking that maybe you knew another way to reach him.”

  “Why would he leave it with you?”

  My jaw clenched. Bobby probably thought Alec and Charlotte were together. There would be no reason for him to leave his phone with me.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said quickly. “I just need to talk to him. Is he there?”

  Please. Please let him be there.

  “Hello?” My voice broke.

  The line went dead.

  Bobby had hung up on me.

  “Goddammit!” I nearly threw my phone, too, but thought better of it. With shaking hands I found the non-emergency police number.

  “My name is Anna Rossi,” I said when a woman answered. “I’m looking for information on the Sunshine Skyway accident. There was a woman who drove her car . . .”

  “Are you family, ma’am?”

  “No, but my friend may have been—”

  “Did you witness the accident?”

  “No . . .”

  “All information will be available to the public as we receive it. At the present time we have nothing new to report.”

  I punched my thigh in frustration. “Listen, I know you’re very busy . . .”

  “Ma’am, if you’re not family of the deceased, there’s nothing I can do.”