Bad Habit: Downey Brothers Series

by Mara Leigh

  But better that I abused my hand than her pussy, and it had solved the problem of being able to lie on my stomach for my massage.

  I just hoped it hadn’t used me up for the night.

  Then again, maybe it was better if it had. Better if our first time was all about Faith.

  Faith

  Massages were amazing. The most amazing thing. Except for kissing Mac. That had been better, but the massage was a close second. And the masseuse was very respectful about keeping my most private parts covered.

  Partway through my treatment, Mac had appeared on the second table. I hadn’t heard him arrive, but when the therapist asked me to turn onto my back, Mac was there, his back slick with oil as the other masseuse rubbed his muscles.

  Seeing her hands on his body in the softly lit room, a shot of jealousy struck me.

  Envy. That was undeniably envy. I was running through the deadly sins in record time.

  I closed my eyes as the masseuse untucked one of my legs and began to run her hands up and down my thigh, kneading, finding tight places I hadn’t known were there. Was it normal for me to get wet from a woman’s touch?

  But then I realized that the dampness between my legs hadn’t started until I’d seen Mac, and I started to wonder how it would feel if the hands on my body were his.

  His therapist asked him to turn over, and after he did, he stretched his hand toward me.

  We interlaced fingers as the women massaged the fronts of our legs, making both of us moan.

  “Ladies,” Mac said. “Thank you.”

  The massage therapists covered our exposed limbs and then disappeared from the darkened room so quietly I had to prop myself up on my elbows to believe they were gone.

  Mac’s sheet had tented over his genitals. I gasped.

  “Don’t get up yet,” he said. “Just relax.”

  The idea of him touching me twirled my stomach with nerves and excitement, but this was what I’d come here for. Sex. It was starting now.

  He swung his legs away from me and jumped off his table. I averted my gaze lest I see his naked backside, but then I instantly regretted not looking. Would I get another chance?

  When I opened them again, he’d donned a robe, and he sauntered to the side of my table. I tried not to stare at the place where his robe poked forward. I wasn’t sure what I’d see under there, but his organ looked big, certainly too big to fit anywhere inside my body.

  I tightened down there, as if my insides agreed.

  “Did you enjoy your massage?” The backs of his fingers lightly stroked my cheek, brushing hairs from my face.

  “I loved it.” I stretched on the flat bed. “I didn’t think I’d like having a stranger touch me like that, but once I got used to it, it felt good.”

  “Is it okay if I touch you?”

  I nodded, and his hands traced from my face, down over my neck to my collarbones. “Relax,” he said. “It’s just touching. Stop me if it doesn’t feel good.”

  “It feels good.”

  One finger traced over my lips as another traced down past my collarbone and skimmed over the sheet covering my left breast.

  I tensed.

  He drew his hands away. “Too much?”

  “No. Sorry.” I closed my eyes for a long moment, then added, “I’m just nervous. Keep going. It’s okay.”

  “We’ll take it slowly.” He touched my face again, tracing the sides from my forehead to my chin and then back, and then skimming my cheekbones. “I’m only going to touch you right now. That’s all. And remember: tell me if you want me to stop.”

  I smiled my encouragement, and then my eyes fluttered shut. Maybe it would be easier if I couldn’t see him. His hands slid from my face to my neck, then to my shoulders, skimming softly, a much lighter touch than the massage woman had used, and it lit sparks under my skin.

  His slightly rough palms and fingers passed over my body so tenderly, so respectfully, but it was more arousing than I’d ever imagined mere contact could be.

  Licking from under my skin, flames rose to meet every place his hands touched. Mac must be in league with the Devil to be able to command fire this way. Had I picked the Devil himself as my sin consultant? Seemed perfect.

  His thumbs traced the hollow at the base of my neck, then fanned out, exploring my collarbones, my bare shoulders, then caressing my face, neck and shoulders with delicacy, respect and utter sensuality.

  I knew he’d run out of places not covered by sheet and tried not to let myself worry about whether, or when, he planned to remove it. His hands slid lower, and an involuntary sigh rushed through my lips as they skimmed over the sheet and grazed my arms, then continued down over my legs.

  I sucked a sharp breath, but the light pressure through the fabric felt glorious. I melted back into the massage table as his hands roamed my body through the sheet, staying away from the places I was most afraid he would touch.

  But the more he stayed away from those forbidden places, the more I wanted him to go there.

  My spine undulated under the rhythm made by his hands, responding and lifting into his touch until I lost all sense of time, all sense of space or where I was.

  My eyes remained closed, helping me focus, concentrating only on his touch, the heat of his body, so close, and his musky scent, combining to submerge me fully in Mac. There was only Mac.

  Slowly, I became aware that his fingers had drawn inward, subtly moving closer to the center of my body with each pass, grazing over my ribs, my shins, my thighs, then past my waist to brush lightly around my breasts.

  The cotton sheet slid as his palms brushed over my ribs, and I arched up with a long breath as the fabric teased my sensitive nipples. My breasts had never felt quite like this. Hard, as if I was cold, yet licked by fire.

  “Can I move the sheet?” he asked, softly.

  I nodded, suddenly less relaxed. Mac was going to see me, see me naked. Touch me naked. The dim lighting suddenly seemed like a spotlight.

  He tugged on the fabric, and my hands flew up to hold it. My eyes snapped open.

  “You okay?” He laid his hands over mine.

  I nodded, nibbling on my lower lip, trying to understand my body’s involuntary reaction.

  “No one’s ever seen me naked,” I confessed. “Except Mother, when I was a baby.” Even Mother hadn’t seen me naked since I was very small.

  The naked body is sinful. Looking at your body is sinful. Touching your body even more sinful. And you should never, ever, let another person’s eyes or hands fall upon your flesh. Especially not a man’s.

  “Nudity is nothing to be embarrassed about,” Mac said as if he’d read my mind. “God made our bodies, right?”

  “I do realize that Mother’s lessons were… extreme. And I do want your eyes and hands on my flesh.”

  A smile washed over his face. “You sure? Because we don’t have to go any further.”

  “No. I want to. I’m just nervous.”

  His eyes widened. “I just realized something. This isn’t fair.”

  “Not fair? What do you mean?”

  He cupped my cheek softly. “I was about to see you naked, and here I am wearing this robe.” His hand moved to the belt, the fabric below still stabbing out.

  “Mac.” I touched the hand still caressing my face. “I’m not sure. I…”

  “I’ve got an idea.” He backed away from the table, grabbed the robe I’d worn after my bath, and tossed it toward me. It landed across my body.

  “Put that on,” he said. “Then come out when you’re ready.”

  He strode to the bedroom door and opened it. Light from the dining room grazed his face and the skin at the top of his chest as he turned back toward me and smiled, appearing even more beautiful than those museum sculptures.

  “No rush,” he said. “Come on out when you’re ready.”

  My breaths came more quickly, my heart beating wildly considering I was still lying down. I squeezed my hands into tight fists, angry with myself for c
hickening out when he’d started to pull down my sheet, for ruining what had been about to happen.

  Where was my courage? Perhaps I should have another glass of wine. Mac had only been doing what I wanted, and my fearful reaction had ruined it all.

  Holding the sheet close against my body, I sat and swung my legs over the side of the table, then slipped the robe on, tightening it after my soles dropped to the plush carpet. I let the sheet slide out from under the robe to pool around my feet.

  Kicking free of the fabric, I wiggled my toes in the lush pile. The carpet was soft, like that velvet dress I’d worn on our date, or at least that’s how it felt. Every part of me seemed ultra sensitive, hyperaware of every fiber as it stroked the soles of my feet and tickled my toes.

  The robe reached around my body almost twice, and I double-checked the belt, tying it an extra time to make sure it didn’t accidentally fall open. The fabric grazed low on my shins and calves as I padded toward the door.

  Gathering my courage, I ignored the voice inside me that told me to get dressed, at least put on my underwear before exiting the bedroom. Shut up, little voice. What do you know?

  Holding the doorknob, I drew a long breath. I would not let this setback ruin my evening or my sin explorations. I was disappointed that I was still a virgin, but we could try again tomorrow.

  Rubbing my legs together, I felt the dampness between them grow. I squeezed my thighs together tightly, shifting my hips, marveling at the arousing sensations from that simple, seemingly innocent motion.

  Why had I suppressed these feelings for so long?

  And… after this adventure in sin, would I be able to—or even want to—suppress them again?

  Mac

  My cock was so hard my robe felt like sandpaper as I walked out the bedroom door.

  I wanted Faith more than I’d wanted any woman.

  Was it the chase? The forbidden fruit? The fact that I’d never gone so long wanting a woman before having sex?

  Or was it more? I’d never met anyone quite like Faith, and even with her lack of experience, I felt challenged by her, challenged to question my choices, challenged to be better.

  If it was only about the chase, then fucking her would be the cure. That’s how it typically went for me. Attraction, then infatuation, then hope, followed quickly by boredom. I wasn’t proud of this pattern, but it was the truth.

  And usually the girl I was wanted wasn’t a nun. I’d done a lot in my life I wasn’t proud of, but I suspected these few days and nights would give me enough guilt to last for the rest of my life.

  Screw the guilt.

  I’d already made my reservation in Hell.

  I dimmed the lights and cast off the robe. I wanted Faith to feel safe. I wanted to let her see me, maybe touch me—on her terms, with her in control.

  Crossing to the window at the end of the dining area, I leaned my hands against the glass, which was still warm from the recently set sun. Widening my stance, I assumed a position like I was ready to be frisked, then I waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  And through it all, the temptation to deal with my raging erection was overpowering, and the more I thought of touching myself, the worse my discomfort.

  Could I finish before she came through that door? Was she even coming? For all I knew, she’d returned to the bathtub or decided to go to sleep for the night.

  About to give up, I pushed back from the glass, but then I heard the click of the bedroom door. I resumed my previous position.

  She gasped, and I resisted the urge to turn.

  “I want you to see me,” I said. “You’ve never seen a naked man before, right?”

  “Just statues. Paintings.” Her voice was soft and breathy. “And only a few of those.”

  “I’m not going to touch you,” I said. “I won’t even move, unless you ask me to. My hands and feet will stay still. I promise.” Keeping anything else still was a promise I knew I couldn’t keep.

  Her reflection appeared in the glass, her eyes focused on my body. One of her hands skimmed the backs of the dining room chairs as she slowly moved past them toward me.

  “Can I…” She paused so long, I wasn’t sure she’d finish her question.

  “Ask me anything.” I closed my eyes.

  “Can I touch you?” Her words came out quickly. “No. That’s not right. No…”

  “I’m all yours, Faith. Touch me. Do whatever you want.”

  I heard a quick inhale.

  My dick heard it, too, and bounced in response.

  Her hand landed soft on my back, and I hissed in a breath through my teeth.

  Her hand flew off me.

  “Don’t stop, Faith. Your hand felt good.”

  “Okay.” She placed it lower this time, and then her fingers traced the edge of my shoulder blade, circling back up to my shoulder and neck.

  Soon her other hand joined in, mirroring the other, exploring, pressing harder, then softer, as if testing my shape and texture.

  “You’re so solid,” she said. “Are all men this hard?”

  My butt squeezed as I fought against the part of me that was miles beyond hard. “I guess. Not sure. I don’t touch men much.”

  “Much?”

  “At all.” I groaned as her hands circled over my back. “At least not the way you’re touching me.”

  Her hands slid over my triceps, skimmed my biceps, then up to the insides of my elbow and back around, exploring my upper arms and shoulders, taut from leaning against the window and from the restraint of not moving.

  “Can you reach everywhere you want?” I asked her. She was average height for a woman, but I was six three.

  “Enough. For now.”

  Her tone was so serious, all business—or all science, perhaps?—but I could no longer see her expression to confirm.

  I closed my eyes, fighting to think of something else, anything that would keep my balls from aching, my cock from straining, especially once she moved her exploration lower on my back, tracing the lines of my spine, my lats, my obliques, her fingers drifting both lower and farther forward with each pass.

  If she dared touch my ass or my abs, I was going to lose it.

  Every time her fingers circled my torso they got dangerously close to my “lose it” zones. I bit down on my lower lip so hard it hurt, desperate to transfer the focus of my nerves somewhere else, anywhere else.

  My breaths grew heavy and hard, and sweat dampened my skin. Keeping my hips from bucking was a Herculean effort.

  I should ask her to stop, or at least take a break, and I was on the verge of asking when she moved down to my legs.

  Her fingers brushed over the hair on my shins and then dug into my calf muscles, testing their shape and consistency.

  Opening my eyes, I caught her expression reflected in the window, her face between my legs as she crouched, studying my legs intently, with awe, like she was discovering new worlds. But I saw more than just awe in her eyes—there was desire, too, unless that was wishful thinking.

  Her hands drifted above my knees. My quads flexed involuntarily under her touch, and I groaned.

  “Did I hurt you?” she asked. “Or, I don’t want to… To make you uncomfortable.”

  “Baby, that ship has sailed.”

  Her hands lifted off my body, and she straightened to full height.

  “Don’t stop,” I said.

  “But I’m making you uncomfortable.”

  “It’s a good uncomfortable,” I almost growled, then softened my tone. “I’m uncomfortable with my need for you, baby. Fuck. I’m so turned on right now. You have no idea.”

  She was quiet again, standing behind me, and I could no longer see her reflection. Was this it? Had I ruined it all? Scared her off?

  “Mac?” Her voice was so soft, almost inaudible. “I want you to kiss me.”

  I wasn’t sure I’d heard right, but then she kissed my shoulder, and her robe brushed my butt.

  “But can you
put on the robe first? I can’t… it’s too much. Is that okay?”

  I nodded. “Okay if I move?”

  Fabric brushed down my back, and realized she was holding my robe against me.

  “I’ll go over there while you dress.” She dropped the robe and walked along the window toward the sitting area.

  I forced my arms into the robe as fast as my body would move, belting it around me, and when I turned, she was facing out the window about fifteen feet away. I slowly stepped toward her, and then softly laid my hand on her shoulder.

  “The lights,” she said, looking out the window. “Las Vegas really is something.”

  I nodded, standing behind her, easing myself closer while avoiding direct dick-to-Faith contact.

  Without warning, she turned, reached up for my neck, and pulled me down into a kiss. Not that it took any pulling.

  To keep from pressing into her, I planted my hands on the window beside her, and her lips tasted so sweet, so good. I tried to force myself to stay slow, to keep our kiss PG, but the second her little tongue lapped against mine, I gave up.

  Gathering her into my arms, I claimed her lips and tongue. The lights of the city danced through the glass behind us, highlighting her hair, her skin, our robes, and I tried to keep my sanity, but I was sinking, drowning in Faith, in her lips, her body, her touch.

  My hands refused to obey my better judgment, and they pulled her body tightly against mine. Every nerve inside me exploded, reveling in her body’s reaction, and my own. My hard-on rubbed against her belly through our robes, finally getting a hint of the stimulation it craved, and I grabbed her butt, drawing her even closer, desperate to grind against her soft body.

  To my surprise, she squeezed my butt cheeks, and I moaned into her mouth and pressed her against the window.

  Every instinct was desperate to part her legs and drive deep inside her, to pound her against this glass until we both screamed. I craved it like it was what I needed to survive. My body had turned feral, wild, but I hadn’t completely lost my mind.

  I knew I couldn’t take her, not like that—hard and fast and rough. But her body kept moving against mine, sliding and grinding as we continued to devour each other’s faces—the hottest make-out session of my life.