by Susan Fox
Her lips curved in a warm smile. “That sounds nice.”
He nodded. “It does.” His gaze held hers for a long moment. Was she capable of being that woman? Of forming that partnership with him? He believed it in his soul, but would she come to realize it?
She glanced away, found her glass, and lifted it toward him. “Here’s to both of us finding someone like that. I hope they’re really out there.”
“I believe they are.” Just look in front of you. He clicked his glass to hers and took a long swallow.
“Your turn. Roll the die.”
He rolled a five, which put him on a diamond square. When he read the card, he grinned. “‘Give your opponent a foot massage.’”
“Ooh, nice. I like that one.”
He smiled. “I can live with it.” How often had he sat beside her in her apartment, gazing at her feet—bare in summer, sock-clad in winter—curled beside him as she snuggled in her corner of the couch, or resting beside his on the coffee table, and longed to do this very thing? It was something a friend might do, yet because he felt far more than friendly toward her, it would have been such a turn-on he’d have revealed his arousal.
But now he was Dhiraj, and Dhiraj was allowed to be turned on.
He got up, wishing he’d thought to bring massage oil, and returned with the small bottle of body lotion the train supplied. He moved the game board aside and sat on the bed. When she raised her leg, he caught her bare foot and settled it on his thigh only inches from his package. He poured a little lotion into one hand, warmed it between his palms, and then smoothed it into her skin.
Holding her foot in both hands with his thumbs on the top and his fingers on her sole, he stroked her skin, squeezing gently and then harder, working his fingers into her muscles. Her foot was slender, so much smaller than his. Almost delicate, yet strong enough to carry her around all day in those crazy high heels she was so fond of.
She closed her eyes, sighing with pleasure. “Nice.” Her toes, tipped with sexy red polish, flexed. When he rubbed the top of her foot and her arch, she let out a soft moan that made his groin tighten and his dick throb.
Working slowly, he dug his thumbs into her heel, then up the back of her ankle.
When he’d finished that foot, he picked up the other one and, after pouring more lotion—its scent mildly citrus—started at her toes.
“You do that so well,” she said dreamily.
As he massaged her arch, she opened her eyes. “Dhiraj, you said you want to get married. You don’t mean an arranged marriage, do you?”
Nav had no intention of agreeing to one, but maybe Dhiraj should be different. “I’d prefer a love match. But if that doesn’t happen…” He shrugged.
“Seriously?” Her eyes widened. “You’d actually marry a stranger?”
“Nowadays, usually the couple meet first. Even in the most traditional families there’s at least a bride-viewing and—”
“Bride-viewing? What’s that? It sounds like a meat market, or auction block.” Her eyes widened further.
He chuckled. “No, it’s more like a high tea. The man and his family go to visit the woman and hers at her parents’ house. The prospective bride’s parents greet the visitors and seat them, then she comes in and serves tea. Everyone chats politely, and the couple have a chance to check each other out.”
Finished with her second foot, he carried on up her leg, kneading her strong calf muscles. The repetitive motions of working his lotion-smooth fingers into her soft, pliant flesh were as relaxing as they were arousing.
“And if the couple hate each other on sight,” she said, “the wedding’s off?”
A glimpse of purple fabric between her legs, visible as she shifted position in that short skirt, was purely arousing. Was she wearing panties or a thong? Would he find out?
He tried to focus on her question. “Yes, these days usually the man and woman have a say. However, if the match has been properly done, they typically get along well enough.”
He’d reached the toned flesh above Kat’s knee and was almost at the hem of that provocative skirt. Deliberately, he let his fingers drift upward in a touch that was more caress than massage.
She squirmed and sounded a little breathless when she asked, “And that’s it? Next thing they know, they’re saying wedding vows?”
“Sometimes.” Much as he’d have liked to explore under that skirt, to rediscover sensitive flesh that Pritam had enjoyed last night, he was Dhiraj now. He wouldn’t rush her. This was a time to build trust and arouse desire slowly. To whet her appetite until she was so hungry for him that she stopped worrying about who he really was.
He shifted to her other leg and started again at the ankle. “In some cases, if they and their parents are more progressive, they may spend more time together. They might be allowed to date, either with a chaperone or on their own.”
“It still sounds archaic.”
Not that he believed in arranged marriage, but in his opinion, no culture had worked out a good system for building stable, loving marriages. “As compared to Western society, where people choose mates for themselves?”
“Yes.”
“And where they vow, on marriage, to be bonded until death do them part, but haven’t much more than a fifty percent chance of honoring those vows?” A statistic his mum frequently cited to him.
Kat bit her lip.
He went on. “Look at the success of dating services that are supposed to help people find compatible mates. They’re a recognition that we’re not very good at doing it ourselves. Aren’t they just a replacement for having family do the same thing, and perhaps more effectively?”
“You’re actually defending arranged marriage?”
“I’m saying no system is perfect.”
He squeezed her knee. “Lie on the bed and I’ll massage your arms and shoulders.”
“Really? The card only said feet, but I’ve been enjoying this so much, I’m afraid I’ve been selfish and just let you keep going.”
“Kat, I’m enjoying it, too.” It was deliciously arousing. More than that, he loved touching her in ways he’d never been able to before, and giving her pleasure.
“Honestly?” She studied his face, then rose. “I’ve never had a man do this before.”
“You haven’t?” What had her lovers been thinking, missing out on an opportunity to explore every inch of her wonderful body and bring her pleasure?
She lay down on her stomach, head turned sideways on the pillow. Her body looked tight, as if she wasn’t sure what he intended and was feeling vulnerable. “Well,” she said, “sometimes a quick shoulder massage if I was achy from too much time at the computer.”
“Functional massage.” He sat beside her, admiring the curve of her ass under the denim skirt, the slim line of her back beneath the light top, the profile of her half-turned head. Taking her hand between his, he smoothed lotion onto it and began to rub gently. “As compared to massage for mutual enjoyment.”
“I’m so glad you like this, because I’m loving it. My legs have never felt so good.”
He smiled, hoping soon she’d be able to say the same thing about her entire body.
After massaging her hand in silence for a few minutes, he said, “You don’t believe in arranged marriage. How do you think marriages should come about?”
“Two people meet and fall in love,” she answered promptly.
“When people meet and are attracted, I’d call that lust, not love.” It was what he’d felt when he first met Kat, but over weeks and months of being with her it had matured into love.
“Lust can turn into love.”
He smiled at the way she’d echoed his thought. “Over time, certainly. But so can compatibility. Having a similar upbringing and values, for example.” He began to work his way up her forearm.
“And having your stars in alignment?” She shot him a skeptical look.
“It makes more sense than marrying based on lust. And don’t twist your neck.
Keep your head on the pillow.”
“Yes, sir.” She relaxed again, head back on the pillow. “And yes, of course a couple should wait and see if the lust turns into love. And, yes, there should be basic compatibility. I agree with you about common values, but not about upbringing. I think it’s stimulating when people have different backgrounds.”
“It can be. So long as there’s mutual respect.” He massaged her elbow, digging in gently. “How long do you think it takes to know it’s really love, not merely lust that will burn itself out? And to ensure compatibility on things that are important to both people?”
It was a question he, as Nav, had never asked Kat in their rare discussions of her unlucky dating life. Now, as he worked the firm muscles of her upper arm through her blouse, he watched her profile with interest while she pondered her answer.
In Montreal, if Nav had started a conversation like this, Kat, who avoided introspection, would have turned on the TV or suggested they go out to a club. Now, as his fingers worked the muscles beneath the surface of her skin, she seemed willing to let her thoughts travel deeper and to share what she found.
Whatever the reason for it, he loved the way that, as his hands grew increasingly intimate with her body, their conversation drifted to a deeper level and she opened herself more to him.
“I guess, until both people are sure,” she said. Then she gave a quick laugh. “You know, I already heard those words today. I was talking to a woman over coffee, a widow who’s long-distance dating a widower. I asked if they were getting married. She said there was no rush, they wanted to take the time to be sure.”
“Sounds like wise advice. Do you agree with her?” Having reached her shoulder, he moved to her other side and picked up her hand.
“I…think maybe I do.” She twisted her head to look at him, and a gleam lit her eyes. “A friend once told me I let myself be dazzled by men, so I don’t really see them.”
So she’d been listening. “And is this friend right?”
“I’ve been thinking about it and yes, perhaps. Lust and dazzlement and, hey presto!” She snapped the fingers of her free hand. “I’m in love.”
“Except you aren’t in love,” he said quietly. “You’re in lust and dazzlement.”
“But they can grow into love, like we said.” She sounded a bit defensive.
But they often didn’t. She knew that, so he didn’t say it. Instead, he’d try to ease out her defensiveness with his fingers. He rested his hands on either side of her neck. “Let’s put a pillow under your chest to lift you up a bit more, and I’ll do your neck and back.”
After helping her stuff a pillow under her body, he wove his fingers into her hair and massaged her scalp.
For a few minutes they were quiet except for her soft sounds of satisfaction as his fingers probed her temples, the back of her head, her slender neck. He hoped his fingertips were conveying the subliminal message, If you were with me, you could have this every night when you came home from work.
When he moved to her shoulders, he said, “Love can come about in all sorts of ways.”
“Mmm? Oh, like, you’re saying it can grow out of an arranged marriage?”
“It can. My parents are an example. Or it can…” He took a deep breath. Should he say this? “Or it can happen when a person looks at someone they’ve known a long time, and realizes their feelings have changed into love.” Knowing her fondness for old movies, he added, “Have you seen When Harry Met Sally?” Of course she had; they’d watched it together.
She nodded and he felt the movement through his fingers. “All those years they kept bumping into each other,” she said. “At first they didn’t really like each other; then they became friends and finally they fell in love. I guess that can happen.”
“I believe it can.” He sure as hell hoped it could.
Stroking her back, he said, “This would feel better if you took the blouse off.”
She tensed, and several seconds passed during which he could swear he heard his own rapid heartbeat. Then she reached under her chest and undid buttons. With his help she slipped her arms free.
He tossed the blouse across the bed and gazed down at her. Thin purple bra straps crossed her back, too tempting to resist. He unfastened the back hook and eased the straps aside, not attempting to take the bra off.
Last night, every time they’d made love he’d been facing her, and he’d never seen her naked back. Gently he ran both hands down her shoulders, upper arms, sides, waist, caressing the lovely contours of her torso. “You’re beautiful, Kat.”
Until now he’d been in a mild state of arousal—a pleasant hum in his blood, the enjoyable stimulation of his swollen dick pressing against his pants.
Now, seeing her like this, his erection grew and the pressure went from pleasant to a painful need. God, he wanted her.
Last night he’d been inside this woman, and he sure as hell hungered to be there again.
Trying to keep the tension from his fingertips, he carried on, turning the sensual massage into an erotic one. He added lingering caresses, delicate touches designed to arouse and tantalize. A few of those, then a few deeper strokes, kneading her muscles, relaxing her again.
But as soon as the tension had eased from her body, he’d start up again with the provocative caresses.
Under his hands, she stirred restlessly, her body heated. Her scent of jasmine and woman, combined with the citrus of the lotion, drifted up to him. Her breathing quickened, and she let out the occasional needy whimper.
No, he wasn’t going to restart the conversation. He wanted all her concentration on the sensations he was eliciting in her body. His fingertips roamed under the waistband of her skirt, into the soft, warm hollow at the base of her spine.
She drew in a long, shuddering breath.
He bent down to press soft, damp, nibbling kisses to her lower back and then let his fingers delve further under her waistband, feeling the lovely top curves of her ass.
She let out the breath and sighed, “Oh, yes. More.” Then she lifted up a little and reached down to unfasten her skirt.
His slow seduction was working. She wanted this erotic massage to get even sexier.
He eased her skirt down her long, shapely legs. And off.
A thong. The purple he’d glimpsed before was a lace thong, setting off her curvy cheeks.
Trying to keep his hands from trembling, he cupped those firm mounds and massaged them. The thong was so enticing, he had to touch it.
She moaned softly, hips twisting, pelvis pressing into the bed.
He stroked back and forth along that lacy strip, then followed it farther, down between her legs. Where he was met with heat, moisture. A ragged “o-oh” from Kat.
The crotch of her thong was soaked, the flesh underneath plump. He stroked the fabric, pressing it against her, running his finger down the center and feeling her open to him.
Then he pulled the thong aside and eased his finger inside her. She was so hot and lush, he couldn’t stifle his own groan.
“Oh, yes, please,” she whispered.
He slid farther, pumped gently in and out, and then added another finger. And another, as the walls of her channel eased open to accommodate him, then gripped him tight.
Her hips rose and tilted in invitation, and he shoved the pillow farther down so it was under her pelvis, lifting her backside even higher and giving him better access.
He had a condom in his pocket and his dick was aching with the need to drive into her, but he held back. The way Kat twisted against his fingers, her panting breath, told him she was near release. He didn’t want to delay her satisfaction.
Stroking inside her, he found her G-spot, and with his thumb he gently rubbed her engorged clit.
“God, yes!” she cried.
He loved hearing her but had to murmur, “Sshh, the walls of the compartment are thin.”
She gave a stifled whimper, her body twisting against his hand. “Don’t stop. Oh, yes, just like tha
t.”
He did as she asked, struggling to control his body as her movements grew wilder, frantic.
Then she cried out again, burying her face in a pillow to muffle the sound, and her body spasmed in climax.
He held her through it, until her spine softened, her hips relaxed.
A few minutes later, she lifted her head. “Now, let’s try that again. But this time, it’s not fingers I want inside me.”
Chapter 12
Male weight dipped the bed beside me.
I buried my flushed face in a pillow. I’d just been given an incredible orgasm by a man I hadn’t even kissed.
Or by an English-speaking version of Pritam.
Or by my good friend, Nav.
What was I doing? Even if my brain had wanted to work, I doubted it could. Easier to focus on sensation. I stayed on my stomach rather than have to face him, but savored the caress of his hands on my back.
Those warm hands pulled on my hips, urging me up on my knees.
I went, dragging the pillow out from under me. Arching my back so my butt, still clad in the soaked, twisted thong, was tilted toward him.
Strong hands gripped me. The blunt head of his cock slipped between my legs, not entering me, just sliding back and forth against my sex. Growing slick with my juices as the friction added to my arousal.
Balancing on one arm, I reached under my body and guided him to my opening.
As he slid inside, he let out a groan of relief. He leaned down, curving around my back, and kissed the nape of my neck. “Feels so good in there, Kat.” The accent was Dhiraj’s.
“Mmm.” The massage and the orgasm had sensitized my whole body, so even the soft kisses he dropped on my neck made me shiver with need.
He straightened again so he was kneeling on the bed, and holding my hips for leverage, he began to pump slowly in and out in smooth, even strokes.
Still weak from that first orgasm, at first I rested on my hands and knees and let him do it, enjoying the pressure of his firm cock as it filled me. Feeling my body answer him in small ways. Subtle shifts of angle.
Each stroke heightened sensation, arousal. My body tightened with need.
