Adam's Thorn Read online

  Being naked with a woman’s hands running over his body wasn’t something he was a stranger to, either, but not like this.

  Not with Barbie.

  Straightening, he looked directly into the mirror on the wall. The reflection wasn’t reassuring. Were the whites of his eyes showing? Christ.

  “Adam?” Barbie called softly. “If you want to call this off, I understand. If you’re nervous, it’s okay. We can just do a back massage, or nothing if you really prefer.”

  Was it his imagination or did she sound just a little bit too eager to call it off? Frowning, he turned to the door. Maybe she didn’t want to do this.

  “I’m a professional, Adam,” Barbie continued, and suddenly he realised she was using that soft, reassuring voice he used when the situation called for it.

  Calming, soothing. Talking to him as though he were a high-strung man needing a gentle hand.

  Matt and Ghost would scream laughing, bust a gut rolling on the floor howling like a pair of hyenas. They’d be in hysterics if he backed out. He’d never live it down. He’d never live himself down.

  Hang on, was he thinking of doing this? Actually doing this?

  “Just put your shirt back on, sweetie.” Barbie’s voice coming though the door was full of sympathy.

  Sweetie? Sympathy? Goddamn, he was a grown man, he’d had women fall to pieces in his very expert hands. No way was he going to fall to pieces at the hands of a woman just doing her job, a professional masseuse.

  No way was he going to give his friends ammunition to use against him for the rest of his life.

  No way was he thinking of doing it?

  Thinking of it? Hell, he was going to do it.

  Quickly unsnapping the button on his jeans and pulling the zipper down, he toed off his shoes and socks, kicking them under the chair.

  “Almost ready,” he called back, silently blessing God for giving him a deep voice that hid any uncertainty.

  “Really?” The reply sounded like it was blurted out, followed quickly by a more serene, “Good.”

  A slow grin crossed his face as he peeled his jeans and boxers off, folding them and placing them neatly on the chair.

  So, she had been expecting him to back out, too. Surprise surprise, Barbie baby.

  Grabbing the towel, he eyed the padded table. Wider than what he had imagined, it looked okay. He’d soon find out how comfortable it was.

  Sitting up on it, he swung around to lie on his belly, adjusting his manly bits to a more comfortable position before awkwardly slinging the towel over his arse. Folding his hands beneath his chin, he relaxed.

  The door swung open seconds later. “Ready?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He grinned to himself.

  Sweetie, huh? Let’s see who can be more professional, baby.

  Hushed sounds, a presence beside him. Keeping his eyes shut, he waited, every nerve in his body waiting in anticipation, though he maintained his composure.

  That nearly shattered at her first touch. Palms slick with oil slid right up his spine.

  His eyes nearly crossed. Holy heck, if this was what the start felt like, God knew what he’d be like at the end. A gooey puddle of immense satisfaction, probably. This was awesome.

  Her hands smoothed, slicking the fragrant oil across his back, her thumbs sliding up each side of his spine, her fingers spreading out each side to glide.

  Glide and glide and gliiiiiiiiide. His eyes almost rolled back in his head, his moan of pure pleasure slipping out before he could even think to hold it back.

  “All right?’ she asked. Cool voice, professional.

  He relaxed a little more. “Mmmm.”

  Lost in the pleasant sweep of her hands.

  And then she got serious, her fingers finding knots he had no idea existed. Man, they hurt, and she kneaded them expertly. Or at least, he thought it was expertly, he really had no idea, never having had a massage before.

  “You sure this should hurt?” He clenched his teeth as she worked a knot at the side of his spine.

  “Not agony, but it can be a little uncomfortable,” she replied. “If it gets too sore let me know.”

  Amazingly, he trusted her. Closing his eyes, he again tried to relax.

  In between working the knots, her hands stroked across him, soothing, spreading the oil.

  And the heat. He couldn’t believe how warm her palms were becoming. Or maybe it was just his skin.

  He was almost asleep, it was so good.

  And then Barbie moved, coming to stand at the top of the table. “Arms flat by your sides, Adam.”

  Okaaaay. He did as bidden, curious as to what she’d do now.

  Her fingers lightly touched his cheek. “Just stay still, rest on your cheek.”

  Holy cow, she was bending over him. His eyes popped open as he realised that she was leaning over him, her hands running over his shoulders from top to down his back.

  This way he could smell her light scent, see the white of her dress as she moved in front of him. Above him.

  Above him involved thoughts that led down the slippery slope of decadence, of the kind of position he’d really like to see her above him. Oh yeah. Or maybe naked, her thighs close to his head so all he had to do was lift his head, grasp her hips, drag her close and slide his tongue through tight curls to the slickness beyond, sweet plump labia, and she’d cry out and grab onto his shoulders, nails digging in as he tongued her and - Stop!

  Trying to drive the thoughts away, he concentrated on her fingers as she moved back, the way she kneaded his shoulders, feeling, touching, stroking, kneading again, finding the knots and working them.

  Eliciting little sparks of pain. Funny how close to pleasure they could be if one thought about - damn it.

  “Are you all right?” Her quiet voice slid though his senses like warm honey.

  Almost immediately he relaxed, as though her voice was magic casting a soothing spell over him. “Fine,” he murmured.

  “Good.” She continued to work his muscles, moving to his arms, working along the biceps and triceps, one arm at a time, even sliding her fingers through his, kneading his palms.

  Oh God, it was amazing. He felt like he could drift in this pleasant haze forever.

  His feet were next, and he couldn’t stop another groan of bliss. Her soft laugh was like gentle music to his ears, and when she worked his calf, his lashes fluttered. Oh God, that was amazing.

  Up the back of his knee, higher up his thighs. Whoa. He blinked, opening his eyes. Those capable little hands were working the insides of his thigh with dexterity, sure and firm, moving higher.

  Shit, if she moved her hands any higher, she was going to encounter something that would have a life of its own.

  Shit, it already had a life of its own. Adam held his breath as he felt the stirring in his loins. Uh-oh.

  Higher her hands went, brushing the hem of the towel that laid low across his backside. Any higher and she’d feel just how tight his nuts were getting.

  The heel of her hands kneaded across the back of his thigh, fingers moving to the outer side.

  Oh crap, his body was starting to stir. Every sweep of her hand on his thigh had little sparks sputtering to life inside him, his shaft angrily demanding room to move.

  Thank God it was pressed flat beneath him.

  Barbie moved to his other calf, but any chance of relaxing was now gone. He could feel every sweep of her hand on his calf, his mind wandering into dangerous territory.

  What would it feel like if those capable, strong little hands were on his shaft? Rubbing it, massaging, making it feel so bloody good.

  Stop it. Stop it!

  And then her hands were higher, firming up his thighs, and blood pooled low and hot in his loins, spreading to his shaft more urgently.

  He tried counting sheep. He tried counting fire hoses. He tried imaging freezing ice cubes on his pecker, but the bastard took no notice. It wanted freedom. It wanted a nice, snug, wet sheath to bury itself into and-


  Hands slid under the towel, fingers smoothing over his buttocks, making him jump.

  She stopped. “Adam?”

  “Yeah?” God, was that his deep, husky voice?

  “Is this okay?”

  Okay? It was freakin’ decadent. A curvy, lush woman with soft lips and firm hands was stroking along his arse. It was part of a wet dream.

  He just hoped he didn’t leave a spot on the table when he got up. Wouldn’t that be awkward?

  “Fine,” he managed to rasp. “Guess I have a knot there.”

  No, the knot was in his balls.

  “I’ll see if I can find it.” She started kneading gently, working his glutes.

  Making his eyes cross.

  Hands under his chin, he gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, popped them open again because having them closed meant all sensation was centred on her hands.

  On his bare arse.

  He actually shivered when her thumb stroked along the crack between his bum cheeks.

  True professional that she was, she didn’t comment.

  Horny bastard that he was, he worried about his pecker panting on the table under him, leaving a discriminating wet patch. Heat beat in that one spot, intensified by his weight on it. He never knew he could have a silent argument with his pecker.

  Let me up.

  No.

  I want freedom!

  Stay down.

  Give me a woman’s slick secrets.

  Stay down!

  Give me Barbie’s wet heat.

  Stop it!

  Man, you could have her on this table, bend her right over, and I could be shoving deep inside and-

  Oh yeah. Actually, he couldn’t help thinking what a great idea that sounded like. Oh no.

  You could make her scream. We could make her scream.

  Yeah, heh heh. He clenched his fists. No. No!

  Her hands stopped their delicious torture on his buttocks, hands sliding out from beneath the towel. Oh, thank God. He could recover and-

  “Roll over.”

  Uh-oh. That was a whole new problem. If he rolled over, his pecker would shove up like a flag pole, waving for victory. Thick and full of hot blood.

  He cleared his throat. “Um…”

  “I’ll do your chest and the front of your shoulders and legs.”

  There was only one thing for it. “There could be a problem.” When silence greeted this announcement, he couldn’t help but turn his head to see her.

  Barbie met his gaze. Cool and calm, how the bloody hell did she do it? Did she not feel anything?

  His ego felt a bit crushed. Go figure. He’d never actually realised he had an ego until right at that second.

  “Erections are perfectly natural,” she said quietly. “It happens. Sometimes you can’t control physical reactions.”

  Control? He’d have a hard time keeping it down even if he put a brick on it.

  “Roll over,” she repeated.

  His eyebrows shot up. Really? She wasn’t embarrassed? Then why the hell was he worried about her reaction? If she was used to this kind of thing happening, fine. He certainly wasn’t going to act like Shy Annie. He’d never been shy about his body around a woman, so he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now.

  Barbie turned away as he shifted on the table.

  Settling himself back, he placed the towel across his loins, keeping it bunched in his hand in an attempt to keep his wayward pecker under control. It pressed demandingly up against the towel. Nope, it wanted free rein.

  Throwing one arm across his brow, Adam watched Barbie from beneath the shadow of his arm.

  “Are you all right to continue?” She flipped the CD player open and withdrew the CD.

  “Go for it.” Oops, he did sound a little throaty? He cleared his throat.

  She glanced at him.

  Well, look at that. Her cheeks had just a tinge of pink in them. How interesting.

  He studied her as she slid another CD into the player. The dress might be like a uniform but it hugged her waist and breasts, outlining the lush curves pleasingly. When she bent slightly to adjust the volume, the skirt caressed that rounded backside just like his hands suddenly ached to. His hand on the towel actually flexed in anticipation.

  Turning, she caught his narrow-eyed gaze, an uncertain expression crossing her face. “Is something wrong?”

  Was it wrong to want to grab a good handful of your masseur’s luscious bottom and drag her over to the table, to yank her down and rip that zipper open, pull aside the bra confining those pillowy breasts and feast on pink nipples?

  Probably.

  Inhaling deeply, trying to divert her attention from the towel he was clutching to his belly, he managed to answer, “Do you have anything else besides that music?”

  “You don’t like the ocean? It’s soothing.”

  Well, it wasn’t bloody working. “I heard ABBA playing the other week when I came here.”

  She stared at him. “ABBA? Really?”

  “Yeah. How about that?”

  “Well, yes, but-”

  He flashed her a sudden grin, amused at her disconcertion at having her usual routine disturbed. “It’s my birthday. You know, day off, special day. All important.”

  Unexpectedly, her lips twitched, pale blue eyes crinkling engagingly at the corners in amusement. “In that case, I guess you can have the choice. Be right back.”

  He watched her walk all the way out the door before blowing out a breath and shifting his arm to stare up at the ceiling. Jesus, he was on a thin rope here.

  Damn his libido.

  Damn his uncontrollable pecker.

  Damn him for not being honest. It wasn’t his pecker or his libido, it was him. Her. He was attracted to her, to her scent, her generous, full figure, her laughter, her fire, her every demeanour.

  When had that happened? And why?

  He was still puzzling over it when Barbie came back through the door with a CD case in her hand. Sliding the CD into the player, she commented, “Don’t blame me if this isn’t relaxing.” She cast him a sideways glance as the music throbbed through the room. “I’ll turn it down. Okay?”

  “Sure.” Closing his eyes, he breathed deep, trying to centre himself, losing himself in the music.

  It worked for about ten seconds, then her hands were on his chest and every nerve ending went up on tip-toe. Hello!

  Now he could see her, looking his full of her from beneath his eyelashes.

  Her gaze was focussed on her hands running over his body, her soft lips closed, her gaze following the movements of her hand.

  Oil slicked across his skin, her fingers running across his pecs, his flat nipples pebbling against her palms.

  Not once did her face betray her thoughts as she kneaded his muscles.

  Goosebumps prickled along his skin, fire licking underneath. Every sweep of her hands, every slide of her fingers across his skin.

  The ponytail bobbed enchantingly as she worked. A soft blush stole into her cheeks, and he wondered in a pleasant haze if she was actually feeling something, or was she just growing warmer with the exertion?

  God, he could feel her, and he was starting to have a hard time breathing evenly. When she shifted to stand above his head to knead his shoulders, he had to bite back a groan of pleasure, and when she leaned over him, her hands sliding over his shoulders and across his pecs, he had to fist his hands to stop himself from reaching up and grabbing two handfuls of generous bosom.

  Talk about sweet, tantalising torture.

  He couldn’t stop the jerk of his abdominal muscles when her hands started smoothing oil along them, strong fingers sliding across each and every swell.

  Was it his imagination or did she linger just a little? His eyes popped open when one finger tip slipped into his belly button, but when his gaze shot to her face, nothing betrayed her thoughts or intentions.

  Did she have intentions? Carnal intentions?

  Her hands smoothed dangerously close to where he gripped
the towel in one hand, but without flinching, she left his stomach, moving down to his feet.

  Ah God, the feel of her touch, fingers sliding between his toes and under the arch of his feet, stroking along the top and circling his ankle.

  He was going to come in the towel, he just knew it, especially when she moved up his leg, running her fingers along his calf. Even when she kneaded painfully at a knot in the side of his calf, he couldn’t drag his thoughts from the carnal desire building inside him.

  Higher she went, gradually higher, smooth sweeps of her hands, kneading of her fingers, caressing, soothing, pressing, coming so close to the edge of the towel, so very close…

  He found that he was actually holding his breath, letting it go with a whoosh when she stopped and moved around to his other leg.

  She glanced at him, and he could swear he saw a fire in her pale eyes, a new flush to those sweet apple cheeks.

  Fire crawled under his skin, pooling low in his loins, skittering under his skin in his abdomen to dance down low, especially when her fingers kneaded along his inner thigh.

  Oh Christ, he wasn’t going to survive this, no way. Didn’t want to survive it. Desire burned through him, spreading through him, starting from every point she’d caressed to centre in his shaft which was throbbing now, thick and stiff under the towel he gripped so hard.

  Adam wanted to throw it off, wanted to toss it aside and grab Barbie, grab her hair and tug her close to his face, kiss her hard, demandingly, and order her to -

  Jesus, he couldn’t do it. Closing his eyes, he couldn’t help but stiffen, hands clenching so tight in the towel, tension in the arm he’d thrown over his face.

  That tension shot through him, ricocheting up when her hands continued, lighter now, more a caress, fingertips trailing lightly up his thigh, making the muscles tense, flex, as he shifted his leg, bending his furtherest knee a little in silent invitation.

  God, he wanted her. Wanted her so badly, his body humming for her, the growl breaking past his lips.

  Wanted her so bloody bad it was almost agonising.

  He actually tensed, readying himself to push up so he could grab her, to ravish her like a wild beast, but then he froze.

  Froze because her fingers had edged under the towel to trial along the crease of his groin.

  Fire burned, his breath exhaling, and without thought he ripped the towel away, throwing it aside to bare himself to her gaze. At the same time he shifted his arm higher, looking her fully in the eyes.