Page 9 of Wolfgang
“That smells good,” he murmured, more to himself than to the nameless masseuse.
“Does it?” The soft, deep voice sounded almost amused, although Eric wasn’t sure why. Change that to masseur, then.
“Um…yeah?”
The bottom half of a pair of legs appeared in Eric’s vision. Soft black pants, like Brenda usually wore, paired oddly with—were those dress shoes?
Eric chuckled, his muscles already feeling miraculously looser with the combination of the relaxing music, the soothing scent, and the promise of a professional touch any moment. “You don’t get uncomfortable, standing all day in those?”
The dress shoes disappeared from view. “I believe it’syourcomfort we should be concerned with today, Doctor.”
Oh. That was definitely a British accent, careful and clipped. It brushed over Eric like a finger down his spine, causing a strange shiver to run through him, despite the warmth of the table.
What the hell was that about? Did he have a thing for accents now? He never had before. He was pretty easy with his preferences, to be honest. Maybe he was becoming more particular in his old age. The thought almost had him chuckling again.
“Tell me,” the masseur continued, seemingly unaware of Eric’s completely inappropriate response to a few accented words. “Any particular areas of trouble?”
Eric tried to focus his thoughts back on the matter at hand. “Um, my neck and shoulders kind of always bug me. I guess I hunch at the computer.”
“Mm. Charting on your numerous patients?”
“Um. R-Right.” What the fuck? How would he know that? Except, duh, the man had already referred to Eric as “Doctor.” Eric had gotten a discount at this place because of his employment at the hospital; it wasn’t like his profession was a secret. The receptionist always called him Dr. Monroe, never Eric. Hell, they were a small enough town, if you discounted the tourists—half the population called him that.
He’d been so weirdly paranoid lately. This massage was definitely a necessity.
“We’ll see what we can do about that discomfort.”
Any worry Eric had that this stranger wouldn’t be able to achieve the same magic he was used to with Brenda was immediately put to rest the moment the man dug his fingers into Eric’s shoulders.
Eric moaned. He actuallymoaned.
“Fuuck.” Oh shit. That was rude. “Sorry. I mean— You have strong hands.”
“The better to tend to your needs.” The voice sounded amused again, although it was a subtle note, nowhere near mocking.
Fair enough either way, when Eric was making a fool of himself. Maybe he should shut up right about now and just let the masseur do his thing. And really, he did it sowell. Eric was quickly putty under his hands, making the most ridiculous noises. But fuck, this dude knew how to work a knot.
He moved gradually from Eric’s shoulders, down his spine, seemingly unconcerned with the sounds coming out of Eric’s mouth, kneading in a way that had Eric wanting to arch like a cat. “With this physique, it can’t just be sitting at the desk that has you so sore, hm?”
Eric’s current moan stuttered into silence as he took that in. Was the guy…flirting? But no, that British voice sounded so cool, so detached. Professional as hell. Eric cleared his throat. “Um, yeah. I try to stay in shape.”
“Mm. Physical health is so important. Often underrated by the very people who tend to it in others.”
Yeah, definitely not flirting. Or not any flirting Eric was used to.
The masseur dug his fingers into Eric’s lower back. “And the pressure’s all right?”
“The pressure is amazing,” Eric sighed. “Everything you’re doing is amazing.”
Okay, yeah, definitely time to shut up. He sounded like a schoolgirl with a crush, not a massage client. So Eric did, remaining quiet except for the occasional uncontrollable moan, or the few times he had to answer the man’s questions about sore spots, pain threshold, etc.
Eventually the masseur started working on Eric’s legs, undoing tension there Eric hadn’t even known he’d had. He was starting to feel close to drugged, that bergamot scent wrapping around him, relaxing him almost as much as the man’s touch. This was heaven. Absolute heaven.
The only problem—and it was definitely becoming a problem—was that they were getting to the point in the massage where Eric was going to have to turn over, and he was—
Well, he wasachinglyhard.
Fuck. He didn’t normally have this problem; it wasn’t like the massages were a sexual thing for him. But the guy kept talking to him in that sexy fucking accent, asking him if he felt good, if the pressure was okay, and the room smelled so goddamn tasty with the new incense or whatever the hell it was and…his hands. The man’s magical fuckinghands.
