Until We Touch. Сьюзен Мэллери

did. He shrugged out of his robe and hung it on the back of the door, stepped out of his shower shoes, then walked to the table. He stared at it for a second.

      “I want to start on my back,” he said.

      “Sure.”

      He figured he would have a better shot at staying in control during the first half of the massage, when he wasn’t so relaxed.

      “I want you to really dig in on my shoulder.”

      “Is it bothering you more than usual?”

      “Yes,” he lied, hoping the pain she inflicted would help.

      He got on the table, faceup, and draped the sheet over himself. Larissa moved next to him. She already had the moist pack out of the hot water. She draped it across his shoulder, then tucked it under. The warmth immediately went to work. He began to relax.

      “Should I leave the sheet on or put on a towel?” she asked.

      Because she always draped a towel across his groin, he thought. “The towel is fine.”

      She crossed to the cabinet and pulled out a towel. He closed his eyes and thought about the last offensive play of the regular season game during the 2010 season. The Stallions had been on the twenty yard line with fifteen seconds left. They’d been down by three and—

      She pulled off the sheet. Truly pulled it so that yards and yards of warm, soft linen rode against his penis. It was like silk, he thought, enjoying the sensation. Not as good as Larissa touching him, but still nice. What would make it better was if she was pulling it away to crawl in next to him. Then they would—

      He swore silently and opened his eyes. Larissa draped the towel across him, then turned away. She pumped oil onto her hands, as if she hadn’t felt anything. Which she hadn’t, he reminded himself. He was the only idiot in the room.

      He forced his brain back to the game, reliving the entire play. He’d thrown a perfect pass to Kenny who had caught it, scoring the winning points. As he remembered the elation of the moment, Larissa slid her hands across his chest.

      She’d done it a thousand times before, to stay connected as she moved from one side to the other. It was normal and expected and not in the least bit sexy. The only problem was the light touch was just enough to get his blood pumping a little too fast.

      No way, he thought, grinding his teeth together. He would not be controlled by his dick. He was a bigger man than that. Only thinking the word bigger wasn’t his smartest idea.

      Sports, he thought frantically, as his blood heated and the familiar growing ache began. Ah, a game they’d lost. Right. Against Dallas. He’d been intercepted in the third quarter and it had all gone to shit after that. He relived the play and the subsequent disaster. It seemed to be enough to cool himself down. He breathed a little easier.

      She massaged both arms. She would do his right shoulder before he turned over, so it made sense that her next move was his legs. She walked around the table and put her hands on his left thigh. As her thumbs dug in, her fingers slid along his skin and by the time she got to his knee, he was hard as steel. He had to give Larissa points. She never faltered in her work. Even though his dick formed a good-size tent in the towel. Heat burned in him—half from arousal, half from humiliation.

      “I’m ignoring it,” he said at last.

      “Me, too.”

      He couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed like her voice was a little strangled. Humor or mortification? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know which.

      She continued to work her way down his leg before circling the table and starting on his other leg. She half turned to reach the oil. As she moved, the towel got caught or something because he suddenly felt it sliding off. He opened his eyes and started to sit up. Instinctively he reached for it, just as she did the same. He grabbed and she stretched and their hands met, right on his erect penis, her hand trapped beneath his, his long, hard shaft below that.

      For the first time ever, Jack got the real appeal of a “happy ending.” In that split second, all he could think was how much he wanted her to touch him there. With her hands or her mouth—he didn’t much care which. As long as they stopped before he came so he could please her as much and then they would finish the whole thing with some old-fashioned intercourse.

      Which was not to be, he thought, instantly releasing her hand and half expecting her to jump back and shriek. She didn’t jump or yell, instead she studied him.

      “If you want to go take care of that, I can wait,” she said.

      It took a second for the meaning of her words to sink in and when they did, he deflated like a popped balloon.

      “Excuse me?”

      She shrugged. “It would solve the problem.”

      She expected him to go masturbate? Like some kid? “No,” he said firmly, gathering the towel and his dignity as best he could and sliding off the table. “No.”

      He crossed to his robe and pulled it on. Only then did he let the towel drop to the floor. He slid into his shoes and stalked out of the massage room.

      It was only when he was back in the relative safety of the locker room that he realized she probably thought he’d retreated to do just what she’d suggested. And there didn’t seem to be a way to tell her otherwise.

      * * *

      LARISSA FINISHED CLEANING up her massage room, then turned off the lights and walked toward her office. Jack’s inexplicable behavior still had her shaking her head. She didn’t like that he was making a habit of running out on her. Plus, she hadn’t finished her massage, so she knew he would be in pain. Her job was to prevent that. They had a really big problem—all penis puns aside—and she didn’t know how to fix it.

      Yes, the whole erection thing had been a bit awkward. Personally, she’d found it difficult to think about anything else and she would guess he’d had the same problem. While she wanted to take credit for his aroused state, she had a feeling it was a lot more about circumstances than any allure on her part. She also knew exactly who was to blame.

      She walked into her small office only to find her cell phone ringing. A single glance at the screen warned her the caller was the person who had started all this mess.

      “Hi, Mom,” she said when she answered.

      “Larissa, dear, I’m checking in. How are things?”

      Complicated. Embarrassing. Confusing. There were so many words, she thought, not sure if the situation was comical or tragic. Probably a little of both, she thought.

      “Things are good,” she said, taking the easy way out. “How about with you?”

      “The usual. Your sister is finally admitting she’s pregnant.”

      “The baby’s due in a couple of months.”

      “You know that and I know that, but she’s been avoiding the truth. Your stepfather and I are going over this weekend to help with the nursery. A little paint, some new bedding and they’ll be ready.”

      Larissa settled in her chair. “I’m sure they appreciate your help.”

      “I’m sure they do. How are things with Jack?”

      Larissa caught her breath. “That was subtle.”

      “I wasn’t trying to be. He told you I talked to him.”

      “Yes, and what you said.”

      “I’m not wrong.”

      Larissa drew in a deep breath and told herself to stay calm. “Mom, I’m not in love with Jack.”

      “Really? When was the last time you went on a date?”

      “I haven’t met any single guys here, yet. I’ve only been in town a few weeks.” It was more like months, but why say that. “I’ve