Molly 1-844-332-2639 ext 449
The fire had burned down to a low, amber glow, lazy shadows across the bedroom. He lay prone on the mattress, his shoulders knotted into tight, rigid peaks from a week of relentless stress. When I sat straddling his thighs, he let out a low, exhausted sigh, burying his face deeper into the pillow.
“You’re entirely too tense,” I murmured, pouring a few drops of warmed jasmine oil into my palms.
Instead of using my hands to work out the tension, I rubbed the fragrant oil over my skin; coating the soft curves of my breasts until they gleamed in the firelight. I leaned forward, letting my hair fall over his neck like a silk curtain. I pressed my chest firmly against his upper back.
He caught his breath as the warm, plush weight of my breasts met his rigid muscles. Slowly, I began to move; sliding my torso down his spine in long, deliberate strokes. The friction of skin against skin, lubricated by the fragrant oil, created a deep, kneading pressure that hands could never replicate. My breasts molded perfectly to the contours of his shoulder blades, smoothing out the knots with every slow, heavy glide.
A…