Slow Hand Curves (Big Girls Next Door Erotica) Read Free Page A

of her.
    Oh, yeah -- she sang like pure sex. Despite being twenty-six and living in my own home, I still worried about my mother examining the contents of my iPod during one of her unannounced visits. She most definitely would not approve of this woman with the deep purring voice.
    To make things even cozier, Sam grabbed the remote and brought the lights lower, their color taking on a deep blue. Reaching into the cabinet, he pulled out a small hand-sized machine and plugged it into the wall.
    He pushed a few small glass bottles around before looking at me over his shoulder. “Tension headaches, right?”
    “Yes.” Melinda had been telling the truth in that respect. I had the worst headaches. They went on for days, but a lot of high-priced doctors kept saying it was nothing. “That’s why I’m here.”
    That last bit was a lie and I turned my head so I wouldn’t have to look at him as my blush started all over again.
    I heard Sam fiddle with the small machine for a few seconds and then the scent of almonds and chamomile started to drift through the room. A few more seconds passed before I felt the brush of his fingertips along the back of my neck.
    He moved the bit of hair covering my neck to the side. His big hands gripped my shoulders and took a tentative squeeze. The woman was moaning as she sang, a deep throbbing cello coiling around her voice and sparking a sudden urge within me to moan right along with her.
    Sam’s hands moved down my back, the fingers spreading like a butterfly’s wings to whisper along the sides of my torso. His thumbs pressed gently at my vertebrae, testing for any sensitivity. “Where does all this tension come from?”
    He murmured the words. Feeling each one as a little puff of air between my shoulder blades, I realized he was leaning very close to me. I bit down on the whimper threatening to escape and managed a short response.
    “Spreadsheets.”
    “Okay.” He chuckled again, the air tickling my flesh and causing my shoulders to twitch. “What goes into the spreadsheets?”
    “Numbers.” Stifling a groan, I closed my eyes. I sounded like a real Rhodes scholar -- not! Admittedly, I was pleased I had managed any answer while he was touching me. His chest hovered so close to my back I could feel his body heat. I swallowed and gave my throat a little clearing before I elaborated. “I’m an actuarian.”
    I didn’t bother mentioning that I worked at the insurance firm my father’s grandfather had founded. Like my brother Beau, I was learning the business from the ground up so I could help run it one day.
    “Ah, I’m terrible with math,” Sam confessed. “But great with my hands.”
    He started to fold the robe a little further down my backside. I clutched at the fabric, a small gasp escaping me and making my cheeks heat with embarrassment. Making no comment, he skipped over the robe and down to the back of my knees. A hand on each calf, he started to knead the flesh.
    It wasn’t so much that my tension went away -- it just sort of moved someplace else. Bits of it drew at my chest, making my breath come quicker. Other bits swam in my gut, the ripples so palpable it was if he already had started stroking me down there.
    With Sam’s firm hands continuing to mold my muscles, I lost track of my own fingers. They slipped inside the robe’s pocket to brush against the hundred dollar bill I’d tucked inside after changing. My fingers were still acting of their own accord when they pulled the bill out and started to line old Benny boy up along the edge of my pillow.
    Sam’s hands froze. “Put that away.”
    If I had thought his voice sounded stern earlier, I now knew the difference. I reached for the bill, my hand shaking and fumbling in an attempt to pick it up. “I’m sorry…I…”
    I was fast approaching a record level of mortification -- even for me. Clutching at my robe, I tried to sit up, handfuls of my overgenerous flesh escaping the fabric. I managed to get myself