The towel slipped from Taylor's body as she eased onto the massage bed, her skin prickling as the cool fabric met her warmth. She swallowed, her breath hitching when she felt Finn's gaze lingering—intent, almost predatory. There was a charge in the air, subtle but undeniable, and it set her nerves alight. Every movement felt deliberate, every glance heavy with promise, and her pulse quickened with the knowledge that this was going to be more than just a massage.
Lying on her stomach, she turned her head slightly, her cheek brushing the soft sheet as she caught sight of him. Finn poured oil into his hands, the amber liquid catching the light, and she watched the way his fingers moved—slow, precise, almost reverent. His hands, broad and steady, radiated confidence. When he placed them on her shoulders, her breath left her in a soft gasp.
His touch was firm but gentle, his thumbs pressing into the tense knots of her back, coaxing them to unravel. Heat bloomed under his palms, spreading through her like ripples in a still pond. Taylor closed her eyes, trying to focus on the rhythm of his hands, but her mind was a riot of sensation. Each stroke felt intimate, almost electric, and her body responded in ways she hadn't expected. Her lips parted, and a low, involuntary moan escaped.
Finn's hands wandered lower, gliding over the curve of her back, his touch deliberate yet teasing. He lingered just above her hips before retreating to her shoulders, as if savoring the anticipation he was building. Taylor bit her lip, the ache between her thighs growing with each tantalizing pass of his hands.
"Turn over," he murmured, his voice deep and velvety, the kind of tone that sent shivers down her spine. She obeyed without hesitation, her movements slow, deliberate, as if testing the weight of the moment. When she lay on her back, her eyes fluttered open to meet his, and her heart skipped at the intensity in his gaze. It wasn't just hunger she saw there—it was command.
Finn's hands worked more oil into her skin, the warmth of it spreading over her stomach as he smoothed it in slow, measured strokes. His touch was maddeningly light at first, like a whisper, before growing firmer, bolder. When his fingers brushed the swell of her breasts, Taylor sucked in a sharp breath, her body arching ever so slightly in response.
"Do you mind?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, his lips curling into a smirk.
She shook her head, her throat too dry for words. Her body betrayed her, arching further as if inviting him to continue. Finn's fingers moved with purpose now, molding her skin beneath his hands, kneading and teasing until her breath came in shallow pants. She felt her nipples pebble under his touch, the sensation sending jolts of heat straight to her core.
"Higher," she whispered, her voice barely audible, her cheeks flushing with the audacity of her request.
He chuckled softly, the sound rich and intoxicating. "Tell me where it hurts," he said, his tone dripping with suggestion. His hands complied, cupping her breasts with just enough pressure to make her toes curl. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, and the friction was exquisite, a mix of pleasure and sweet agony that made her gasp.
Taylor's fingers gripped the edge of the table as if it were the only thing tethering her to reality. Her body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alive and begging for more. Finn seemed to sense it—no, he knew it—and his confidence only made it worse. Or better. She wasn't sure anymore.
When his hands began to drift lower, over the soft curve of her stomach and down to her hips, she couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped her lips. His fingers traced the line of her inner thigh, slow and deliberate, the oil slick and warm against her skin. She felt like she might come undone before he even reached her.
When his fingers finally grazed her folds, Taylor's breath hitched, her hips lifting instinctively to meet his touch. The sensation was maddening—light, teasing, not nearly enough. "Finn…" she breathed, her voice a mix of desperation and desire.
He didn't answer, not with words. Instead, his fingers pressed more firmly, sliding through her slick heat, and Taylor's head fell back, her mouth opening in a silent cry. Her body trembled as he found her center, his touch slow and purposeful, drawing out every ounce of her restraint. When one finger slid inside her, she gasped, her eyes snapping open to meet his. The smug look on his face should've embarrassed her, but it only fueled the fire raging in her core.
"Fuck," she whispered, her voice breaking as he added another finger, the rhythm of his movements quickening. Her body arched off the table, her hands scrambling for something to hold onto as waves of pleasure crashed over her. She was unraveling, piece by piece, and Finn was the one holding the thread.
Her climax hit her like a storm, sudden and overwhelming. Her body tensed, every muscle locking as she cried out, the sound raw and uninhibited. She didn't care who might hear—hell, she wasn't even sure she could think anymore. When the tension finally released, her body went limp, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.
Taylor opened her eyes to find Finn watching her, his expression one of satisfaction mixed with something darker, something that made her stomach flip. He brought his fingers to his lips, tasting her, and the sight made her cheeks flush with heat all over again.
"I trust you're feeling better now," he said, his voice laced with amusement as he handed her a towel.
Taylor sat up slowly, her legs still trembling as she wrapped the towel around herself. She turned to him, her lips curving into a sly smile. "Much better," she said, her voice low and sultry. "But I think I'll need another session soon."
Finn raised a brow, his smirk widening. "I'll be waiting, Taylor."
Before he could say another word, she leaned in and kissed him, her lips soft but insistent, promising that this was far from over.