Everything about her was too much. “I will.”
Wren’s hands continued to work, kneading and pressing and massaging the knot and the surrounding area until the tension and pain melted away.
She was magic.
“Feeling better?” She paused to coat her hands in more oil.
I turned and gave her a wide-eyed smile. “You’re incredibly talented,” I said, and that flush peeked up from beneath the collar of my shirt she wore. “I feel amazing.”
“I’m glad.” She put her hands back on me, and I wanted to groan again as I turned back around.
It was embarrassing how much I liked her touching me. And not just because she could take my pain away.
Her hands moved to other places now, as if she were exploring the muscles in my back. I wished I could see her face as she worked.
Her hands moved lower, working the muscles on my sides and lower back. My thoughts drifted again toward places they shouldn’t—
“What made you interested in massage therapy?” I blurted, my voice sounding as though it’d been dragged over sandpaper.
Wren’s hands stilled a moment before they continued their hypnotic dance along my back.
“I used to live with my grandmother.” She paused, pressing a little too hard on a knot, but I didn’t flinch. She let up quickly. “She would get sore all the time, and I could tell how hard it made things for her. She used to see a massage therapist regularly, but when I came to live with her, I don’t think she could afford it anymore.”
She was quiet as she stopped to get more oil. I waited silently, not wanting to push for anything she wasn’t willing to give.
“I asked her one day, during a particularly tough week, if she could show me how to help her feel better.” She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I had no idea what I was doing, of course, but it seemed to help her nonetheless. I loved helping her feel better.”
“You like taking people’s pain away,” I mused, a grin tugging on my lip.
Her hands started to make their way back up toward my shoulders, working slow and steady to massage every muscle.
“I enjoy helping people feel good.”
I nodded. “And you’re perfect at it.”
She made a noise that sounded somewhere between a laugh and gasp. “I don’t know about that.”
Her fingers curled over my shoulders, and I groaned again as a shot of pain returned.
“Oh, Atlas,” she chided, lightening up her pressure but never stopping her soothing movements. “Your shoulders are so tight.”
I grunted as she worked to loosen the muscles with a knowing, practiced hand. “That feels good, though.”
She leaned in as her hands worked over my shoulders, so close her body was almost pressed up against mine.
“You know,” she leaned down and whispered in my ear, “the weight of the world doesn’t rest on your shoulders, Atlas Ranes.”
“What makes you assume I thought it did?”
She pulled back, and I resisted the urge to grab her and crush her back against me.
“Muscles don’t lie.”