Page 16 of Sterling Touch
“I’m going to start the same way we did last time. This will give you a minute to warm up to me.”
Thank goodness my face is in this awkward donut pillow and Vale can’t see that I’m already hot for her. I haven’t stopped thinking about her since the last time I was in this room. In truth, I’ve had plenty of time to recall a day burned into my memory. A day when I stumbled upon Vale sitting deep in the woods on the edge of the official Sterling Falls. Her legs were crisscrossed. Her eyes sprung open as I’d startled her.
What happened next surprised me as well, and in my recent recall, I realized I never touched Vale. Not properly. Not intimately. Our moment was more like an invasion than an exploration, and then I embarrassed the fuck out of myself.
When Vale’s hands move in that methodic way of introduction along my spine, I’m pulled from the past and into the present moment where I mentally attempt to coach myself to relax.
Still, my mind races and the need to fill the tense silence erupts.
“How long have you worked for Reflexology?” The question sounds like I’m bored. Like the opening line to an average date, wanting all the usual information: age, education, employment, kids.
However, I’m anything but complacent. I want to know more about Vale. In twelve years, I’ve only had glimpses of her here and there. The grocery store where she’d offer a warm smile, and I would avoid her eyes out of embarrassment. Or a rare sighting in downtown Sterling Falls when she’d be on the opposite side of the street, talking on the phone as she walked along the sidewalk or laughing with someone beside her. Most of the time, the person next to her was her son. Then there were an even rarer occasions when I’d visit Milton Roadhouse.
Only a few seconds pass before Vale quietly replies, “We don’t need to make small talk. Most people prefernotto talk and that’s okay. Just try to relax.” At the mention of relaxing, her hand moves to my lower left oblique and she begins a series of light pressure movements along my side, almost like she’s prodding around the soreness.
When a zinger shoots along my side, I grunt. My body tenses and Vale stills, instantly removing her hands from me.
“You okay?” Silence fills the room like quicksand. I’m suffocating beneath the quiet tension between us, and the conflict of wanting her touch while being afraid of it. Because strange things happen when Vale Sylver has her hands on me.
My heart patters in a new rhythm, one that’s chaotic but somehow lighter. My breath hitches, but it’s not like I can’t breathe. It’s more like I’m taking the first real breath I’ve taken in years. And every inhale brings a soft whiff of Vale. Something sweet. Honey-like.
Next, I hear a distinct sound—the whirl of metal releasing from the lip of a container—like a jar is being opened.
“I’d like to use a special lotion on you. It’s my own unique concoction. It will feel good on your skin and help keep the massage smooth. Is that okay?”
I nod, afraid to speak as she’d mentioned not talking.
Again, my auditory senses take over and the sound of flesh-on-flesh fills my ears as Vale warms up the lotion on her hands before placing her fingers on me.
Working a few minutes in silence, she concentrates on the muscles along my lower left side. I close my eyes and breathe through the process. The occasional twinge of pain. The constant conflict of Vale touching me. The slow build of arousal.
I shouldn’t be getting hard. I’m not a man who likes women to be handsy with me. In fact, I’m very particular about the way I have sex, when I have sex, which has been rare in the last decade. I haven’t been a monk but I’m not a guy seeking out the affection of a companion either.
Which makes my body’s reaction to Vale even more befuddling.
“I started working at Reflexology about nine years ago,” Vale mentions softly, almost like she doesn’t want to disturb me.
However, the sound of her voice gives me something to concentrate on, distracting me from her fingers on my flesh. I want to keep her talking.
“Were you somewhere else before that?” My voice is muffled from the position of being face down and my cheeks pressed into the pillow, but Vale answers.
“This was my first job and I’ve been here ever since.” Pride about the longevity fills her voice. “After Hudson was born, I took a year to . . . acclimate to motherhood.”
I can almost hear her smile. A different type of pride fills her tone about being a mother.
My ex-wife had not been thrilled about motherhood; something that happened unexpectedly. She also hadn’t been a very good mother. I fault myself in many ways. Her selfish, neglectful nature was something I saw as a reflection on me, on us and our relationship, and I hadn’t recognized until it was almost too late that her behavior was simply who she was as a person.
“Anyway . . .” Vale continues working at my side, teasing out a knot I didn’t even know existed. The massage is a heavy dose of pleasure and pain. Kind of like my current mental state about Vale.
“I see that Haven Exteriors has really taken off.”
The comment suggests she’s kept up on me. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Reckless hope that Vale Sylver investigated what happened to meafterour moment in the woods. I’d certainly checked up on her.
“Yeah, Clinton and I have a good gig going.”
“Until you fell off a roof.” She chuckles.
I smile as well, although she can’t see my expression. “Oh, I still go up on roofs.”
