"A warm bath, a cup of tea and a massage," he suggested. That was the plan.
She hadn't slept well for two nights and needed her rest. Bath accomplished and tea consumed she lay back as he covered her with a thick white towel, kissing her on the lips, "relax now," he murmured. Andrea Bocelli playing softly in the background as he lit two candles and turned off the lights.
His warm hands began to work on her right foot, she knew without opening her eyes that his robe was off. He never wore clothes when he massaged her. His thumbs worked the bottom or her foot as her left foot snuggled against the inside of his thigh, toes playing with his dangling testicles.
As he worked, she wondered if anyone had ever had too much of a foot massage. His hands caressed and kneaded her feet, slowly melting her mind. Thoughts slowed to mere waves, then ripples of consciousness.
He felt her relax, slowly covering her feet, he moved to her side to work her right hand. His eyes enjoyed the light flickering on her hair, her face serene as his thumbs pressed her palm. Each finger pulled and then pulled again.
Hands moved up her arm, caressing, kneading then stroking the length of her arm and hand. He moved to work her other side, she wondered hazily if he knew how good this felt.
Finished with her arms, he asked gently, "You doing OK?"
A faint moan was all she could muster.