My Brother-in-Law’s Postpartum Massage Trap - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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My fingers twisted nervously in the sheets as Ryan shut the door behind him. "Drafts aren't good for recovery," he explained matter-of-factly, closing the window and drawing the curtains with quick, efficient movements. The room shrank instantly, illuminated only by the warm pool of light from the bedside lamp.
I swallowed hard as the atmosphere shifted - suddenly intimate, charged with something I couldn't name. The crisp hospital corners of the bed dug into my clenched fists while Ryan moved about with infuriating calm. His leather bag unzipped with a smooth sound, revealing an aromatherapy candle that soon filled the room with subtle lavender when he lit it.
Something in his expression softened - just a fraction - as he poured oil into his palms. "Relax," came his deep voice, hands rubbing together with practiced ease. "This won't hurt much." The rich scent of eucalyptus mixed with lavender as I watched his strong fingers work, and against all logic, a flutter of anticipation stirred beneath my ribs. Maybe this would actually help my aching back.
Then came the instruction I'd been dreading: "Jacket off."
Beneath it, my thin camisole might as well have been tissue paper - the plunging neckline and open back suddenly feeling more scandalous than complete nudity. My protest died on my lips when I saw the oil shimmering on his hands. Direct contact required. And really - my husband was just outside. This was medical. Professional.
The jacket slid off with reluctant fingers. The mirror caught my reflection - the exaggerated arch of my waist in this position, the flush creeping up my neck. I ducked my head, but Ryan wasn't done. "Pull up the camisole. Need access to your lumbar region."
Suddenly I might as well have been wearing just my white cotton pants. The pillow swallowed my muffled groan as the candle's scent intensified, wrapping around us both. Then - the shocking warmth of his broad palms settling firmly on my bare skin, the oil slick between us. Every nerve ending stood at attention.
I swallowed hard as the atmosphere shifted - suddenly intimate, charged with something I couldn't name. The crisp hospital corners of the bed dug into my clenched fists while Ryan moved about with infuriating calm. His leather bag unzipped with a smooth sound, revealing an aromatherapy candle that soon filled the room with subtle lavender when he lit it.
Something in his expression softened - just a fraction - as he poured oil into his palms. "Relax," came his deep voice, hands rubbing together with practiced ease. "This won't hurt much." The rich scent of eucalyptus mixed with lavender as I watched his strong fingers work, and against all logic, a flutter of anticipation stirred beneath my ribs. Maybe this would actually help my aching back.
Then came the instruction I'd been dreading: "Jacket off."
Beneath it, my thin camisole might as well have been tissue paper - the plunging neckline and open back suddenly feeling more scandalous than complete nudity. My protest died on my lips when I saw the oil shimmering on his hands. Direct contact required. And really - my husband was just outside. This was medical. Professional.
The jacket slid off with reluctant fingers. The mirror caught my reflection - the exaggerated arch of my waist in this position, the flush creeping up my neck. I ducked my head, but Ryan wasn't done. "Pull up the camisole. Need access to your lumbar region."
Suddenly I might as well have been wearing just my white cotton pants. The pillow swallowed my muffled groan as the candle's scent intensified, wrapping around us both. Then - the shocking warmth of his broad palms settling firmly on my bare skin, the oil slick between us. Every nerve ending stood at attention.
End of My Brother-in-Law’s Postpartum Massage Trap Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to My Brother-in-Law’s Postpartum Massage Trap book page.