My Brother-in-Law’s Postpartum Massage Trap - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading My Brother-in-Law’s Postpartum Massage Trap, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of My Brother-in-Law’s Postpartum Massage Trap.
My husband's whispered suggestions sent heat rushing to my cheeks—positions we'd never tried before, promises of what awaited me later with the yoga ball.
Maybe it was because my husband had casually mentioned it to Ryan, but after that, my brother-in-law started showing up every few days like clockwork. At first, it was awkward, but soon, I settled into the rhythm of it. To Ryan, maybe I was just another client—nothing more.
He never crossed the line, even when my husband wasn't in the room. The most he ever did was steady me from behind when I wobbled on the yoga ball.
A month in, the changes were undeniable. The faint outline of abs had appeared, my curves sharper, my body firmer in all the right places. Ryan even said I had the perfect frame for fitness—effortless curves, sleek lines. My husband noticed too—his gaze lingered longer, his touch grew hungrier.
Another month passed, and Ryan and I fell into an easy routine. But today, he arrived earlier than usual, carrying a larger case. The moment he stepped in, my husband took our child to the living room, leaving us to it.
I stripped down to my fitted workout clothes while Ryan set the case on the bay window. He lit an aromatherapy candle—stronger than before. When I raised a brow, he shrugged. "Old blend's out of stock."
He peeled off his jacket, revealing a tight short-sleeve shirt that clung to every muscle. Even after all this time, his physique still stole my breath.
I lay back on the bed, exposing my stomach, but something felt off—drowsiness crept in. Ryan's hands moved over me, kneading deeper than usual. His touch drifted lower, and a flicker of unease sparked in my chest. But the candle's scent lulled me, dulling my instincts.
His gaze burned hotter than ever—like I was something to be admired, coveted.
"Almost fully restored," he murmured. "So tight."
The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine. I forced a smile, thanking him quickly, already calculating an exit. If the massages weren't necessary anymore, I needed distance.
Something about him felt dangerous now.
His eyes flicked to the closed door, his lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. Then, without warning, his fingers brushed through my hair.
I froze.
The next second, he leaned down, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered,
"Now that you're all fixed up... shouldn't I get to enjoy the results?"
Maybe it was because my husband had casually mentioned it to Ryan, but after that, my brother-in-law started showing up every few days like clockwork. At first, it was awkward, but soon, I settled into the rhythm of it. To Ryan, maybe I was just another client—nothing more.
He never crossed the line, even when my husband wasn't in the room. The most he ever did was steady me from behind when I wobbled on the yoga ball.
A month in, the changes were undeniable. The faint outline of abs had appeared, my curves sharper, my body firmer in all the right places. Ryan even said I had the perfect frame for fitness—effortless curves, sleek lines. My husband noticed too—his gaze lingered longer, his touch grew hungrier.
Another month passed, and Ryan and I fell into an easy routine. But today, he arrived earlier than usual, carrying a larger case. The moment he stepped in, my husband took our child to the living room, leaving us to it.
I stripped down to my fitted workout clothes while Ryan set the case on the bay window. He lit an aromatherapy candle—stronger than before. When I raised a brow, he shrugged. "Old blend's out of stock."
He peeled off his jacket, revealing a tight short-sleeve shirt that clung to every muscle. Even after all this time, his physique still stole my breath.
I lay back on the bed, exposing my stomach, but something felt off—drowsiness crept in. Ryan's hands moved over me, kneading deeper than usual. His touch drifted lower, and a flicker of unease sparked in my chest. But the candle's scent lulled me, dulling my instincts.
His gaze burned hotter than ever—like I was something to be admired, coveted.
"Almost fully restored," he murmured. "So tight."
The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine. I forced a smile, thanking him quickly, already calculating an exit. If the massages weren't necessary anymore, I needed distance.
Something about him felt dangerous now.
His eyes flicked to the closed door, his lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. Then, without warning, his fingers brushed through my hair.
I froze.
The next second, he leaned down, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered,
"Now that you're all fixed up... shouldn't I get to enjoy the results?"
End of My Brother-in-Law’s Postpartum Massage Trap Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to My Brother-in-Law’s Postpartum Massage Trap book page.