The Consultant’s Postpartum Trap - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
You are reading The Consultant’s Postpartum Trap, Chapter 2: Chapter 2. Read more chapters of The Consultant’s Postpartum Trap.
Even fully clothed, lying on my back before a stranger had my nerves on edge. My fingers dug into the sofa cushions, restless and unsure where to settle.
Ethan's soft chuckle broke the silence. "Just relax, Mrs. Laurent. You can lift your top now."
I gave a tight nod, catching my lower lip between my teeth as I slowly raised my shirt. The cool air hit my swollen breasts, making me acutely aware of their exposure.
His gaze lingered with unmistakable appreciation—like he'd stumbled upon something priceless. And truth be told, I knew they were nice. Already a C-cup before pregnancy, they'd filled out even more after childbirth.
The way he looked at me—so openly, so intently—left me feeling like a specimen under glass. Heat flooded my cheeks. "Dr. Roscente," I murmured, shifting slightly, "shouldn't we... begin?"
He blinked as if coming back to himself, that practiced doctor's smile returning. "Of course. You're quite lovely." The comment hung between us, its meaning unclear.
Then his cool fingers touched my skin.
"Ah—" I jerked instinctively.
"Very sensitive," he observed, sounding almost... amused? My face burned hotter. I stared at the ceiling, the walls, anywhere but at him.
Noticing my discomfort, he produced a black eye mask. "This might help you relax during the treatment."
After a beat, I agreed. Staring at him for two hours sounded like torture. When he moved to place it on me, I intercepted. "I-I can do it."
Darkness brought relief. Without sight, every sensation amplified—especially where his skilled hands worked. And damn, the man knew what he was doing. His touch was perfect—firm enough to relieve the ache but gentle where needed.
As the minutes passed, his palms grew warmer, his movements more deliberate. My postpartum body reacted with embarrassing intensity, heat pooling low in my belly. Thank God for the mask hiding my flushed face.
Then—without warning—he pressed hard near my armpit.
A moan slipped out before I could stop it. I slapped a hand over my traitorous mouth, ears flaming.
"Blocked duct," came his calm explanation. His voice dropped lower. "And Mrs. Laurent? Don't suppress your reactions. This is entirely natural."
I wanted to disappear. Right through the damn massage table.
Ethan's soft chuckle broke the silence. "Just relax, Mrs. Laurent. You can lift your top now."
I gave a tight nod, catching my lower lip between my teeth as I slowly raised my shirt. The cool air hit my swollen breasts, making me acutely aware of their exposure.
His gaze lingered with unmistakable appreciation—like he'd stumbled upon something priceless. And truth be told, I knew they were nice. Already a C-cup before pregnancy, they'd filled out even more after childbirth.
The way he looked at me—so openly, so intently—left me feeling like a specimen under glass. Heat flooded my cheeks. "Dr. Roscente," I murmured, shifting slightly, "shouldn't we... begin?"
He blinked as if coming back to himself, that practiced doctor's smile returning. "Of course. You're quite lovely." The comment hung between us, its meaning unclear.
Then his cool fingers touched my skin.
"Ah—" I jerked instinctively.
"Very sensitive," he observed, sounding almost... amused? My face burned hotter. I stared at the ceiling, the walls, anywhere but at him.
Noticing my discomfort, he produced a black eye mask. "This might help you relax during the treatment."
After a beat, I agreed. Staring at him for two hours sounded like torture. When he moved to place it on me, I intercepted. "I-I can do it."
Darkness brought relief. Without sight, every sensation amplified—especially where his skilled hands worked. And damn, the man knew what he was doing. His touch was perfect—firm enough to relieve the ache but gentle where needed.
As the minutes passed, his palms grew warmer, his movements more deliberate. My postpartum body reacted with embarrassing intensity, heat pooling low in my belly. Thank God for the mask hiding my flushed face.
Then—without warning—he pressed hard near my armpit.
A moan slipped out before I could stop it. I slapped a hand over my traitorous mouth, ears flaming.
"Blocked duct," came his calm explanation. His voice dropped lower. "And Mrs. Laurent? Don't suppress your reactions. This is entirely natural."
I wanted to disappear. Right through the damn massage table.
End of The Consultant’s Postpartum Trap Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to The Consultant’s Postpartum Trap book page.