The Fantasy Maker
he whispered into her ear, the chosen oil, a softly scented sage this time, glistening on his hands.
His hands were warm, strong, as he began to knead the muscles in her neck. She sighed as she settled into the moment, letting the feel of his hands take away any lingering inhibitions from her tortured mind. It seemed to last forever, this perfect massage, but was over too fast. Before she knew it, he was smiling into her eyes, his hands sliding slowly under the towel that covered her full breasts.
"Tell me your fantasies," he said.
Emma ran a hand slowly under his arm, caressing the tender skin of his wrist. "I don't have one," she said.