“What?” She asked.I sat up.“Roll over.” I said to her.“What?” She asked.“Roll over.” I repeated.“You wanna look at my butt.” She p...otested.“I can see your butt just fine like this.” I pointed out. “No, what I want to do is give you a massage to relax you first.” I said.“R ... really?” She asked.“Can’t get you off if you’re so wound up you can reach an orgasm.” I said.“Oh.” She said as she rolled over.She pulled off her shirt and tossed it to the ground as I got up and rummaged through the. And the chemistry. Oh, the chemistry. Several times, remembering his touch, the things he whispered at her neck, drove her to seek release at her own hands. Maybe this was some hormonal rebellion against more than a year of sporadic, platonic dating. Maybe. No, she should have called Sasha. Michelle, being the happily married, hopeless romantic that she was, would have spun all kinds of flowery possibilities. No doubt she would dispense advice on how to make this into more than it was.. More

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