El Toque del Sanador

The massage table creaked under my weight as I lay face-down, the paper sheet rustling beneath my bare skin. The room smelled of lavender and sandalwood, soft ambient music floating through hidden speakers. I'd booked this session online, not knowing who my therapist would be.

"Maya."

I froze. That voice. I'd know it anywhere—three years since I'd heard it, but it still made my stomach tighten the same way.

"Liam?" I whispered, turning my head to look over my shoulder.

There he stood, dark hair tied back, wearing loose linen pants and a fitted tank top that showed off the arms I used to trace with my fingers in the dark. He looked... older. Sharper. His jaw was tense.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was flat, professional, but I caught the flicker in his eyes.

"Fuck," I breathed. "I didn't know you worked here. I swear."

"Doesn't matter." He stepped closer, his bare feet silent on the heated floor. "You're already here. I'm already scheduled. Unless you want to leave."

I should have said yes. I should have gotten up, grabbed my clothes, and walked out. But my body didn't move. My pulse was hammering, and between my thighs, a familiar warmth was blooming.

"No," I heard myself say. "Stay."

He didn't answer. He just moved to the head of the table, his hands settling on my shoulders. His palms were warm, calloused, and the moment they touched my skin, I shivered.

"Relax," he murmured, but there was an edge to it, like he was telling himself the same thing.

His thumbs worked into the knots at the base of my neck, and I let out a shaky breath. He knew my body. He remembered. And god, so did I.

"Your shoulders are tight," he said, his voice lower now, rougher.

"Haven't been sleeping well."

"Why not?"

Because I dream about you. Because I still smell you on my sheets some nights.

"Just stress," I lied.

He pressed harder, his fingers sliding down my spine, and I arched into his touch. The towel covering my ass shifted, and I felt his breath hitch.

"Maya..."

"Don't stop."

He didn't. His hands moved lower, tracing the curve of my lower back, his thumbs brushing the top of my ass. I bit my lip, my fingers gripping the edge of the table.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, and I heard the pain in his voice.

I turned my head again, looking at him. "Then touch me like you mean it."

Something snapped. His hands gripped my hips, and he flipped me over. The paper crinkled beneath me, and I was on my back, my breasts exposed, my towel barely covering anything. His eyes raked over me, dark and hungry.

"Tell me to stop," he said, but his hands were already sliding up my thighs.

"No."

He leaned down, and his mouth found my neck. I moaned, my head falling back as his tongue traced the line of my jaw, my throat, the hollow of my collarbone. His hands pushed the towel aside, and I was naked beneath him, my legs falling open without hesitation.

"Fuck, I've missed you," he growled against my skin.

"Cállate y bésame."

His mouth crashed into mine, and it was like coming home. His tongue slid against mine, deep and possessive, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He tasted like coffee and mint, and I couldn't get enough.

His hand slid down my stomach, fingers threading through my wetness, and I gasped into his mouth.

"You're soaked," he breathed.

—Es tu culpa.

He chuckled, low and dark, and his finger slid inside me. I cried out, my hips bucking against his hand. He added a second finger, curling them, hitting that spot that made my vision blur.

"¿Así?"

—Sí—, Dios, sí—

He worked me slowly, deliberately, his thumb circling my clit while his fingers pumped in and out. I was whimpering, my nails digging into his shoulders.

"I want to taste you," he said, pulling his hand away.

He moved down, his lips trailing over my stomach, my hips, my inner thighs. I was trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked up at me, his eyes holding mine, and then his tongue touched my clit.

"Fuck—"

He licked me slowly, savoring, and I was already close. His tongue circled, flicked, pressed, and I was grabbing his hair, grinding against his face.

"Don't stop, Liam, please—"

He hummed against me, the vibration sending me over the edge. I came with a scream, my body arching off the table, waves of pleasure crashing through me. He didn't stop, lapping me up until I was shuddering and sensitive.

"Get up," I panted, pulling at his hair. "I need you inside me."

He stood, and I saw the bulge straining against his linen pants. I reached for his waistband, pulling them down, and his cock sprang free—hard, thick, the head glistening.

"Condom?"

He grabbed one from the drawer beside the table, ripping it open. I took it from him, rolling it down his shaft slowly, watching his eyes flutter closed.

"Fuck, Maya."

I lay back, spreading my legs. "Take me."

He positioned himself at my entrance, and I felt the head of his cock pressing against me. He pushed in, inch by inch, and I gasped at the fullness. He was big, and it had been so long.

"You feel—" he groaned, his forehead dropping to mine. "So goddamn good."

"Move."

He thrust, slow at first, building a rhythm. My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. His pace quickened, his hips slapping against mine, the sound wet and obscene.

"Harder," I begged.

He grabbed my thighs, driving into me with a force that made the table creak. I was moaning, incoherent, my nails raking down his back.

"I'm gonna come," he warned, his voice strained.

"Inside me. Fill me up."

He cursed, his thrusts becoming erratic, and then he groaned deep and long, his body shuddering against mine. I felt him pulse inside me, and the feeling of his release sent me over the edge again, my orgasm ripping through me.

We lay there, tangled, breathing hard. The music still played, soft and oblivious.

He pulled out slowly, disposing of the condom, and lay beside me on the narrow table. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close.

"I should go," I whispered.

"Stay."

I looked at him, at the vulnerability in his eyes. "For a little while."

He kissed my forehead, and I closed my eyes, feeling his heart beat against my back.

When the door opened, we both froze.

A woman in a white coat stood in the doorway, her eyes wide. "Liam? You have a client in five minutes."

He didn't move. "Cancel them."