Ross started at her ankles—slow circles around the bones—then glided up the backs of her calves, thumbs pressing into the muscle there until she sighed.
Higher still: the sensitive hollow behind her knees, the thick meat of her hamstrings.
When he reached her inner thighs, his touch stayed firm but careful, brushing close enough to the heat between her legs that she felt the ghost of contact, the promise of more.
Anita's breathing had turned shallow, ragged.
Her hips shifted unconsciously, seeking pressure she couldn't name.
The oil made her skin gleam under the low light; every glide of his hands sent fresh heat pooling low in her belly.
Her pussy throbbed—already slick, already aching—even though he hadn't touched her there yet.
Ross leaned closer, chest brushing her lower back for a heartbeat.
"You're so tense here," he whispered, fingers skimming the crease where thigh met ass. "Let me take care of that too."
