“I can think of something that’ll help you relax.” Christian did as I asked. “Another massage?” he drawled, but his eyes darkened when I sank onto my knees before him. “Sort of.” I reached for his belt. His hand gripped my wrist before I made contact, and the air shifted into something heavier, more condensed. “What,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough pitch that made my thighs clench, “are you doing?”
