"I’m glad it pleases you," Sol said, watching the way her throat moved as she swallowed. He reached out, wiping away a smear of oil from her chin with his thumb, lingering for a moment on her lower lip. The skin was incredibly soft, and moist.
He did that because he knew people in this era didn’t mind stuff like this.
Evara sighed, leaning into his touch, closing her eyes to savor the contact. But then, a shadow crossed her face. She winced, rolling her neck with a small grimace of pain, her hand reaching up to rub at her shoulder blade.
"Ah... damn this weaving," she complained softly, the pleasure momentarily forgotten.
"Pain?" Sol asked with concern, withdrawing his hand.
"My shoulders," she muttered, kneading the muscle. "They get stiff as old wood after sitting and working all day. Being alone means doing everything yourself... gathering, weaving, fixing the roof. It can take a toll." She let out a tired laugh. "Sometimes I feel like a young woman in an old body."
Hearing this, Sol knew that it was opening."I can help with that," he said softly.
Evara looked at him, surprised. "Help? How? Unless you can weave baskets with your toes, the work still needs doing."
"Not the work," Sol corrected. "The pain. I know a technique... a way of using hands to release the tension in the body. To untie the knots in the muscle. It’s called massage."
The word sounded foreign and exotic in this era, like a spell.
Evara hesitated, a flicker of skepticism crossing her face. She pulled her shoulder back slightly, rubbing the sore spot.
"Massage?" she repeated, the word rolling awkwardly off her tongue. "I’ve never heard of it. And... no, no, I couldn’t ask that of you. You’ve already cooked for me, and you’re still recovering yourself. I can’t turn you into my servant just because my back aches. I am used to the pain."
Sol knew this was the critical moment. He needed to bypass her logic and appeal to something she couldn’t argue with.
He put on his most innocent, devout expression. He widened his eyes, letting the firelight catch them to make them look earnest and watery. He transformed from the confident chef into a young man who simply wanted to serve the community—a martyr for the greater good.
"It’s not a burden, Evara," he said passionately, placing a hand over his heart as if swearing an oath. "It is... a calling. When I was unconscious in the darkness, the ancestors showed me many things. They showed me how the body flows like a river, and how knots block the water, causing pain. They taught me how to clear them. They told me, ’Sol, heal those who suffer.’"
He took her hand, pressing it between his own warm palms. His touch was firm but gentle, conveying a sense of safety.
"Please," he urged gently, looking deep into her silver eyes. "Let me do this for you. Consider it... gratitude for being such a good neighbor to my aunt all these years. It would make the spirits happy to see me using their gift. To deny the gift is to deny them."
Evara looked at him, her skepticism melting under the heat of his gaze and the mention of the ancestors. In this era, the ancestors were absolute. No one would ever lie by mentioning them; it was taboo. And truth be told, she really was exhausted. Her back hurt more and more these days, a dull ache that never really went away, and this handsome young man was offering to help her so sincerely. She felt bad rejecting his good intentions.
"Well..." she bit her lip, looking at his hands, then at his earnest face. "If the ancestors insist... who am I to say no to the spirits?"
"Exactly," Sol smiled warmly, a beam of pure, helpful sunshine. "The spirits know best."
"Now," she asked, her voice softening. "Tell me what to do?"
"Just lie down," Sol instructed, his voice dropping to a soothing, hypnotic way. "On your stomach. Let yourself go completely limp. Trust me."
Evara nodded. She stood up and moved to the pile of furs, adjusting them to make a soft, even bed near the fire. Then, she lowered herself down.
She lay on her front, resting her cheek on her folded arms, closing her eyes with a sigh.
The sight nearly stopped Sol’s heart.
Lying prone, the thin fiber wrap she wore pulled tight against her body. It left nothing to the imagination; it merely colored it in. The fabric highlighted everything... the deep, elegant dip of her spine, the wide, fertile flair of her hips, and the magnificent, heart-stopping curve of her firm, round buttocks.
Because she was lying down, the wrap hiked up slightly, exposing the entirety of her toned legs...legs built from years of walking the wilderness, smooth and powerful. The firelight danced over her skin, turning her into a landscape of copper hills and shadowed valleys waiting to be explored.
Sol gulped. He felt something rising....rapidly and it definitely wasn’t the Shield Hero.
It pressed against his loincloth with an enthusiastic vigor that had nothing to do with spiritual healing.
"Okay," Sol croaked, shaking his hands out to steady them and forcing his breathing to remain even. "Relax, Evara. I’m going to start now."
He shuffled forward on his knees until he was positioned right beside her hip. The heat radiating from her body was almost a tangible physical wave that washed over him. He took a deep breath, trying to control himself, trying to recall the techniques he had seen in countless... educational videos from his past life.
Even though those videos usually skipped the actual massage part after about thirty seconds, but after watching them countless times, he still remembered the basics. Thumbs. Circles. Pressure and straight into pussy...ahem... no, no, no, focus... straight into the pressure point.
He reached out and placed his hands on her bare shoulders.
Her skin was incredibly smooth, hot to the touch, and slick with a sheen of perspiration from the earlier meal. But beneath that softness, he could feel the tension. Her muscles were coiled tight as bowstrings, knotted from years of hard labor... weaving, gathering, carrying water.
He didn’t start gently. He dug his thumbs into the trapezius muscles at the base of her neck and pressed down hard.
"Ahhh!"
Evara let out a sharp, pained cry that was half-moan, half-yelp. She flinched violently, twisting her head to look back at him, her silver eyes wide and watery.
"Sol!" she gasped, her voice trembling. "That... that hurts! Is this right? It feels like you’re bruising the bone!"
Sol didn’t stop. He kept the pressure consistent, his face a mask of serene, professional focus.
"It’s okay," he soothed, his voice calm and authoritative. "You feel the pain because the knots are fighting back. The bad energy is trapped in the muscle, Evara. It has to be pushed out."
He leaned his weight into his hands, using his body leverage to drive his thumbs deeper.
"Just endure it," he whispered, meeting her gaze. "The first time always hurts. But if you breathe through it... the pleasure that follows will be worth it."