Evara looked at him, biting her lower lip. The strange taste of food showed that he really was blessed, and this made her hesitate. She whimpered, but she turned her head back around, burying her face in her folded arms.
"Okay," she muffled into her arm. "I trust you. Get it out."
Sol smiled. "Good girl."
He resumed the work. At first, his movements were clumsy, purely amateurish mimicry. But as he worked, he began to feel the rhythm of her body. He felt where the muscles were hard as stone and focused there, grinding his thumbs in slow, deliberate circles.
"Breathe," he instructed.
Evara let out a long, shuddering exhale.
And then, the magic happened.
Under his relentless pressure, the first knot in her shoulder gave way. The muscle suddenly went slack, softening like wax under a flame.
Evara let out a sound that was entirely different from her earlier cry.
"Ohhh..."
It was a long, drawn-out sigh of relief that started in her chest and vibrated through the floor. Her shoulders dropped inches. Her toes curled into the furs.
"That..." she mumbled, her voice slurring slightly. "That feels... strange. Good. Like fire melting ice."
"That is the blessing," Sol lied smoothly, but internally breathing a sigh of relief, ’seems like this massage is really working,’as he moved his hands down to her shoulder blades and continued his nonsense. "The ancestors call it... ’Deep Tissue’."
She just moaned in response, not understanding the word, but still felt that it was something great.
To a woman of the primitive era, who had only ever known rough sleeping mats and hard labor, this was a revelation. No one touched each other like this. Touch was for mating or fighting. This calculated, therapeutic intimacy was a sensation so new, so overwhelming, that it felt divine.
On the other hand, seeing her reaction, he grew bolder, straddled her thighs...carefully keeping his weight on his knees so he wouldn’t crush her...to get better leverage. The position was incredibly compromising. Her firm, round buttocks were pressed against his shins; her back was a canvas spread out before him.
He used the heel of his hands now, pushing down along either side of her spine. He could feel everything... the strong, ropy muscles of her back, the incredible heat of her skin, the way she twitched and melted under his touch.
The scent of her... that intoxicating floral musk intensified by the heat... filled his nose.
"Lower," Evara whispered, almost unconsciously. "A bit... lower."
Sol happily obliged. His hands glided down the curve of her spine, past the dip of her waist, and rested on the swell of her hips. Through the thin fiber wrap, he kneaded the flesh there, his fingers digging in.
"Mnnngh..." Evara moaned, her hips bucking slightly off the furs to meet his pressure. "Yes... there. Sol... by the spirits... your hands are magic."
But Sol gritted his teeth, for him, it was both a torture and a heaven.
His hands were learning the map of her body... the softness, the strength, the way she responded to him. Every moan she made was a log on the fire of his own arousal. He looked down at the landscape of her body... the way the firelight danced on her sweat-slicked skin, the way the thin fabric clung to her ass... and felt a dangerous pressure building in his loincloth.
This was no longer just a massage. It was foreplay disguised as medicine. And the patient was overdosing.
Even though his hands worked rhythmically, kneading the plush flesh of her hips, but his mind was no longer focused on knots or tension. It was entirely focused on the texture of her skin...softer than the finest silk, yet resilient and firm under his palms. The heat radiating from her was infectious, seeping into his own blood, making his pulse hammer in his ears.
Not controlling any longer, he decided to test the limits and leaned forward, ostensibly to apply more pressure to her lower back, but the movement brought his body flush against hers.
He couldn’t help it. He let his hips sink lower.
Through the rough fabric of his loincloth, the hard ridge of his cock pressed against the soft, yielding curve of her buttocks. It was a subtle contact at first...a grazing friction with the rhythm of his massage strokes.
Evara stiffened for a fraction of a second. Her breath hitched in her throat.
Sol froze, waiting for a reprimand, ready to pull back and apologize for his "clumsiness."
But the reprimand never came. Instead, Evara let out a shaky exhale and arched her back slightly, pushing herself into the contact.
That small, silent permission broke the last bit of his restraint.
He groaned low in his throat, a sound lost in the crackle of the fire. He resumed his movements, but the "massage" had changed fundamental nature. He was no longer just using his hands; he was using his whole body. With every downward stroke of his palms, he ground his hips forward, dragging his hardness against the valley of her behind.
It was maddeningly good. The friction was muted by the fabric, but the heat was undeniable.
"Is... is this part of the technique?" Evara gasped, her voice breathless and tight.
"Yes," Sol lied, his voice rougher than before. "I have to... use my body weight. To get deep."
" deeper..." she whimpered into her arms.
He hummed in approval as his hands grew even more unscrupulous. They wandered away from the safe zones of the spine and shoulders. His thumbs traced the dimples of her lower back, then slid outward, gripping the full, heavy sides of her waist. His fingers dug in, claiming the soft flesh, molding her like clay.
He slid his hands lower, over the soft swell of her ass, kneading the powerful muscles there under the pretense of "releasing tension." He felt her tremble beneath him, her legs shifting restlessly on the furs.
Not noticing any resistance, he slowly slid his hands higher. He moved up her ribcage, his thumbs grazing the sides of her breasts where they pressed against the furs.