Remington's voice grew even huskier.
"You've lost too much weight. I miss my curves."
Lizetta let out a soft sound of agreement. Her entire body felt delightfully pliant under his expert massage, the rhythmic pressure making her wonderfully drowsy.
It took her a delayed second to realize what he had just said.
Curves...
She looked down, immediately flushing with embarrassment. Parting her lips, she bit lightly into his shoulder and demanded.
"Take it out! I don't need a massage there!"
Without her noticing, his hand had brazenly slipped from her back to her front.
It was fine when she hadn't realized it, but now that she had, her body reacted as if it had been forcefully awakened.
Her skin burned, and she cast a guilty glance toward the door, terrified someone might walk in.
Instead of stopping, Remington's touch grew even more daring. He leaned in, chuckling softly against her ear.
"I'm the massage therapist. I decide where to press."
His hot breath rushed into her ear, sending a deep shudder of electricity down her spine.
Flustered, Lizetta bit him again, shoving him away with all her might. She fell back against the pillows, glaring at him with reddened eyes.
"Liar! You shameless jerk!"
Claiming he was just giving her a massage when he clearly had an ulterior motive—and she had actually believed him!
Lizetta hurriedly straightened her rumpled hospital gown. Her tone was meant to be furious, but her soft, breathless voice completely robbed the words of any threat, turning them into a coquettish whine.
Remington's eyes turned predatory. Catching her frantic hands, he leaned over and pinned her against the mattress.
"It feels like it's been a lifetime, baby. Tell me you don't want this."



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