Free Web NovelChapter 15: Siren Stronghold [ 11 ] [R-18]
She shifted on the table, adjusting her position. Her pants had ridden up slightly, exposing her calves. They were solid and muscular.
His tentacle reached the edge of the table and paused there, waiting again.
"You carry a lot of tension in your lower back," he said, pressing his palms flat against the spot just above her waistband.
Her hand shot back and grabbed his wrist. Fast. Combat-trained fast. Her grip could’ve cracked a walnut.
"I said don’t go near my ass."
"Your lower back isn’t your ass. It’s just your lower back. Thought you’d know that, with all those muscles you’re carrying and all."
She held his wrist for three more seconds. Then released it.
"Fine. Lower back only."
"Yes ma’am."
He pressed into the area just above her hips, and the sound she made was involuntary. A low, guttural groan that she immediately tried to swallow. Her ears turned red.
He worked the area with both hands, using his body weight to apply deep pressure. Each push drew another micro-reaction from her. A twitch. A caught breath. Her fingers curling against the table surface. She was fighting it. Fighting the relief.
The tentacle slid onto the table, thin as a ribbon, and pressed against the sole of her left foot.
She didn’t notice at first. His hands were doing too much, commanding too much of her attention. The tentacle traced along her arch with featherlight pressure, and she shifted her foot slightly, probably thinking it was a wrinkle in the sheet.
Then it pressed harder. Right into the pressure point at the center of her sole.
Her toes curled.
"What..."
"Reflexology," Nacho said without missing a beat. This one, he actually remembered reading before. "Works in tandem with the spinal decompression or something. It’s an eastern technique."
"Eastern? From where?"
"East."
She lifted her head slightly, trying to look back at him. He pressed both thumbs into a particularly nasty knot at the base of her spine, and her head dropped back down with a grunt.
"That hurts."
"Pain before progress. Military woman like you should appreciate that."
"Don’t patronize me."
The tentacle wrapped gently around her ankle. Not gripping. Just resting there. Warm. Pulsing slightly with the Charm amplification from his First Tentacle.
[First Tentacle effect activated. Charm multiplied by 10x. Current effective Charm: 250.]
The change was subtle but immediate. Her breathing slowed another notch. The rigid line of her shoulders softened by a fraction. She didn’t pull her foot away.
"You’re actually decent at this," she muttered into the table.
"Well obviously. Why else would so many women come here just to let me massage them."
"...Don’t let it go to your head."
The tentacle slid up from her ankle to her calf, applying pressure along the muscle. She tensed, then untensed. The internal battle playing out in real time. He read her surface thoughts through Mind Fortress.
What is that? Some kind of tool? It’s warm. Feels... good. I need to focus... I’m here only for the massage. Nothing else.
He let out a chuckle inwardly.
His hands continued their work on her lower back, methodical and thorough. The tentacle kneaded her calf with rolling motions, hitting the trigger points that made her legs twitch. She definitely moved a lot when fighting. The muscle fibers were dense and overworked.
"I don’t usually ask this, but when’s the last time you rested?" he asked.
She scoffed. "What year is it?"
"That bad?"
"The Third Legion doesn’t get days off. We get funerals and field promotions."
"That sounds pretty grim."
"It’s the reality."
The tentacle moved to her other calf. She let out a long breath, her fingers uncurling from the fists she’d unconsciously made. The fight was leaving her body in stages. Like a castle lowering its drawbridge one chain at a time.
"I’m going to work your hamstrings," he said, teasing a little. "Still not your ass though."
"If your hands go above the knee..."
"They won’t."
He shifted his actual hands to her thighs, staying well below the danger zone, working the outer quadriceps through her pants. The tentacle, meanwhile, crept higher. It traced along the back of her knee, that sensitive hollow where the skin was thin, and she inhaled sharply.
"That’s... a weird sensation."
"My tool has a warming function. It also increases blood flow, or so I’ve heard."
"I didn’t ask what it does."
But she didn’t tell him to stop, either. freewebnøvel.com
The tentacle’s warmth seeped through the fabric of her pants. It traced lazy patterns on the back of her knee, and each pass made her shift her hips slightly. Micro-movements. Unconscious. The kind the body makes when it wants more but the brain hasn’t approved the request yet.
He checked her surface thoughts again.
This is inappropriate. I should leave. But my back does feel better, so whatever he’s doing is working. And whatever that warming tool is... no. Stop... You’re a captain. Act like one.
Nacho pulled his hands back and stepped away from the table.
"All done."
She didn’t move.
"Already?"
"That was the standard session. You came in for a massage. I gave you a massage."
She lay there for a long moment. Then pushed herself up on her elbows and looked back at him over her shoulder. Her face was flushed, only a little. Her eyes, pale green, held the slightly unfocused quality of someone who’d been pulled out of a deep sleep.
"What about the warming tool?"
"What about it?"
"You stopped."
Nacho shrugged. "The session’s over."
Her jaw clenched, and he could see the gears turning.
A captain of the Third Legion, Ironcrest Division, was not the kind of woman who asked for things. She gave orders. She took what she wanted. Being put in a position where she had to request something was clearly driving her insane.
"I could extend the session," he offered, hiding his smirk behind his mask. "For the lower body work. You’ve got significant tension in your legs."
"I’m aware of where my tension is."
"So?"
She stared at him for a moment, then said:
"Fine. Extended session. But the rules haven’t changed."
"Wouldn’t dream of it."
She lay back down. This time, she pulled her bun loose. Dark brown and silver hair spilled across the table. A small concession. An unconscious one, maybe.
The tentacle returned to her legs, and this time it didn’t pretend to be a tool. It wrapped around her right calf and squeezed, slow and deliberate, rolling the muscle from ankle to knee. She gripped the edge of the table.
"That’s... stronger than before."
"I turned up the intensity."
"Mmh..."
His actual hands worked her upper back again, creating a circuit of sensation. Top and bottom. His fingers in her shoulders, the tentacle on her legs. She was caught between two points of pleasure, and her discipline was cracking like ice in spring. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
The tentacle slid between her knees. Not aggressively. Just settling there, warm and present, applying gentle outward pressure. Her legs parted by an inch. Then two.
"What are you..."
