Foot massage

The room smelled of warmed oil and Jane sighed the moment he touched her feet. She’d been on them all day. He poured more oil across her arches and began working the heels with both thumbs. She melted back against the pillows while her toes flexed and relaxed under his fingers. He never hurried. He took time on every inch, pressing, rolling, pulling each toe until the day’s ache slipped away. Jane let one leg slide wider without thinking. That was all he needed. He eased forward, hard already, and brought himself to her sole. She felt the heat first, then the slick glide of him between her oiled arches. He fucked her feet slow, watching the oil catch the light with every thrust. Jane kept her legs open and gave him the arch he wanted, heels pressed together. He stayed deliberate until his breath hitched. Then he spilled—thick and hot—across her toes, her ankles, dripping down the sides of her feet. She watched the shine of it, smiled, and lifted her clean foot to his lips for him to kiss.