The Chosen

back.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, Vera,” he began—

“I probably will.”

“—you’re a pretty hot-lookin’ babe.” Then he laughed.

Hot-looking babe. Jesus. “Thank you, Kyle. I’ve never been complimented with such sophistication.”

His hands pushed slow hard circles down over her shoulder blades. “Could use some sun, though. You’re kinda white.”

“It’s the middle of winter, Kyle. What am I supposed to do? Lie out on the back deck in this? I’d be a Bill Blass fuchsia popsicle in about two minutes.”

Now his thumbs teased along her ribs. “I mean the tanning booths. You ought to try ’em out. Get some color.” His thumbs rubbed into the pause. “You really are a beautiful woman.”

Vera tried to frown. Did he think he need only toss a few compliments to have his way? It sounded sincere, though. It sounded nice, simply the way he’d said that. You really are a beautiful woman…

Am I? she thought.

His hands continued in their preliminaries, slowly breaking out her stiffness. The muscles in her back felt constricted, twisted up in their fatigue. But it wasn’t only fatigue; some of it was nervousness. Of course I’m nervous, she realized. There’s a guy I barely know sitting on my ass.

Yes, Vera felt very nervous.

“Relax,” he whispered.

His fingers gently dug into her shoulders and neck, tensing in and out. She stared ahead, her chin propped under her hands. All she could see was darkness. Kyle’s fingers briskly kneaded her, loosening the stiff muscles.

“You’re all knotted up.” His fingers worked lower. “Is that better?”

“Yes,” she murmured.

It felt gorgeous, luxurious. Each probing touch unwound another knot. In moments she felt like warm putty stretched out across the slatted chair.

His voice was so quiet, a distant whisper. “Does that feel better?”

“Yes,” she sighed again.

His long wet hair dripped water onto her back. His fingers kneaded her tense flesh all the way down her spine. Then his palms pushed all the way up in a sensation that seemed to squeeze her remaining tensions out of her like paste from a tube. This is a mistake, she thought. She’d let herself walk right into his trap. A few more minutes of this and he’d be making his move, and right now—relaxed, stretched out, and warmly aroused—she knew she would not resist. She knew she would let him have sex with her.

The swimsuit had no back. Now his fingers worked expertly into the flesh just above her rump.

“See, Dr. Kyle always comes prepared,” he was saying next. “Every convenience for his patients.”

From somewhere he produced a bottle of massage lotion. Vera felt the drops slide down her back. His hands continued then, rubbing the slick oil into her skin. The oil felt warm at first, then hot. Then he hitched down.

The weight rose. She wanted to protest. He was kneeling now at the base of the chair,