Fernando walks to the other side of the room and rattles around a little, and I realize that I didn’t even tell him what I want. But when he comes back, he is holding in his hands a cool glass of some kind of exciting liquid. It starts off bright orange at the bottom and ascends through to a bright red at the top, just like a sunset.
“A mock tail for the señorita,” he says, with a grin. “All of the juice that you need to stay healthy, while you relax.”
I take a sip and hum in appreciation. It's absolutely delicious. I detect the taste of orange juice, as well as something more exotic I think it may be mango, or something similar like that. All of the flavors combined have to be the best fruit juice that I have ever tasted, and I don't think it's even just a result of the fact that the day is special and my view is biased. It really is totally delicious.
By the time I’m halfway through my drink, the machines at my hands and feet switch off and Fernando raises an eyebrow. “It seems that it’s time for señorita’s massage,” he says.
I can barely even move as it is – my whole body has relaxed into a kind of jelly, just so calm and happy that I don’t know if I have bones anymore. A massage might not be totally necessary. But when Fernando moves behind me and sinks his hands into my shoulders, kneading and pulling at them, I can’t help but moan in delight.
It seems I do have room for a little massage, after all.
He moves the table back to give me room and then offers me his hands, gently lifting me to my feet from the chair. I almost want to collapse against him. I'm that relaxed, I think I could fall asleep in about one second flat if he was to lead me to bed.
Except that that very thought makes my pulse quicken. The two of us in bed. Yes, I think this is a train of thought I would very happily follow. I look up into his eyes, hoping that he will see in mine just how much I appreciate his efforts - and how willing I am for the rest of this evening to move along quite swiftly.
“Allow me,” he says, moving a touch closer. His hands go to my neck and I feel my cheeks flush, my heartbeat racing. Yes, I think, touch me.
His hands slip over my back and finds the zipper on the back of my dress. He keeps eye contact with me as he very slowly unzips it, all the way to the bottom. Then, with reverent care, he slowly slips both sides of the straps down over my shoulders, until the top of the dress comes away from my body and leaves my bra exposed.
I tilt my face up at him, looking at him under heavy eyelids. “I thought there were more steps to this spa day,” I say. “Are you skipping to the end?”
“Of course not,” he says, though one of his hands comes up to brush the pad of his thumb across my lower lip. “You have to be undressed for a massage, don’t you? I wouldn’t want to ruin this pretty dress with oils.”
“I have one that is much prettier now,” I tell him, willing him to give up and kiss me. I’m ready. I don’t need anything else. Today has already been so special – and I want him more and more with each touch of his hands on my skin.
“All the same,” he says, casting a critical eye down to my hips, where the rest of the fabric still hangs. “We should get it to safety.”
He pulls it down, going down onto one knee rather than bending, to carefully slid it off my hips and to the floor. There, he helps me step out of it, every movement measured and graceful. As if I’m made of some special expensive porcelain, too delicate to be treated with anything but the most dedicated care.
“What about these?” I say, gesturing to my underwear which is now all I’m wearing. “I wouldn’t want to get them stained, either.”
“I can be very careful,” Fernando says, leaning his head down to trail his lips along the side of my neck and down across my shoulder. “You can count on me for that.”
“Better to be safe,” I say, feeling as though we are both playing a game. A game in which we both know the rules, and our parts, without saying them, him to be respectful and deferential, me to casually deliver every excuse for further nakedness.
“As you wish,” he says, his hands ghosting over the bare skin of my back and making me shudder deliciously before they find the hook of my bra strap. He doesn’t even fumble as he undoes the hook and then leans back again, to slowly slide it off my shoulders as before, eventually taking my bra by the straps and pulling it away gently to be discarded on the chair with my dress.