🌴 Tropical Permission 📖 Chapter Fifteen: The Massage
Most husbands don’t want another man touching their wife. James isn’t most husbands.
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There was a knock at the door just after two.
Diane opened it in a white robe, loosely tied. Nothing beneath. Her skin still flushed from the sun, her hair twisted up casually at the crown of her head. She smiled as if the man at the door were an old friend.
“Marco,” she said warmly.
He greeted her with a gracious nod, then hesitated as she pulled him into a brief embrace.
“I’m so glad you had time today,” she said, pulling back and smiling coyly. “All this lounging by the pool and sipping cocktails has gotten me tense.”
Marco chuckled. “Well, I’m sure we can work all that out on the table.”
“I have zero doubt about your abilities,” she said, a little flirtatiously. “Please, come on in.”
Marco stepped inside, carrying his folded massage table and a small leather satchel. He took in the villa at a glance—cool and shaded, the curtains drawn against the afternoon glare—and then noticed James.
Diane clocked the moment of recognition and didn’t miss a step.
“James had enough sun for the morning, so, if you don’t mind, he’ll just be hanging out here in the room.”
Marco nodded, polite but clearly taken slightly aback. “Of course, Mrs. Allen. I just wasn’t expecting…”
James stood barefoot by the minibar, a glass of sparkling water in hand, wearing swim trunks and a linen shirt unbuttoned to the chest. He smiled, disarmingly.
James lifted his glass slightly. “James. I’m the husband.”
“Sir,” Marco said, nodding to James while carefully setting down the table.
He hesitated again, then added with an apologetic shrug, “Sorry. Of course it’s okay. It’s just — I’ve been a massage therapist for a while now — and most men… don’t love the idea their wife or girlfriend is being touched by another man.”
James turned to Diane, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not most men.”
“No. You are not.” She laughed, turning to Marco. “He’s very hands-on.”
Marco smiled, relieved but still uncertain. “Whatever you both want. Let me get set up so we can get started.”
Diane moved to the corner of the room while Marco unfolded the table and laid out his towels and oils with practiced care. She watched him, the way his sleeves rode up his forearms, his professional focus, the quiet efficiency of his movements.
When Marco turned to retrieve a bolster from his bag, she untied her robe in one slow, fluid motion.
By the time he turned back around, she was naked.
He blinked once, then looked away calmly. Such a pro, Diane thought.
“Face down, please,” he said. “I’ll adjust the bolster.”
Diane climbed onto the table. The air was cool against her skin. Marco started to lay a modesty towel across low back, but she reached a hand back and stopped him.
“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. I’ve been hot all day,” she said lightly. “Might’ve gotten a little sunburned.”
“However you are most comfortable,” Marco said, his voice composed.
He applied a small amount of oil to his hands and began at her shoulders, working slowly, rhythmically, pressing into the deep muscle. Diane exhaled.
James sank into a nearby chair, watching.
She moaned softly as Marco’s thumbs found a knot beneath her shoulder blade.
“Oh God,” she murmured. “Right there.”
Marco said nothing, but his touch adjusted, calibrated.
“James,” she called lazily, “are you watching?”
He looked up, amused. “Very closely.”
“You should be taking notes,” she said, her voice thick. “His hands feel incredible. So soft, but so strong.”
Marco’s expression didn’t change, but a faint blush rose along his jaw.
Diane groaned again, low and real this time. The pleasure was almost painful.
“You see that?” she asked James, not waiting for an answer. “Right along my hamstring. Jesus.”
Marco’s hands truly felt incredible — like after having worked on her body two days before he know knew exactly how to touch her, how to calibrate his touch to her response.
“I’m serious, honey,” she said to James, mid-moan. “You could learn something from this man.”
James grinned. “Honestly… not a bad idea.”
He stood, walked to the far side of the table, and looked at Marco. “Would you mind showing me some of that technique?”
Marco hesitated. “Of course. If it’s alright with your wife.”
Diane didn’t answer immediately.
She’d started this. She didn’t know where it was going now.
“I wouldn’t mind two sets of hands,” she said. Lightly. Carefully.
James rubbed his hands together. “Teach me the good stuff.”
Marco nodded and repositioned to Diane’s left side, guiding James to the right.
They worked together—Marco demonstrating Swedish techniques on her calves and thighs, showing how to apply pressure with the heel of the palm, how to move with intention and flow. James mimicked him, and Diane melted.
The contrast was intoxicating.
Marco was precise, measured. This is what he did for a living and his skill and professionalism were apparent with every touch.
James was bold. His hands strayed closer to her inner thighs, pressed more firmly into the curves of her glutes, lingered longer across her lower back.
Diane said nothing. But she felt everything.
The brush of both their hands. The deliberate and the daring. Her breath grew louder. Her hips shifted slightly on the table.
She could tell by the way James was touching her, moving her flesh with his hands, that he was trying to show her off to Marco, presenting — showing off — her naked body to another man.
Marco adjusted the angle of her arm. James followed suit. Diane let out a moan charged with hunger.
“Sorry,” Marco said gently, mistaking her growing desire for overstimulation. “Too much pressure?”
“No,” Diane breathed. “It’s perfect.”
James met her eye briefly, but said nothing. He was flushed, his hair falling into his face, his hands gliding just under the curve of her waist now.
Diane thought of Luca and Alessandro.
The second time.
The way they’d circled her. Put her on display for one another. Fed on her. Her naked body a shared delicacy.
She let the memory flood her. Marco’s practiced palms. James’s provocative ones. The wetness pooling between her thighs now, untouched but undeniable.
Finally, Marco stepped back and placed a folded towel near the headrest.
“Shall we continue face up?”
Diane turned over without hesitation. Again, Marco offered modesty towels. Again, Diane waved him away. She laid on her back before him, completely exposed.
James sat back in his chair. Watching.
Marco’s touch resumed at her collarbones, gentle and assured. He worked down the line of her arms, the insides of her wrists, the base of her thumbs. His hands never trembled. Never paused. Never strayed to the places that Diane and James both secretly wished he would.
And yet the intimacy of it was startling.
The pads of his fingers brushed the soft under-curve of her breasts as he adjusted the pressure near her sternum. She didn’t flinch. Neither did he.
James shifted in his chair.
Diane looked at him through heavy eyes. His gaze was darker now. Consuming.
Marco worked her abdomen, the tops of her thighs, her shins. Every inch accounted for. Every nerve awakened. Diane’s moans grew deeper, but they were no longer performative for James’ benefit. She felt every touch reverberate through her whole body, drifting into bliss.
When the session ended, Marco stepped back quietly.
“I’ll give you a moment to dress,” he said. “Take your time.”
Diane didn’t reach for the towel.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice low and relaxed.
He nodded and turned away from her.
Diane slipped off the table and padded into the bathroom, making sure to walk through Marco’s line of sight. She didn’t put the robe back on. She didn’t say a word.
James stood, walking to the door just as Marco finished folding his table and packing up his satchel of oils.
“Thank you so much,” James said. “Seems like you knew exactly what she needed.”
Marco nodded. “Of course, sir. I hope Mrs. Allen was happy with her treatment.”
“I know my wife, Marco. She’s quite happy.”
James pressed a folded hundred dollar bill into his hand.
Marco looked surprised but didn’t protest. “Have a good rest of your stay.”
“Oh,” James said, smiling faintly. “We will.”
He closed the door behind him.
The villa was silent.
Diane hadn’t come out of the bathroom.
James leaned against the door, breath slow, cock hard, everything that happened still vibrating in the air around him — everything that could have happened overwhelming him with desire.
He waited for Diane to open the bathroom door.
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