A Helping Hand (or Two)

"You missed a spot." James’s voice was raw, closer than I’d expected.

I let my fingers pause mid-stroke, the coconut lotion glistening on my inner thigh. Slowly—so slowly—I turned my head toward the window. He stood framed by the sill, shirt sleeves rolled up to expose forearms taut with barely leashed tension. His knuckles whitened around the window latch.

"Did I?" My voice came out breathier than intended. I dragged one fingertip higher, skirting the edge of the turquoise fabric. The afternoon sun burned the back of my neck. "Seems pretty thorough to me."

James exhaled sharply through his nose. His wedding ring caught the light as he gripped the sill, tendons standing out like cables. "Your shoulders." The words sounded forcibly clinical. "Sunburn's a bastard this time of year."

I let my fingers drift upward, tracing slow circles toward my collarbones. The lotion had warmed to the consistency of melted butter—slick and decadent against my skin. "Mmm. You're right." I arched my back deliberately, letting the loose bikini string slip another inch. The triangle fluttered, barely clinging to my nipple. "Could you—?"

James' breath hitched audibly. His fingers flexed against the window frame, the muscles in his forearms twitching like he was physically restraining himself. "Felicity." My name sounded like it had been dragged over gravel.

I blinked up at him with deliberately wide eyes, letting the loosened triangle dangle precariously. "It's hard to reach," I murmured, dragging my lotion-slicked fingers along my own shoulder in demonstration. The string gave another millimeter, the gold ring now brushing the very tip of my nipple. The air between us thickened with every second he didn't look away.

James' throat worked as he swallowed. A vein pulsed at his temple. For three agonizing heartbeats, he remained frozen—then shoved away from the window with a curse muffled by gritted teeth. The office door slammed seconds later, shaking the house foundation.

I smiled against the sun-warmed lounger, fingertips still skating along my collarbone. Footsteps pounded down the hallway—too heavy, too fast—before the garden door crashed open. The scent of his aftershave hit me first: bergamot and something darker, musky with sweat.

James loomed over me, blocking the sun. His knuckles were bloodless where they gripped the sunscreen bottle he'd snatched from the patio table. "Turn over." The command came out ragged, his chest rising and falling like he'd sprinted here.

The lounger groaned as I shifted onto my stomach, letting the loose bikini top slide further askew. His breath hitched—audible even over the rustling palms overhead. Small drops of lotion landed between my shoulder blades, startlingly cold where they touched sun-heated skin.

James’ hands settled on me like brands. Calluses scraped my bare shoulders as he worked the lotion in rough circles, his grip bordering on painful. The scent of coconut mixed with his sweat—heady and primal. His thumbs dug into the ridges of my spine, lower with each pass.

"You're—" His voice cracked. "—tense."

My cheek pressed against the lounger's warm wooden slats, my breath shallow as his thumbs kneaded the base of my neck. "A-Levels," I murmured, arching slightly into his touch. "Been... stressful." The lie tasted like coconut oil on my tongue. His hands stilled for a fraction of a second before resuming with renewed pressure, skimming the edge of my bikini strap.

"Sarah," I breathed, flexing my shoulder blades as his fingers dipped lower. "Do you... rub her down like this?" The question hung between us, thick as the sunscreen glistening on my skin. His wedding ring caught sunlight when he hesitated—just long enough for me to feel the tremor in his fingertips.

James exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging his palms down my spine in one rough stroke. The friction burned deliciously, his calluses catching on the delicate strings crisscrossing my back. "No." The word came out clipped, strained. His thumbs pressed into the dimples just above my bikini bottoms, kneading with a pressure that made my toes curl.

"She’s not—" His fingers faltered for a heartbeat before digging in harder. "Not into sunbathing." The lie was brittle, obvious in the way his pulse jumped against my skin. I turned my head just enough to glimpse his reflection in the sliding doors—jaw clenched, gaze locked on the strip of golden skin between his hands and my bikini ties.

"That’s a shame." My voice came out breathy as his thumbs circled the twin dimples above my arse. "I bet she’d love feeling your hands like this." The lotion squelched between his fingers when I arched deliberately, pressing back into his touch. "All that hospital stress... must be exhausting."

James made a sound in his throat—half growl, half groan—and dragged his palms down to the hem of my bikini bottoms in one rough stroke. His fingertips lingered there, hot and trembling against the sensitive skin of my upper thighs. The scent of coconut mingled with his sweat now, heady and thick in the afternoon heat.

"Better?" His voice was raw, stripped down to something barely recognizable.

I rolled my shoulders, letting the movement shift the ruined bikini top further askew. "Mm. Almost." The word curled between us, thick as the lotion still glistening on my skin. "Thanks, James." His name tasted dangerous—sweet and forbidden like stolen liquor.

His hands jerked away as if burned. For a moment, the only sound was our mingled breathing and the distant buzz of a lawnmower two gardens over. James stumbled back half a step, his wedding ring catching the light as he flexed his fingers—still shiny with coconut oil. His throat worked visibly when I turned onto my side, the lounger creaking under me as the bikini top almost slipped off my breast completely.

"I should—" His voice cracked. He gestured vaguely toward the house with his sticky hands, tendons standing out in sharp relief. "Bella’s due home soon."

I let my lips curve into something soft—almost demure—as I adjusted my bikini top with deliberate sluggishness. "Right. Thanks again for the help." My fingers lingered on the gold rings, pretending not to notice how his gaze tracked the movement. "Would’ve been lobster-red without you."

James wiped his palms on his shorts, leaving translucent streaks on the fabric. The motion was too rough, too frantic. "Just... be careful." His voice strained around the words like they were barbed wire. "Sun’s stronger than it feels."

I let my fingers trace idle patterns in the residual lotion on my collarbone, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he tracked the movement. "Always am." The smile I gave him was all sweetness—the kind Bella used when buttering up teachers for deadline extensions. Innocent. Plausible. Devastating.