Chapter 230. My Self-Control Shattered When She Was The One That Wants It**
William felt the muscles beneath his palms gradually surrender. The hard, defensive knots that had defined her back earlier were melting away, replaced by a suppleness that felt almost liquid under the oil.
"Oh," William murmured, his voice carrying a note of genuine satisfaction. "You’ve relaxed a good deal, Lia."
"Your breathing has steadied."
"Yes..." Lia replied, her voice muffled by the pillow but unmistakably breathless. "It feels... it feels incredible."
"It’s like all the tension I didn’t even know I was holding is just draining away into the mattress."
William didn’t pull away. Instead, he maintained the gentle contact, his hands still resting warm against her lower back.
"Even though you’re young, Lia, you can still wear down your body beyond repair if you aren’t careful."
"You push yourself to the brink every single day." His tone became almost professorial, a shield he used to maintain his composure. "Daily care isn’t just a luxury for someone like you; it’s vital."
"Especially for a swordswoman whose entire life depends on physical precision."
"I know... I push too hard sometimes," she admitted, her body swaying slightly with the rhythm of his touch. "I just want to be better."
"And you will be," William said softly.
He moved his hands to the sides of her waist, applying a light pressure that made her breath catch. "But you must remember that for women especially, the natural cycles and changes in your body can upset your balance and your center of gravity without warning."
"If you don’t account for that, your technique will falter at the worst possible moment."
Lia froze for a heartbeat before relaxing again. She hadn’t expected him to speak with such understanding, not just about combat, but about the intimate realities of being a woman.
’As expected,’ she thought, a small smile forming against the pillow. ’Instructor Wade really knows everything well.’
’He’s not just a warrior, but he’s wise as well... He understands the body as a whole, not just as a weapon.’
’It makes me feel... safe. Like he truly sees me...’
William noticed the shift in her demeanor, the way she seemed to open up to his words. He decided to deepen the treatment, reaching for a smaller vial he had prepared earlier.
The scent that wafted from it was different, lighter, floral, with notes of chamomile and sandalwood.
"I have an aromatherapy oil here," he said, uncapping the vial. "The scents are designed to calm the nervous system and help the muscles relax even deeper."
"It can help with the mental fatigue as much as the physical... Do you want to try it?"
Lia turned her head slightly to glimpse him, her eyes bright with curiosity and eagerness. "Yes! I would love to! Anything that helps."
William nodded. He poured several drops into his palms, the fragrant oil warming between them.
As he began to apply it, his focus shifted lower, moving from her lower back to the powerful muscles of her thighs.
"This will help with the leg fatigue from your stances," he explained, though his own voice sounded strained to his own ears.
As he worked the oil into the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, the scent of the aromatherapy oil filled the room, creating a haze of relaxation that made everything feel dreamlike. His movements became more fluid, more instinctive.
As he moved to work on the back of her legs, his hands glided upward, following the natural contours of her body.
In the haze of the lavender and chamomile, with the rhythmic sounds of her breathing filling the room, William’s professional discipline wavered.
His hands moved with a mind of their own, sliding over the firm, rounded curves of her hips and the swell of her backside as he attempted to work the oil into the gluteal muscles, the very muscles that provided her explosive power in combat.
The contact was undeniable. The slickness of the oil made every touch feel impossibly intimate, every stroke sending waves of heat through both of them.
When his palms pressed against her, he could feel the involuntary tremor that ran through her.
Lia let out a sound that was half gasp, half moan. "William..."
"I’m just... working on the muscle attachments near the pelvis," he said quickly, though the excuse felt thin even to him.
His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "It’s necessary for your balance."
But there was no denying the truth. The massage had transcended mere therapy.
In the dim light, surrounded by the intoxicating scent of flowers, they were two people suspended in a moment where the line between care and desire had become dangerously blurred.
The room had transformed into a sensory cocoon, thick with the intoxicating fragrance of chamomile and sandalwood. For Lia, the world outside the bed had ceased to exist.
Her consciousness had narrowed down to a single, laser focused point: the sensation of William’s hands.
’It smells so good... like a dream,’ she thought drowsily, her mind drifting in the aromatic haze. ’And his hands... they feel so warm, so solid.’
’Every time he presses down, it’s like he’s claiming every inch of me...’
She tracked his progress mentally. He had started at her ankles, his thumbs working through the tension in her tendons, then moved up her calves, her knees, and now his hands were gliding up her thighs.
The oil made his touch feel seamless, as if his skin were melting into hers. The friction was gentle yet insistent, sending waves of pleasure cascading up her spine.
But as his hands climbed higher, a new, more urgent sensation began to bloom. A deep, pulsing heat was gathering between her legs, a throbbing ache that made her feel restless and strangely reckless.
Her lower body felt hypersensitive, almost unbearably itchy in a way that had nothing to do with irritation and everything to do with arousal. Her body was responding to the intimacy, the heat of his proximity, and the rhythmic pressure of his touch.
’I can’t... I can’t hold this back anymore,’ she realized with a jolt of panic that quickly dissolved into surrender.
The heat was overwhelming, pooling between her thighs, making her feel exposed even though she was still lying face down.
"Instructor..." she whispered, her voice cracking, breaking through the reverie. "Instructor Wade..."
"I’m here, Lia," he murmured, his voice thick and unrecognizable.
His hands were now working on the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, dangerously close to the source of her torment.
Lia swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs. The bravery she usually reserved for the battlefield was being channeled into something entirely different.
"You don’t have to... stop there," she breathed out, the confession tumbling from her lips before she could second guess it. "You can touch me anywhere..."
"Even... even t-there... Please...?"
The silence that followed was deafening. William didn’t answer.
He couldn’t. The words she had spoken acted like a spark dropped into a powder keg.
His self control, the iron discipline he had cultivated for years, shattered completely.
He didn’t speak; he simply moved. His hands, slick with oil and trembling with restrained hunger, shifted higher.
He abandoned the pretense of therapeutic massage. His fingers traced the delicate, inner crease of her thighs, pressing against the swollen heat of her.
Lia let out a sharp, broken cry as his touch made contact. "Ah! Oh god..."
William was mesmerized. As he parted her slightly, the lamplight revealed the glistening, flushed pink of her folds, already weeping with arousal.
The sight was more beautiful than anything he had ever witnessed. His thumb, rough yet careful, pressed directly against her clitoris.
"Nnnghh--Instructor Wade...!" Lia screamed softly into the pillow, her back arching involuntarily as the first wave of direct stimulation hit her.
The sound was primal.
"Fuck," William hissed under his breath, the word escaping him like a prayer.
He pressed harder, his thumb circling the sensitive bud, grinding against the slick flesh.
"Ah! Ah! Please yes, right there!"
"Mmmph... oh fuck, Instructor Wade~!" Lia’s moans became incoherent.
Her hips began to buck against his hand, seeking more of the friction that was driving her toward madness. The sound of her wet, slick movements mingled with the soft sounds of his labored breathing.
Slap. Squish. Slap.
The sound of oiled skin meeting oiled skin filled the room, intimate and obscene.
"You’re so wet, Lia," William growled, his voice a guttural rasp. He abandoned all pretense of gentleness, his thumb working with a demanding rhythm that matched the pounding of his own blood. "So... fucking beautiful."
"I can’t--ah! I can’t take it... ohhh!" Lia’s voice rose to a keening wail as the pleasure intensified.
Her entire body began to shake, her muscles clamping down around the ghost of his touch. Every nerve ending was screaming, every breath was a gasp, as she spiraled toward the precipice of a climax she had never imagined possible.