"Where did you learn this?" I managed after she reduced a stubborn knot near my neck to putty.
"Hunter training," she said, shifting her attention lower. "Basic field first aid and recovery techniques."
"They taught you massage?"
"They taught us how to keep our teammates functional when medical resources are limited." Her thumbs dug into my lower back, making me stifle another groan. "Muscle fatigue can get you killed in the field just as easily as an injury."
We lapsed into silence after that, the only sound my occasional muffled noises when she hit a particularly sensitive spot. It was strangely intimate, maybe more so than sex. There was something about willingly putting yourself in someone else's hands, trusting them not to hurt you when you're vulnerable.
Natalia's hands eventually slowed, her touch becoming less therapeutic and more like a caress. Her fingers traced the lines of my shoulders, then down my spine, feather-light.
