Forbidden Postpartum Touch

My postpartum recovery massage therapist turned out to be the neighbor I had secretly loved.

He moved closer.

The first step is to assess how much physical impact the childbirth has caused.

---

He placed me on the yoga ball.

His hands pressed firmly against my body.

He applied even pressure across my back.

My curves were dangerously alluring.

His palms rested on my waist.

"Postpartum recovery is crucial."

"Otherwise, it could affect your marital life."

I nodded seriously at his words.

It made perfect sense.

But his hands were impossible to ignore.

"I'm getting tired," I said nervously.

"Should we take a break?"

His breath suddenly warmed my skin.

I nearly gasped aloud.

This was my neighbor's brother.

I shouldn't think inappropriate thoughts.

"Isabella, we've come this far."

"We can't let our efforts go to waste."

He firmly dismissed my suggestion.

"Adding some weight will enhance the recovery."

He secured me completely on the yoga ball.

His gaze darkened as it fell under my skirt.

It lingered on my long, pale legs.

One second.

Two seconds.

He didn't look away.

"Brother," I whispered, embarrassed.

"Maybe we should continue another day."

Ethan let out a low chuckle.

His eyes grew intense.

He grasped my slender ankle.

His fingers slowly caressed my skin.

A tingling sensation spread through me.

Tears welled in my reddening eyes.