[SMUT WARNING!]
You can't help but moan with satisfaction when his hands press against the small of your back, tension dissipating beneath his palms. You thought Murr had been doing his usual bullshitting when he'd proclaimed he could massage your back courtesy of you telling him it was hurting after sleeping in an awkward position, but it turns out he truly is gifted.
Squirming as you feel his elbow drive into the fleshier spot just above your ass, it's difficult to keep the sounds that are escaping your throat at bay. Because it's satisfying. Because the pain really is subsiding. You sigh with contentment, nerves bristling as you hear him chuckle lightly; hell, you feel the smirk before you see it, the bastard. Why does he have to be so attractive?
"Careful, [Y/N]. Don't wanna turn me on with all the moaning you're doing," James remarks, eyebrows dipping deviously as you roll your eyes and dive your face further into the couch arm. The elbow leaves, the palm comes back - it's part of one big cycle that your mind is starting to grasp, only this time you're startled by the feeling of his warm flesh on your rear.
"Murr!"
"What?" he asks sweetly, the heel of his palm digging in and causing pleasure to shoot through you. If you forget that a very attractive man is palming your ass, it really is quite enjoyable; and it's not even that is isn't enjoyable anyway, rather that you get embarrassed rather quickly in the presence of him, far too flustered to enjoy his touch as you lose yourself in fantasies. "Everybody knows the ass is the part of the body that hosts the most stress. I mean, you sit on it everyday and what does it get for it? Nothing!"
Nervous laughter passes your lips... and then you're clutching at the couch material to keep quiet as he raises both hands to your behind, one assigned to each cheek as he rubs and digs at your muscles in all the right ways.
You swear you feel his knuckles stroking along the backs of your thighs on occasions that you don't expect it, and you give yourself away by tensing your legs under his touch, which you pray to God he doesn't notice (though he'd have to be stupid not to).
"...if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were enjoying this," Murr remarks slyly, fingers squeezing at your backside a little harder than necessary, tearing a short gasp from your throat before you can think to stop it. It makes James smirk harder. "[Y/N]," he speaks again, tone teetering on the edge of patronising, though there's a lilt to it that is so irrevocably sexy that you can't find it in you to be annoyed. "Are you enjoying this?"
For a single moment, you hold your breath. "...so what if I am?"
"Then I'd take my chances with something a little more... personal." The man is purring by now, fingers slipping from the back of your thighs to the insides of them, slowly inching up until his fingers brush your underwear (you'd removed your pants and shirt in order for him to be able to massage you properly), finding great satisfaction in the way your breath hitches.
In silence, James works his fingers slowly along your panty-covered entrance, tongue poking at the corners of his lips with the desire to taste you on his fingers; the scent alone is enough to drive him wild, but the taste... the taste is something different all together, so intimate and personal.
When you don't protest, he works his fingers past the material and strokes the pads of his digits across your slit in a way that, had you not been so aroused, would have tickled in a fairly awkward manner. But Murray knows what he's doing, knows how he's making you feel, and it's with teeth bared in a wicked smirk that he inserts a finger into you and takes pleasure in the moan you release for him.
Moving in and out of your inviting warmth, his groin begins to twitch. God, you're so perfect as you squirm and writhe, and as he adds another finger into the mix and picks up his rhythm, he gets to bask in the way you keen out his name and arch your back. A beautiful sight indeed.
"You like that?" Murr asks, not because he doesn't know but because he wants to hear you say it. His free hand is still squeezing your ass, nails digging in lightly, making you moan more obscenely.
"Mm... it's good, James..." You reply in a haze of confused pleasure, and the high begins to build as he pumps his digits into you faster, hand moving quicker and quicker until you can take it no more. You're squirming and arching beneath him as you cry: "James! I'm gonna–!"
Needless to say Murr has never been more pleased with an orgasm in his life. As soon as you finish leaking onto his fingers and collapse on the couch in a spent heap, he brings them to his lips and makes a show of savouring the taste of you as you look over your shoulder and watch him. God, it's so hot... and it's with pants hitching your breath that you watch him. A lazy smirk forms on your face.
"Enjoying yourself?"
"Immensely," he replies, finishing with a snicker.
"If it tasted even half as good as your massage felt, I know exactly what you're talking about."