"No, not at all." It would be a compliment, rather. He shifts to one side of her, reaching for the bottle and pouring some of the oil into the palm of his hand.
"Tell me if anything hurts, Olya." Gently he settles his hands over her lower back, letting her acclimate to the touch, firm and steady, before pushing up to her shoulders, gentling back down the sides of her ribs.

And again. And again. And that makes it a rhythm, steady and sure.