Rub Me The Right Way (Erotic Short Story Book 1) (3 page)

My eyes drift closed again, the faint sound of running water thanks to my heartbeat pounding so heavily. There's a warm cloth on top of my pussy forcing me to briefly shudder again. After I'm cleaned up, the sheet I thought had disintegrated from the heat in the room is placed back over my ass. His hands begin pawing at my back resuming the massage as if nothing else took place. Just when I thought his hands couldn't give me any more delight they drift me to a place where my mind is blank. Clear. Calm. I don't remember the last time I felt this...peaceful.

For what feels like hours, Klous' hands work out all any remaining kinks he finds in silence.

Sadly the massage comes to an end as his hands slide off my body and his heated voice says, “Your session is over, Astin.”

On a helpless cry I whimper, “Already?”

He chuckles as I sit up, gripping the sheet not to expose my chest. Seems stupid considering the fact he finger banged me already. “Once you're dressed, Laura will be waiting for you on the other side with a bottle of water. Please enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Miss Astin.”

A blush hints my mocha cheeks, but I quickly bat it away. I watch as the man with master hands prepares to exit the room.

Cautiously I call out, “Wait.” Like his body knows how to submit as well, he stops, turns, and listens. Maybe next time I'll be the one calling the shots? “Let me ask you something.”

He waves a hand for me to continue.

“Do you do this with all your clients?”

I watch the most sensuous, sexy smile spread on his face before he replies, “No.”

Without another word Klous exits the room leaving me confused, curious, but most importantly satisfied – something I haven't been in years.

Tuesday

Hope drops a stack of papers in front of me. “The paperwork you requested.”

I did? Is she sure that was me? Surely, that wasn't me. What the hell would I need mountains of paper for?  Casually I grab it and push it to the side as her mouth continues to fly.

Now in the seat across from me, she drops her tablet of organizational magic on my desk. “There are four potential hires to replace Devin, the editor who put in her two weeks Monday. There is also a list of potential temps to fill in for Sarah. Both have been emailed to you.”

“Where's Sarah going?”

Hope looks at me with a sympathetic look. “She's pregnant.”

Right. I should know that. I should know more people in my life than I do. But when is there time? Deadlines. And bitchy authors. Printing problems. Sales meetings. Marketing meetings. More deadlines. Did I mention deadlines? “I should–”

“You already did. You sent a small baby bonus as well as baby shower gift a month ago.”

That's code for Hope did it. What would I do without her? “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now, you have another call with Dani in about twenty-five minutes.”

“I talked to her two days ago. What could possibly be wrong now?”

“She's not happy.”

“Is she ever?” I mumble leaning back in my leather seat.

My eyes catch a glimpse of the information I could dig up on Mr. Miracle-fingers just lingering on my desktop computer. While their site refuses to list their masseurs or information about them, it pays to know a few people who have ways around that.

Hope giggles. “No.”

Silence settles as I stare aimlessly at his photo debating my next move as far as he goes. Yesterday he had me at his mercy. Like a weak, helpless thing I just let him. I'm not that kind of woman. I'm not that fucking cliché. I'm the kind who makes weird demands like to only have six ice cubes in her drink at a restaurant just because I can. I make choices. I...I...I am completely fucked up by what happened yesterday. The meeting I had after is a blur, dinner with my sister is a vague memory, but masturbating furiously to what happened during my massage is clear as fucking day.

Hope invades my thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I stumble over the words. Grabbing a pen to busy my hands I ask, “Why?”

“You seem...well you seem distracted,” she states sweetly. “Did that massage not help your stress level?”

Helped it and gave it a new fucking level. “It did.” I clear my throat quickly. “Speaking of, how did you find that place?”

“Um, it's totally a by reference only place. Tina gave me the card to give to you at the last dinner we went to. She said she loved it.”

Feeling a small bit of jealousy in my body I question, “Did she have Klous too?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “He's new.”

“Yeah?” I cut back to the information on the screen about him. The photo it's linked with has him smirking softly in workout gear.

“Why? Was he bad?”

In an inaudible tone I reply, “Absolutely not.”

“Do you want me to ask for a different–”

“No!” Hope's mouth clamps shut and I realize my bite was harsher than it should've been. “He was good. Did his job.” Seeing her suspicious look coming I point the pen at her. “Now do yours. I need lunch ordered. Not salad–”

“A sandwich?”

“Tuna. And an updated version of Kayla's contract to view.”

“On it.” Hope hops up with her tablet. Not so gently she reminds me, “Emails...”

“Yeah, yeah.” I shoo her away.

The second my office door is closed I start skimming through the information on Klous. His father is German while his mother is Swedish, but he was raised in the states. Explains his perfect English with a faint accent. Also explains the strange balance of dominance with a hint of sweetness. Scrolling down the information I note his mother was a stay at home mom, his father some sort of engineer. He has one brother, lives in an apartment not too far from my own, and most importantly he is single. Single is good. Single is great. My own singleness is what played a major factor into where I let the appointment lead yesterday.

“Boss,” Hope's voice startles my hand that was wandering south at that memory. It had no business doing that! I didn't give it my approval. Stupid hand.

“Hm?”

“I've got a Mr. Klein on the phone insisting to speak to you.”

“Mr. Klein?” I echo confused until my eyes catch Klous' last name. Hoping it's him, I reply. “Let him through.”

She nods in understanding and disappears again. A few moments later there's a beep of my office phone and I answer calmly, “This is Miss Anderson.”

“Afternoon, Astin,” Klous says on the other end of the line.

Biting my bottom lip to hold back my giddiness, I return the greeting, “Afternoon.”

“How are you feeling?”

Now? Tense. Horny. Wet. What the fuck is wrong with me? My pussy shouldn't be this excited already.

“Better,” my voice chokes out, toying with the pen in my possession further. “What can I do for you?”

“You can spread your legs for me and let a finger glide across that skin of yours I wish I was touching right now.”

The request makes a small moan slip out of my mouth. Wanting to comply yet not wanting to be the mindless drone I was yesterday I counter, “And why would I do that?”

“Because you haven't stopped thinking about me since I left you a quivering mess yesterday.”

Fact. Fuck him for that.

“It's okay to let someone else drive, Astin.”

“I always let others drive. I hate driving.”

The light laugh makes me smirk. “Then open those legs, love.”

Intrigued, I toy with the idea before caving. I turn my chair to face the wall where my awards hang, wiggle my skirt up and spread my legs slightly.

“Wider.”

Can he see me? I inch my heel covered feet barely further apart.

“Don't toy with me, Astin,” Klous grouses. “When I say wide. I. Mean. Wide.” Swallowing my anxiety I do as I'm told, my breath faltering. “Good girl. Now. Take your hand and slip it up your inner thigh. Slowly.”

I drag my fingertips up my inner thigh closing my eyes as the buzz of thrill starts coating me. Picturing it's his hand instead, I apply just a little more force to get a more accurate feeling.

“Across the outside of that thong.” My fingers follow the instructions as he questions, “What color is it?”

“Red,” I coo back.

“Is it silk?”

Breathlessly I hum, “Mmhm…”

“Apply just a little pressure to your clit over your thong.” When I do my mouth whimpers and he praises me, “You have the most incredible fucking moans.” Another leaks out of me and he asks, “You wet, love?”

“Yes.”

“How wet?”

From the question alone, my pussy becomes even more drenched. “Very.”

“Want those fingers inside?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he drops his voice down to a hushed tone. “Drag them over the outside again softly teasing yourself. Bring yourself to the edge, Astin.” My fingers play with my pussy over my thong, absorbing his words like they are the only thing I know. When I feel I'm much closer than I should be he states, “Stop.”

On a pout I whine, “Why?”

Klous chuckles and sighs, “You really don't like to give up control, do you?”

Disappointed with the change of subject I roll my eyes. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know what's best.”

“Sometimes. But does that mean there's not a possibility that someone else knows better?”

“Rarely.”

“You know, there's an unmistakable relief that can come from letting someone else take the reins. Bear the weight. Carry the heavy lifting. To submitting.” Feeling my pussy ache for further touching I prepare to squeeze my thighs together to hold it in when he barks, “Keep. Them. Open.”

Growling I snap, “If submitting is so fantastic, then why don't you?”

“I have. And I will.” He declares words that I find compelling. The idea of having the control over him that he so quickly gained over me would be so fucking sexy. “But you first.” I wet my lips and Klous says, “Don't touch yourself again until tomorrow.”

Displeased by the directions, I snip, “You're fucking kidding.”

“Do you hear me laughing?”

My eyes lower to a glare. “I will touch myself whenever I fucking want.”

“True.” His sudden agreement raises my suspicions. “But if you want
me
to touch you again. You won't.”

Unhappy with the position he's put me in I challenge, “And how would you know the difference if I did?”

“Your body says more than those perfect, pouty lips of yours ever will.”

My hand twitches but moves away from my aching body part. 

“And they are perfect.”

Annoyed I gripe, “How'd you get my number?”

“You think you're the only one with contacts?” Klous cockily replies. “By the way you pronounce my brother's name Lance. Just looks different. My mother liked the traditional name, hated the spelling.”

Flustered at his knowledge of what I was doing before he called, I yank my skirt down, twirl around, and close the internet windows that are open. Did he hack my system? Can he do that? He shouldn't be able to do that.

“I'll see you tomorrow evening for your appointment, Miss Anderson.”

He hangs up and I slam the phone down. What just happened? How did I turn into some sick, pathetic mock of a woman? How does he do that? And why do I feel as if I wanna obey him like some dog dying to get another treat? Better yet, why is the only thing I want for him to throw me is a bone? God I need to get boned...