The Masseuse (7 page)

He pressed his lips against my panties and laughed, the rumble nearly sending me to pieces. I bit my lip hard to keep from crying out.

“Soon,” he said, growing serious. “When I have more time, I’m going to fuck you just how you need. Long, and hard, and over and over. You’re going to give me all of this sweet, hot body, and I’m going to take it. And just when you think we’re done, I’m going to make you come again.”

His words made me that much more desperate. I had never been so hot for someone before. In that moment, I would have done anything he wanted.

“But for now, you owe me this. I can’t get you out of my mind, Anna. I need to see you come. I need to taste you.”

I reached for my clit, unable to stop myself, and he grabbed my wrist, and moved it aside.

“This is mine right now, do you understand?”

I nodded reluctantly.

“This,” he licked me through the fabric and I moaned, “is payback.”

Softly, he bit at the silk, now soaked with my desire, and pulled it back. My knees snapped shut but he wedged them open with his broad shoulders. His fingers slipped within the elastic and eased down my cleft, staying on either side but not entering me.

Then he pushed aside the satin and blew. The cold air on my hot skin brought new sensitivity, and my back arched.

“So smooth,” he said. “I wondered if you waxed.”

I’d begun to pant. He was taking his time and killing me in the process.

“There are perks to working at a salon.”

“You’re beautiful.” He parted my folds, exerting pressure with his thumbs as he massaged up and down. I don’t know where he learned that little trick, but I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.

Finally, one finger pushed inside of me. It was enough to drive me right to the brink. He eased out slowly.

“So tight,” he said, face taking on an almost pained expression. “I can’t wait to slide my cock in you, Anna. I’m going to fill you completely.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

He added a second finger, twisted, and gave my clit the lightest pressure with his thumb. All the while he watched my face, watched as I fell back to my elbows and squirmed on the table. He paused only to draw my panties down my legs and leave me bare, exposed.

“Fuck, you’re hot.” He lowered his head to suckle one lip, then the other, tongue flicking into my slit just long enough to make me insane. So close—he was
so close
to my clit, but each time I thought he would kiss me there, his thumb returned to cover it, as if hiding it from his tongue. His lips pressed against my bare mound.

“Do you want to come now, Anna?”

“Yes.”

He leaned down and replaced his thumb with his mouth. One suck on my clit and I shattered, back arching, and shoved a fistful of sheets into my mouth to muffle my scream. The heat inside of me erupted, flooding fire through my veins, centering the pleasure in my nipples and cunt. I saw stars. My knees snapped shut around his head, and he pinned me down in place with his free hand.

“Again,” he said.

“No . . .” I grabbed a fistful of his hair, and tried to push him back, but he’d begun to lick in long strokes, pulling me into his mouth for another suck after each one. “I can’t so soon.”

He didn’t cease; the movement of his tongue changed to a fast flick, and already I felt the ache building inside of me again. His fingers increased their tempo, in and out, in and out, curving and rubbing upward in a way that made me groan. I squeezed my breasts to relieve some of the pressure. Then his tongue was spearing inside of me as his hands spread me wide. No one had ever done that to me before. Little scrapes of his teeth sent ripples of heat through me.

“You taste so good,” he muttered between thrusts, and then returned to my clit, swirling over it.

The orgasm tore through me, unyielding spasms making my body a taut bow. I couldn’t breathe. I could only feel. The blood was rushing through my ears, blocking out the soundtrack of rain coming through the speakers.

He didn’t stop, and my oversensitive sex convulsed again, bringing on a third climax right on the heels of the second. His fingers continued their assault, pushing up to the palm, and I clenched around him uncontrollably.

It didn’t stop. I kept coming. Writhing, bucking, kicking.

“Anna.” My name brought me back.

I collapsed, my back hitting the table while my chest heaved. Sweaty hair stuck to my face. He brought me back down, fingers easing in tempo, tongue drawing slow, lazy circles around my pulsing clit. He finished with one soft, reverent kiss there, and another on my thigh before moving over me.

I tried to rise, but my arms were weak. And as I pushed myself up to a seated position, I wobbled. He caught me before I collapsed, pressing his lips to my collarbone. His arms wrapped around my waist and I clung to him weakly, letting him support my weight, and for several minutes he held me until the shaking had passed.

“Damn,” he said. “I should have booked the rest of your afternoon.”

I giggled, feeling completely reckless and light as a feather. “Now that I know what’s in store, expect a lot more teasing.”

His teeth found my earlobe, reminding me that he’d yet to kiss me.

“Payback’s a bitch,” he whispered into my hair, breathing deeply. His fingers traced my spine, and with his hips and still raging hard-on nestled between my thighs, the move felt more intimate than anything I’d ever experienced.

The sheets were a mess; a blanket had landed on the floor. He moved back, creating a space between us, and I lowered my hands down his chest to his belt, feeling the need to touch him.

He stopped me with a tight grimace.

“Not now,” he said. “Soon though.”

I liked the promise in his tone.

“I want to make you feel good, too,” I said, unfamiliar with the vixen I’d suddenly transformed into.

“You did.” He moved my hands to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. “I think I enjoyed that as much as you.”

“I doubt it.” I could see from the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the bulge in his pants that he was still painfully aroused. This surprised me; I’d never met a man who enjoyed giving oral sex so much.

The sound of rain transitioned into symphony music, bringing me back to where we were, and what we’d just done.

“I want to see you tonight,” he said.

I wanted to see him, too. If this was a preview of what was to come, I wanted to leave work now.

But I had already committed to Amy. I considered canceling, but I needed a chance to cool off, to let the anticipation build again. What I was feeling for him felt too intense. I needed some time and space to make sense of it.

“Sorry, girls’ night,” I told him. “I’m free tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow night you have an appointment with my boss.”

He stepped away, and the heat departed with him. A veil of awkwardness slid between us. I smoothed my skirt, feeling the slickness between my thighs. I wasn’t wearing any panties. I searched the floor, but instead caught a glimpse of red fabric peeking out of his jeans pocket.

The thought of him keeping them like some kind of trophy turned me on all over again. I retrieved my stockings and pulled them up while he straightened his shirt. He wouldn’t look at me. Just seconds ago I’d felt so connected to him, but now he was distant. Cool.

I picked up the sheets.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to see Mr. Stein until next week.” I asked, focusing on his words.

“And here I thought it was just me you were ignoring.” He straightened the bottles on the counter, his back to me. “Ms. Rowe called. So did I.”

I hesitated. “You did?”

“After you turned down my coffee, I had to get your attention somehow.” He helped me retrieve the sheets and pile them on the table.

“Well, you succeeded,” I said. “So tomorrow night, what time does Ms. Rowe need me?”

“Early, I think. Six. Let me have you afterward.”

Let me have you.
I closed my eyes for just a moment to imagine what that might mean.

Our time was drawing to a close. I had another client coming. Still, I couldn’t convince myself to move any faster.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead.

“Tomorrow night,” he murmured. “We’ll see if I can survive that long.”

With that, he fixed his pants to make his hard-on slightly less obvious, and sauntered out the door, leaving me staring at a table I would never look at the same way again.

F
our hours later, I pulled into a guest spot at Amy’s apartment complex and climbed the steps to her second-floor two-bedroom home. The remainder of the workday had passed by excruciatingly slowly. Convinced someone had heard or seen something, I stayed as hidden as possible, keeping myself to laundry duty until the receptionist found me for my next appointment. I had even managed to avoid Amy, who’d left early to pick up her daughter from preschool.

I couldn’t believe what I—
we
—had done. I wasn’t a prude by any means; I liked to flirt, and even bring the occasional man home to share my bed. Okay, it had been a while, but that was just because I’d been getting used to the area. But despite that, I wasn’t particularly adventurous in that arena. The woman who had climaxed not once, but three times, at her workplace was no one I even recognized.

That I wanted to do it again confused me even more.

Alec was right; he had called. Twice. When I turned my phone back on, I’d seen his missed calls, and listened to two voice mails. One from Ms. Rowe explaining that Mr. Stein was in the midst of a large merger right now and therefore in need of my services. She’d given the time and date—tomorrow night, just as Alec had said—and asked that I be there. Clearly she was a woman who wasn’t used to hearing the word
no
.

The other voice mail had been from Randall.

“Hi Anna,
”
he had said, his voice taking on that soft, empathetic therapist quality again. “I just wanted to apologize for my behavior last night. Please know that it was the wine speaking. I’m not that way normally. Clearly I’ve got some displacement issues over the stress at my work with the new billing system.” He paused and cleared his throat. I could almost see him pushing back his long, golden bangs. “That’s when the stress from one area of your life transfers into another.”

Thank you, Dr. Randall.

He’d gone on to say he would love to make it up to me with dinner, his treat—gee, thanks—but understood if I never wanted to speak to him again. The apology sounded genuine. I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

I didn’t have to knock on Amy’s door. Before I’d raised my hand, it was flung open, and a pretty five-year-old blonde with pigtails attached herself to my leg. Dressed in a purple tutu, green T-shirt, and black leggings, she had clearly inherited her mother’s sense of style.

“Paisley!” I knelt to give her a hug. She released my leg and smiled, but didn’t say a word. You could tell she was smart, even though she hardly ever spoke. She was always watching.

I tickled her ribs and she erupted in giggles.

“Shit! I mean, shoot. Dammit.
Darn
it!” Amy groaned from the kitchen.

“Sounds like Mommy needs some help,” I told Paisley, who nodded and led me by the hand to the kitchen.

“It’s mac and cheese—I don’t need any help.” Amy sounded irritable. She was still rocking flashy aqua eye shadow, but was in mom clothes now—sweatpants and a T-shirt with a smear of neon orange down the center. She was scraping the remnants of a hot dog explosion off the microwave door. I’d picked up some brownies at the bakery, and dropped them off on their small dining room table.

“The cheese goes in the pot, not on your boobs,” I told her, taking a seat at one of the two stools against the breakfast bar. Paisley giggled.

“Thank you so much, Miss Helpful.” A bag of baby carrots came flying at my head.

“We have an orange theme tonight, I see.” I began to dump them out on a plate.

“Vegetables are vegetables.” She sucked in her tiny waist so she could open the refrigerator door. The kitchen was the size of most closets. Behind us, a love seat was crammed against the wall across from a small TV set. Colorful plastic toys were strewn across the beige carpet.

“Sweetheart, what do you want to drink?” Amy set three cups on the counter.

Paisley climbed down from the stool beside me and entered the kitchen.

“Uh-uh,” I heard Amy say gently. “Use your words, Paisley. Milk or juice?”

A moment of silence passed, in which I busied myself carrying our bowls of mac and cheese out on the TV trays.

“Apple juice,” I heard a small voice whisper.

“Good job,” Amy told her. When she stood, I could see the frustration wrinkling her forehead. Paisley had been a regular chatterbox until her father had left last year.

After we ate, we snuggled on the couch under one blanket, Paisley’s head on her mom’s thigh, her feet up on my legs. There was comfort in routine. We watched the same movies we always watched:
The Little Mermaid
and, when that was done and Paisley was in bed,
Magic Mike
. There was nothing quite as perfect as a good friend, brownies, and male strippers to close a crazy day.

“All right, dish,” said Amy. She was fast-forwarding through the boring talking scenes to get to the good stuff. “What happened with Alec?”

I sighed. This conversation had been waiting like my landlord when the rent was due; there was no way to avoid it.

“It was . . . interesting.”

She rolled her eyes. “Start with his body. Did you get a good look?”

“Not really . . .” I picked at my fingernails.

“He doesn’t seem like the modest type.” She stopped the DVD and hit rewind when she’d overshot her mark.

“No, he certainly doesn’t,” I muttered. “I didn’t give him a massage. He came to apologize.”
And get me off.
There were a lot of things I could confess to Amy, but this was not one of them. She’d vouched for me at that job; she needed it to take care of Paisley. If Amy got in trouble because of me, I’d never forgive myself.

“Did you buy it?” she asked.

“The apology? Yes. He was pretty convincing.” I shivered, remembering the feel of his hands sliding up my calves and the heat in his stare as he’d looked up at me from between my thighs.

She glanced over at me, mouth curving up. “He kissed you, didn’t he?”

I shook my head, feeling my cheeks warm. “No. No, he didn’t kiss me.” Not on the mouth, anyway.

We lapsed into appreciative silence as Channing Tatum slid across the dance floor on his knees, ripping off his clothes for a crowd of screaming women.

“Damn, he’s hot,” said Amy.

Dark hair and secretive eyes flashed before my vision. Alec was hot. He was the hottest guy I’d ever seen. And he was interested in me. I felt like the choirgirl who’d been invited to prom by the quarterback. It was awesome, but I couldn’t help waiting for the universe to reveal that this had been some cruel cosmic joke.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

Amy’s voice brought me back from the most recent fantasyland I’d journeyed off to. “Channing? Of course.”

“Sorry, he’s mine. Already called him. I meant Alec, dumbass.”

I hesitated. “What makes you say that?”

“Besides the fact that your answers are about as elaborate as my five-year-old’s, you’re frowning at the best scene in the movie,” she said, and at her words my thumb pressed between my furrowed eyebrows. “He got under your skin. It’s all right for people to do that, you know. Not everyone has to stay an arm’s length’s away.”

I snuggled closer to her, dropping my head to her shoulder. “He makes me nervous.”

“Yikes,” she said, taking a swig from the apple juice sippy cup. “When was the last time a guy made
you
nervous?”

“Franco Bernard.”

She laughed so hard she choked on her juice. “I haven’t thought about him since . . . sophomore year?”

“Junior year,” I corrected her.

“Oh God, wasn’t he . . .”

“Yes.” I giggled.

Sweet Franco, with his pretty brown eyes and curly blond hair. The French foreign exchange student had shown me the world in the back of his host mother’s van. If only our love affair had been fated to last longer than three months.

“Wow.” She passed me another brownie. “I almost feel sorry for you. A new guy makes me nervous every twenty-five seconds.”

“And look how well that’s worked out for you.”

She froze. I buried my face in my hands.

“I can’t believe I just said that.” I peeked out at her through my fingers. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m such an idiot.”

“No,” she said. “You’re right. It’s okay.” She sighed. “I’m always in the market for a new broken heart.”

I hesitated. “Danny . . .”

She crossed herself. Every time her ex was mentioned she demanded a moment of silence to exorcise the demons.

“Did he make you nervous?” I asked while she fast-forwarded to the next scene.

“Yes,” she said.

“Great.”

She paused the movie. “It
was
great,” she said. “Things are ugly between us now, but look what he gave me.” She glanced back to the room where her daughter slept soundly. “He was worth it. And if Alec makes you happy, or nervous, or
whatever
, even for a minute, he’s worth it, too.”

I pulled her close and took another bite of my brownie. I wasn’t sure where this was going with Alec, but it didn’t have to end with heartbreak. We would keep things purely physical—enjoy each other. And then when it was done, go our separate ways. That would have to be good enough. It was all I could give anyway.

*

The following day I didn’t go into the salon, but busied myself driving across town for house calls—two ladies in one of Florida’s fifty billion active senior communities, a plastic surgeon at his office, and a housebound pregnant woman carrying triplets. Seven hours and one hundred miles on the Kia later, I pulled up to the gate at Maxim Stein’s estate and was buzzed through by the same creepy gate guard I’d seen last time.

The butterflies in my stomach were already doing backflips by the time I pulled into my same parking spot. We weren’t meeting until later, but that didn’t mean Alec wouldn’t be here now. I touched up my lipstick and smoothed back my hair, then scrolled through the texts we had exchanged throughout the day about the panties he’d stolen from me yesterday at the salon.

Alec:
Red demands company. Please provide tonight.

Me:
I do not negotiate with thieves or perverts.

Alec:
Then you’ll never see Red again.

Me:
I see you’re not above making threats.

Alec:
The only thing I plan on being above is you.

When I’d received that text, I’d been finishing my setup for the plastic surgeon. I hadn’t been able to focus for an hour.

Me:
Afraid it would come to this. Have taken measures to prevent future robbery.

Alec:
How is that?

Me:
If I don’t wear panties, there will be nothing to steal.

In the following text silence, I’d gloated. Point for Anna. He hadn’t responded until after I’d started with my last client, and as I read the most recent message, shivers alighted my skin.

Alec:
Remember what happens when you tease.

There was no butler to greet me at the car today, and I was relieved not to have to witness him shouldering the weight of my table. Still, my back was killing me, and the muscles in my hands were sore. I looked forward to a day off tomorrow. Maybe in bed with Alec.

I carried my bags to the front door and rang the bell, but no one came. Surprised, I set down the massage table and tried the handle. It was open.

“Hello?” I called, not wanting to trespass. Memories of the last time I’d wandered around the property were still all too clear in my mind.

When no one came, I stepped back outside and walked along the porch, peeking through windows. Hidden by the lush green palms and landscaping, I didn’t see the red Porsche careening around the fountain or the black SUV following it until they had pulled in front of the house.

The driver door of the SUV opened and Alec stepped out. In a black suit and matching sunglasses, he looked more like the sexy secret service than a personal security guard, if that’s indeed what he was. My breath caught—already I could feel the pull to be near him, like a magnet, tugging me closer, even while something told me to be still. He didn’t see me, and I was glad for the moment just to observe his strong, masculine shape and the way his dark, thick hair gleamed in the light. Before taking quick strides to the Porsche, he removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. His head tilted to the side subtly as if to stretch tense muscles in his neck.

My fingers itched to rub him down; I made a note to include that in tonight’s festivities. But I also wondered what was troubling him, what had put those shadows under his eyes. I hoped he would tell me.

As I made my way back to the entrance of the house, a woman burst from the driver’s side of the sports car. I had assumed Mr. Stein had been driving, and was surprised to recognize the redhead I had previously seen in the courtyard. Bent over the fountain. Naked.

Immediately my cheeks heated. I averted my eyes, swallowed, and, when I’d composed myself, greeted her with a warm smile.

She did not return it. She stormed past Alec up the stairs, her emerald skirt suit riding up her thighs with each step. She stopped in front of me, her eyes narrowed and her breasts—which I did
not
remember hardly moving while she was being pounded from behind—heaving beneath her cream-colored camisole with every breath. Despite her obvious fuming, she was quite beautiful. Blunt-cut hair angled around her heart-shaped face, and straight bangs hung over her dazzling green eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” At the snap in her tone, my shoulders rose an inch.

“Anna,” I said evenly. “Mr. Stein’s masseuse.”

“His masseuse?” she said with a cold laugh. “Now that is
rich
.”

I gritted my teeth. “From the sounds of it, you could use my services, too.”

“Charlotte,” Alec said from the bottom step. “This is a bad idea.”

He had yet to look at me, though I was practically willing him to do so.

“Shut up, Alec.” She waited in front of the door expectantly, as if willing it to open.