Maceo (Filthy Rich Alphas)

“Selling fantasies?”

“Yes. That’s what I called it. Presenting this idea of a man that women craved to be seduced by. It was how I won most hearts.”

“Or panties?”

“Definitely, panties.”

I squinted my eyes at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you asked.”

I took in the roof top again. The whole place could’ve been on a set of Alice in Wonderland or some other magical place, not a rooftop in the heart of Miami. “Is this picnic a fantasy?”

“No. This is my reality. It’s what I’m trying to show you, how life could be if you gave me a chance.” He yanked my socks off. “I’m not ashamed of my stupid twenties. There were some good times and good women. What I regret most of all is that I met so many fabulous ladies in my life time, and let them all pass me by. Now I’m in my mid-thirties, successful with several plumbing companies throughout the city, big house downtown, and a vacation home in the Keys. All of that is awesome, but there’s no one to share it with.”

“Aww.” I mimicked crying. “Now the player is all alone.”

He smirked. “You’re a heartless woman.”

“You broke many hearts, so you deserve it.”

“That’s fair.” He started massaging my feet and sliding his thumb along the arch of my foot.

Oh damn.

Closing my eyes, I held back the moans that he’d triggered. Delicious waves ran through me like a storm was approaching. My body knew no pleasure till that moment, and for God’s sake this was just his hands on my feet. Groans lodged in my throat, but I refused to release them. He had to realize what he was doing to me. How could he not? Curling my toes and biting my lip, I refused to let him see the pleasure on my face.

“Do you like this, Christine?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re lying.”

“You have serious massaging skills.”

“I told you.”

“Tell me more about yourself.” I opened my eyes and sipped some more wine. It was hard to swallow. With every delicate pressure to my sensitive toes, my body rose in temperature. I’d already been hot as I sat with him, listening to his deep, panty-wetting voice. Now I was boiling and ready to burst.

I caught my breath. “Why are you still single if you’re looking for the one?”

“It’s harder to find good women in my thirties. The good ones are all swallowed up. The few that aren’t single, are divorced and want to castrate all men. The other half are the retired party girls that have serious relationship issues.”

“So you go younger?”

“No, not until you.” He caressed both of my feet at the same time.

A groan escaped my lips. I curled my toes, trying to get a hold of myself. He wouldn’t let me. Lifting one of my feet up, he sucked on my toe.

Oh Jesus.

I wanted to take my feet away. They’d been clean when I first put them in my socks and shoes, but who knew now. God he was so nasty, licking and sucking like chocolate dripped from them. My pussy reacted, swelling and throbbing with each nibble of my heel and lap of his skilled tongue. I gripped the blanket as he turned his attention to my other foot.

“O-okay … stop,” I whispered between panting.

“Stop?” He kept his mouth an inch from my toes. “You don’t like it.”

If my panties had been wet earlier, now they were soaked. “I love it, but you know—”

“We’re just friends.” He returned to kneading his fingers into my heel. “I just couldn’t help myself. You have some incredibly beautiful feet.”

I blushed. “Thank you.”

He assessed my toes. “Lovely pedicure happening. What are those flowers painted on your toe nails—roses?”

“Yes. Cora has a salon and day spa. She usually doesn’t do pedicures anymore, just let’s her ladies take care of the customers.”

“But for you, she’ll do it. Why is that?”

“She thinks I don’t take care of myself enough, so she makes me come in once a week and get everything done. It’s all free, so I oblige.”

He lifted the side of his lip up into a half smile. “What do you get done?”

“Everything.”

“Bikini wax?”

“Among other things.”

His eyes shifted to hooded. “Interesting.”

“You won’t get to see it.”

He let out a low chuckle. “See what?”

“My sweetness, as you’ve said it before.”

“Ah! Well, I won’t see her tonight. No. However, I’ll see her soon.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You’re lowering your armor.”

“I’m not.”

And we continued like that, in a delicate tug of war. My steel barrier rested on the right, his stubborn will on the left.

He told me more about himself. He was a mama’s boy. He didn’t confess the label, but I could see it all over his face as he discussed his mother. Love resided there. It glittered in his eyes when he described her cooking and radiated from him when he proudly beamed about buying her a house and giving her the money to retire. Those were dreams that I’d had for myself—the ability to retire my dad. Thankfully, Dad had been able to do it himself.