The Mobster’s Masseuse
My frown makes his lips twitch.
“Sacrifice some of your pride first,’” I say. “Then I’ll decide.”
“You’re not hoping to get something for nothing, are you, gorgeous?”
I bat my eyelashes. “Who, me?”
He sighs a laugh. A sound that’s mature and rich and masculine. It stirs my hair and sends my pulse into a tizzy. His hands brace on the table edge on either side of me and he drops his mouth, right above the pulse in my neck, groaning in a darkly male manner, turning my panties sodden. “Fifty grand. You get naked on the table. Naked. I put my hands and mouth wherever the fuck I want them.”
“Fifty…” I gasp. “Fifty thousand dollars?”
“Mmm. Is that a yes?”
“No. No, I’m not selling myself for sex.”
“You’ll be the one getting pleasure.”
“You’re that sure of yourself?”
When I’m positive he’s going to give me some line about being the female orgasm whisperer, his expression turns thoughtful. “I’m not that sure of myself, actually. People tell me what I want to hear. They’re afraid not to. For all I know, women do the same.”
I can’t hide my surprise. “Was that you sacrificing some pride?”
“That depends. Was it enough to convince you, Meadow?”
God. Why is everything about him so appealing? I like the way he’s looking at me. Like I’m a masterpiece he’s unveiling stroke by stroke. I like how he bats around words with me like we’re ping pong opponents. Not to be arrogant, but people usually can’t keep up with me in a conversation. It’s why I gave up on dating before I even graduated high school. This is nice. Knowing he’s paying attention and capable of a rejoinder. Annoyingly nice.
“You could be lying,” I say. “You could know damn well you’ve got mad skills when it comes to women.”
“If I’m lying, you benefit by having multiple orgasms for lunch. If I’m telling the truth, and I’m not confident that I’m God’s gift to women, then you walk away with a chunk of my pride. Win-win.”
I’m fighting a smile. And my arousal. “You must be very good at your job.”
“Now that I’m confident in.” His big hands cradle my hips roughly and a shudder rolls through me. “I don’t want to talk about my job, Meadow. I want you undressing.”
“One hundred grand,” I blurt.
He doesn’t hesitate. No, his eyes merely heat until I’m being blistered under their regard. “Done.” His mouth brushes mine. “Now strip.”
CHAPTER THREE
Walker
My theory that this girl was made for me—and only me—is further confirmed when she whips her shirt off with nothing short of defiance. Her eyes glitter with a mixture of anticipation and challenge. The potent combination makes my balls fill and tighten in response. Good Lord. This is a girl that will put up with none of my bullshit and I never thought that would be so fucking appealing. But it is. Because it’s Meadow. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days butting heads with this beauty.
Mine. I knew it the moment I saw her.
My future just got a hell of a lot more interesting.
I wonder if she has a single clue she’s already sealed her fate.
Barely holding myself in check from tossing her up on the table and ripping off the rest of her starched uniform, I start to roll up my sleeves instead, though I pause when her sexy tits are revealed. Mouthwatering. Small. Lifted by cream-colored lace. I’m going to spend the rest of my life making them bounce.
“Christ. You’re a goddamn knockout, Meadow.”
Pink suffuses her cheeks. “I bet you say that to all the masseuses.”
“I’ve never had a massage before.”
I expect her to call bullshit, so I’m surprised when her expression turns kind of wistful. “Really?” Her gaze dances across my shoulders. “And you don’t want me to give you one? I’m good. I bet I can put you right to sleep.”
“See, that’s why I don’t get massages. Why would I want to fall asleep in a strange place with my back to the door?”
“Most people don’t worry about sneak attacks during a massage.”
Unable to resist the call of her soft skin another second, I rub my knuckles in a circle around her belly button. “I ain’t most people, gorgeous.”
Her nipples turn to little points inside her bra, but she doesn’t try to hide her body’s reaction. No, she pushes the waistband of her pants down and wiggles her hips until the garment falls.
My cock grows another inch at the sight of her lush thighs and the pussy between. The lace of her panties gives me enough of a view to the flesh beneath that I know she’s bare and I’m already licking my lips, savoring what’s to come. Because if she tastes half as good as she looks, I just found my new favorite meal.
“You like what you see, Mr. McManus?”