Driving Stick (Bride of the Billionaire)

“Well, if you weren’t so damn particular, Grayson—”

“All I want is someone who knows what she’s doing,” I reply, dampening my abruptness with a smile. Sheryl is an amazing assistant, but she’s also pretty sensitive. She sighs and glances at her phone.

“Well, she’s three minutes away. Why don’t you go get ready and I’ll send her in when she gets here?”

One of the great things about being a billionaire is that you can do the most absurd things to your home. Like for instance, having a spa installed, or a bowling alley, or a gym…or a massage room.

I strip down to my briefs, turn on some Mozart, and get on the table. Despite Sheryl’s reassurance, I’m skeptical. To say the least.

Girl 1 started off with what she called a “tease routine,” that involved dragging her acrylic nails gently up and down my back until I told her to stop. “It’s supposed to stimulate your autonomic nervous system,” she’d told me. I’m pretty sure she just read that on Google.

Girl 2 didn’t even get a chance to get her hands on me. She smelled like avocados that had gone bad and brought a small dog with her. I told her to scram and went back to work.

Girl 3 was decent, but told me she could make sure I was “fully satisfied” if I was generous with my tips. Girl 4 said basically the same thing but just came right out with it. She got topless after about five minutes, oiled up her tits and rubbed them all over my back while doing pornstar breathing sounds in my ear.

Most guys probably would have hit it, but not me. I’m not interested in girls throwing themselves at me because I’m rich. Been there, done that. The next girl I’m with is going to be the one who’s with me for the rest of my life.

I’m getting comfortable on the table when the intercom on the wall buzzes and Sheryl says, “She’s on her way in.”

The speaker clicks off, and I sigh. Here comes another girl looking for a sugar daddy, a pay day, an easy gig from some rich guy simp. I glance over my shoulder as I hear footsteps approaching. When I see her, every one of my expectations shatters like broken glass.

I’m a perceptive person, so I quickly search her for any warning signs that she might be trouble, but don’t find any. Instead, I see a vision of beauty walking towards me, wearing black yoga pants, a nice but professional top, with her hair pulled back and a bag over her shoulder.

The smile she flashes at me as she enters the room could move armies. Is this Helen of Troy reincarnated?

“Hi, Mr. Radcliffe,” she says, extending a hand. We shake and I feel her strength in her grip. “My name is Jennie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I feel my cock between to swell against the table. “The pleasure’s all mine.” The girls I’ve seen up until now would wink at a comment like that – or their eyes would sparkle and they’d respond with some sexual innuendo, but Jennie doesn’t miss a beat. She sets her bag down and pulls out a bottle of lotion.

“So, Sheryl said you have some issues with your neck and upper back?”

r /> Even her voice is perfect. My eyes move up her legs as she starts to oil me up. She’s slim, but the hips on her…I don’t see any panty lines. Is she even wearing any? Maybe this girl’s not as innocent as she seems.

“Yeah, I carry a lot of my tension there,” I tell her as she starts to work on me.

“Must be because you’re so tall,” she replies. “How tall are you anyway?”

“Six-four,” I reply. She makes a little “mmm” sound of approval that causes me to grin. Who knows where this will end up, but she’s got great hands on her – almost as good as Galina’s. All she needs is a little coaching.

And all I need is a little more…

Yeah, I know I said I was just looking for a masseuse, but that was before I met Jennie. Christ, she’s gorgeous. I don’t even want to put my head down into the cushion. I just want to keep my eyes on her and explore every inch of her body. Shit, I’d switch places with her right now just to get my hands on her.

My cock is aching. I’m so hard I have to raise my hips slightly off the table just to relieve some of the pressure. Jennie notices.

“You all right?” she asks. “Carry some tension in that booty, too?”

“Just…getting comfortable,” I reply. I can tell by the length of the pause she takes that she isn’t that innocent; she gets what I’m saying but chooses to stay professional.

“So what happened to your last masseuse? Sheryl said something about her leaving the country?”

“Back to Russia,” I reply. “A shame too. She was good. The only gal who knew how to work my kinks out.”

Jennie digs right into my neck with her thumbs, causing me to groan with relief as I feel the stress starting to slip from my body. Of course, another area is having a completely opposite reaction.

She’s working on my legs when it happens.

It’s delicate and could be read as a complete mistake, but the tips of two of her fingers gently brush up my inner thighs and against my balls.