Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
"Boss is in his office."
"Thank you," I say, my heart rate speeding up.
What will Porter say when he sees me? Is he going to pretend like our kiss didn't happen? The memory of his lips on mine is enough to send a wave of heat through my core, and I shiver despite the warmth in the gym.
It's quiet as I walk past the boxing ring, the ropes swinging from where the guys have been hitting them. Porter's office door is closed, and I can't tell if he's on the phone or not. I raise my hand to knock and hesitate.
Should I just walk in?
I bite my lip and push the door open. It swings back, the sound of it banging against the wall alerting Porter to my presence.
He's standing behind his desk, his white t-shirt tight across his broad shoulders, his muscles flexing as he sorts through a stack of papers. His salt and pepper hair is tousled and loose, and he has the sexiest 5 o'clock shadow.
"Bailey," Porter says, looking up at me. "Hey, baby. Come on in."
His voice is so deep and gravelly, and the way he called me baby makes my knees weak. He's looking me up and down, and his gaze is filled with desire. Nervous, I look away and take in the office all around me, wanting to know more about the personality of this mysterious man.
The office is masculine and dark, with blackout curtains and a brown leather couch. There are boxing posters covering the walls and a framed picture of Porter with some sort of trophy is situated on his desk.
But all of that isn't what catches my attention the most. It's the massage table, complete with an assortment of oils and towels, set up in the corner.
"You're early," Porter says, and there’s a huskiness to his voice that makes me blush.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." He steps around the desk and comes towards me. "We've got to work on that. You have nothing to apologize for. I want you moving through this world with confidence, not nerves, you hear me?"
My cheeks flame even redder as he reprimands me, and Porter chuckles. "You're cute as a fucking button, you know that, Bailey?"
This surprises a giggle out of me. "Oh! Well, thanks."
His answering laugh is low and dances across my nerves. "Why don't you get undressed and under the sheet while I go lock up and take a quick shower? I won't be long."
My jaw drops. "Undressed?"
Porter smirks. "Bailey. It's a massage. It's totally normal."
"Right," I whisper. Totally normal. Of course.
Then, he winks at me and walks out of the office, closing the door behind him.
I'm frozen for a moment, taking in all that has happened today. He kissed me earlier, and part of me thought he would kiss me again and just forget the massage. But no, here he is with this professional setup, and I wonder if the kiss was just a one-time mistake. Porter seems like he's going to treat this all so...so distantly? Clinical?
He did call me cute, so there's that. And now I'm supposed to undress in his office so he can massage me. I shake my head. That sounds so bizarre.
Slowly, I pull off my yoga clothes and drape them over the arm of the couch, standing in just my bra and panties and quickly trying to decide if I should take those off, too. I undo my bra, letting it fall down my arms, and toss it with the rest of my clothes. Then, I slide my underwear off.
The sheets are crisp and cool, and I climb on the massage table and wrap the top of the sheet tightly around my breasts. They're fairly big, and the sheet doesn't hold them as securely as I'd like.
I'm just lying back down on the table when the door opens and Porter comes back in. I rise just enough to look at him and the sight makes everything from my belly down feel tight and achy.
His hair is wet and slicked back, and he's changed into a pair of gray sweats but no shirt. My breath hitches and I have to look away, and the way Porter exhales in amusement tells me that he notices.
"I'm just going to dim the lights and warm up some oil." He flips the switch, filling the room with soft yellow light from a lamp. "Relax, baby, and let me take care of you."
I swallow, nodding, and Porter moves to the side of the massage table, a bottle of oil in his hands.
"I'm going to pull the sheet down a bit," he warns and gently tugs the sheet down around my waist.
The cool air hits me, and I shiver, goosebumps rising on my skin. Porter rubs the warm oil into his palms, and I'm mesmerized as I watch his muscles move and ripple.