Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
But suddenly, panic strikes me again.
“Wait, do you work with Gray often?”
She cocks her head at me.
“Yes.”
I ask tentatively, “For him or for his women?”
She shakes her head.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to divulge client information. However, Mr. Jamison is a steady client, and I appreciate his business. But if you’re uncomfortable, I can let him know and come back another time?”
I swallow.
“No, it’s okay. I’m good.”
She nods.
“Then I’ll just step out and be back in a moment once you’re ready.”
Dani smiles and leaves, and I strip fast. I might be able to trick her into telling me about his other women, if there are any. Too soon, she knocks again and I tell her to come in. But once she begins the massage, my insecurities fly out the window.
She has a magnificent touch. I’m floating in a sea of pleasure, albeit non-sexual pleasure. She hits muscles that I didn’t even know I have, and I almost doze off, but then there’s a knot in my back which she massages and I squeal. It hurts!
“Ow!”
She chuckles.
“You’ll be fine. You’re just tense.”
I relax back onto the bed, and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ignore the pain. Then, I stop myself to ask, “Dani, I know you can’t tell me about your clients, and that’s fine. I just well … Mr. Jamison is so …”
She giggles.
“You mean, you’re trying to not sound nosy?”
I blush.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t even notice,” she teases.
I giggle myself and ask, “Seriously, though, we are casual because we just started seeing each other, and I guess I hardly know anything. Does he usually call you to give massages to girls he’s dating?”
“Nice try,” she chides. “But I still can’t share that sort of information.”
I sigh.
“Damn.”
But then I try again.
“But have you been with him? You know, as more than a masseuse?”
Dani decides to answer me on this one.
“Gray Jamison is a great guy, but he’s not my type.”
I laugh, “Did you see him? Are we talking about the same guy?”
“I did see him,” she laughs.
“Then, how is he not your type?”
She grins again.
“I prefer my partners with less face stubble and more boobs.”
“Oh!” I giggle. “Guess I’m more your type then.”
“Indeed,” she smiles, moving to massage my neck. “How is your jaw doing, by the way?”
I move it around experimentally and say, “Much better, thanks.” Then I realize Gray must have told her about our fun, and my face burns with embarrassment.
“Are you alright? Too warm? I can take a blanket off; you’ll still be under the sheet.”
“No, not warm. Wait, what did he tell you about me and what we did?”
Dani gives a low chuckle.
“Gray is very blunt with me about his own injuries, and I think that straight talk has carried over to you. Don’t worry about it, though. After ten years in this business, I’ve heard everything, and I’ve seen everything too.”
“Oh. Okay.” I try to relax, but keep thinking about him telling her about our private time together. What must Dani think of me, especially with her being a lesbian? God, she probably believes I’m the worst feminist in the world.
Dani reads my mind and grins.
“Don’t worry about it. Mr. Jamison likes to get rough, but nothing will top the time I walked into a home where the wife was dressed like a French maid and kept flashing her husband while I gave him his massage.”
“What?!”
She laughs. “I learned not to judge peoples’ kinks. We all like what we like, whatever that is, and as long as everyone consents, it’s no skin off my nose.”
I giggle.
“I like the way you think, Dani.”
She merely smiles again.
“Mr. Jamison cares about you, Miss Marshall. He wouldn’t have asked me to come see you if he didn’t. Just treat him well, and you’ll be fine.”
I nod and relax back into the bliss of the massage. Is Dani right? Does Gray see something special in me, or am I nothing but a temporary plaything?
7
Gray
* * *
It’s Friday afternoon, and all I can think about is Harlow Marshall. The way she moves, so natural and free. The way she laughs, a real belly laugh and not those contrived giggles that other women do. Really, it’s the way she does everything. There’s nothing phony about her, and nothing fake. She’s just a woman living her life. Hell, she doesn’t even wear makeup most of the time, just that sweet lip gloss that tastes like cookies. All it takes is the thought of her lips and I get a hard-on.
And yet she’s so sweet and young and beautiful…those lush hips are perfect for grabbing from behind. Her angelic face with its soft features and fluttering eyes when she comes? Oh hell, I need her in my office right now. I reach for the intercom to have my secretary call her in, but then my hand stops. Priscilla already suspects what I’m doing with Harlow, and the unfortunate part is that she’s Brent’s secretary too.