Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“I . . . um . . .” She looks around. “You just need to fill out this paperwork.” She picks up a clipboard and shoves it my way without looking at me. “I’ll get everything set up, then come back out to get you.”
I don’t get a chance to reply before she takes off. I sit and fill out the paperwork as I was told. She comes back out a few minutes later and takes the clipboard from me. Tucking my hands into the front pockets of my jeans, I watch as she reads over everything quickly.
She sets the clipboard on top of the desk, then shuts and locks the door.
“Do you always lock the door when you have a client?” I ask as she looks up at me.
“Yes. If I’m with a client, the door is always locked. That way no one can just walk in while I’m working,” she states.
I want to ask her about the fact that she buzzed me in without knowing who I was, but I can tell by the shortness in her tone that she wouldn’t appreciate me questioning her right now.
“If you’ll follow me.” She scoots around me, and I follow her down a very short hall and into a dimly lit room where soft music is playing in the background.
The walls are a light blue, almost white. The color goes well with the pictures of the ocean she has hung on the walls. Pulling in a lungful of air, I realize the room smells like her—like lavender and vanilla.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to get undressed and under the covers.” She points at the massage bed in the middle of the room. It’s covered in white sheets. “Just shout when you’re ready for me.”
“Don’t leave on my account.” I smile and toss my jacket on the chair in the corner of the room.
“This is my job.” The words are breathy, giving away the desire she’s feeling.
I use that to my advantage as I strip off my shirt.
“I take my job seriously.”
“As you should.” I nod in agreement, then kick off my sneakers and strip out of my jeans. “Should I leave them on, or lose them?” I question with my thumbs in the waistband of my boxers.
Her tongue wets her bottom lip, causing it to glisten—and my cock to throb.
“Leave them on.”
“All right.” I remove my fingers. “How do you want me?”
At my question, her eyes flare. She quickly schools her features and crosses her arms over her chest.
“On your stomach,” she instructs.
Turning my back to her, I get onto the table and lie down on my stomach, cursing my hard-on when my weight presses it into the unyielding mattress. Resting my face in the cradle at the top of the bed, a million fantasies play out in my mind as I wait for the first touch from her hands.
When I hear her feet pad across the carpet and get closer, my body fills with anticipation. I hear her sharp inhale as her finger touches one of my scars.
“What are these from?”
“Gunshot,” I say quietly, knowing she’s looking at the three small scars on my right shoulder. I was shot during a drug bust gone bad.
“I didn’t notice them before.”
“You were a little preoccupied,” I remind her, trying to lighten the mood.
She doesn’t laugh or reply at all.
Feeling a drop of wet hit my back a moment later, my eyes tighten. Fuck.
I sit up and take her into my arms without thinking. I hold her against me as she cries, overwhelmed that she’s upset over me.
“I’m sorry.” She pulls away before I’m ready to let her go, ducking her head and wiping the wet from her cheeks. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I’m not going to complain that you let me hold you,” I say.
Her eyes meet mine.
“How did it happen?” she asks.
I ignore the question, just like I’ve been ignoring the constant pain in my chest since I moved away from Seattle and to New York City.
“It’s not important. Let’s get started,” I say, trying to keep the bite out of my tone. I know I don’t succeed in that endeavor, because she flinches. “Sorr—”
“You’re right.” She cuts me off and looks away from me, making me want to kick my own ass around the room. “We should get started. My next client will be here soon.”
Without a word, I move back to my stomach and close my eyes. Feeling her oil-covered hands slip across my back makes it almost impossible to relax. I want to apologize for being harsh and for shutting her down when she was obviously only concerned for me, but I can’t get the words out. I’ve never opened up to anyone. I can’t imagine that Mackenzie wants my burdens dragging her down.
“I was arrested once,” she says out of the blue minutes later.