Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
“I promise the setup is easy, and the answer is that I like my privacy.”
I frowned. “You’ve had me here for days.”
“I want you here. I chose to invite you. If I had staff, they’d be here all the time, even when I didn’t want them. I’d rather have people who come in when I need them. Then I can have privacy whenever I choose it.”
I wondered how soon he’d want privacy from me. I had to keep reminding myself that this wasn’t my home.
When Pierre arrived. I decided several things very quickly. One, I did not like him touching Miles so freely. Two, Pierre was definitely not his real name, his French accent was one hundred percent fake. Three, I liked the way Miles kept looking over at me. I had intended to leave the room while Miles had his hair cut so I could go through some emails or look over Miles’s calendar for the coming week, but I decided to stay right where I was.
It was somehow both erotic and infuriating watching “Pierre” give Miles a head massage, then work his long fingers onto Miles’s neck and shoulders. I knew Miles was wearing nothing but a tiny pair of briefs under his robe. I didn’t want to think about how easy it would be for Pierre to untie it and try to take what was mine. Had he done that before? He certainly acted overly familiar.
When Miles’s hair has been cut, dried, and styled, he looked even more incredible than usual. Pierre knew his work, not that Miles would hire someone who didn’t.
“What do you think?” Miles asked.
“You look gorgeous.”
“Of course he does,” Pierre purred.
“It’s your turn,” Miles said.
At his insistence, I’d changed into a robe while Miles was having his hair blow-dried. I settled into the chair and Pierre guided my head into the sink. I didn’t know if I could have gotten into this position a few days ago but now my ribs only twinged as I lay back. And it was worth it, the warm water felt divine.
When Pierre began working the shampoo into my head, I realized exactly what Miles meant. His fingers were magical. The massage felt like pure heaven. I closed my eyes and let myself relax.
27
MILES
I started to protest when Ben winced as he lay back. I didn’t want him doing this if it hurt, but he seemed content once he was situated with his head in the wash basin.
Pierre got the water temperature regulated, wet Ben’s hair, and begin to wash it. I knew there were plenty of things I could do besides watch, but I was going to indulge myself. Ben had watched me, after all.
As Pierre began Ben’s head massage, I watched Ben slowly relax, sinking deeper into the chair. He let out a small sigh, a sound he often made in bed with me. I tensed, my hands balling into fists. I didn’t want him making that sound for anyone else.
I told myself Pierre was a professional, that he was doing exactly what he did for me. Of course, Pierre had also done everything he could to work his way into my bed, only managing to succeed one time.
He moved his hands further down, working into Ben’s temples. Ben sighed again, and I saw red. I didn’t want another man’s hands on Ben. I didn’t want another man giving him pleasure. He was mine.
“That’s enough,” I said standing up.
Pierre smiled at me. “Don’t you like watching us together? I thought perhaps you’d like to watch us do other things too.”
That arrogant little shit. Did he actually think he was going to be invited to join me and Ben? “Out.” I pointed at the door.
“I’m not finished. I have to rinse out the shampoo and then—”
“I’ll finish for you.”
“You cannot,” Pierre yelled. “Do not touch his hair. It’s so soft and beautiful and you will ruin it.”
“Miles?” Ben had raised up in a position that had to be hurting his sore chest. “What’s wrong?”
Before I could try to answer him, Pierre screeched. “Tell me you will not touch his hair.”
“I have no intention of cutting Ben’s hair, but I don’t want you doing it either.”
He looked like I’d stabbed him. “Why not? I am the best.”
“Not for Ben.” I knew how crazy I sounded, but I didn’t care.
Ben sat all the way up, wrapping his arms around his chest. “Miles? What’s going on?”
“I don’t want him touching you. You’re mine.” I knew how over the top that sounded, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Miles, I think you’ve gone crazy,” Pierre said.
I barely refrained from commenting that his fake French accent had suddenly disappeared as I pointed to the door again. “Leave.”
“I have to pack up my things.”
“I’ll have them delivered to you in a few hours.”
“What? You can’t—”
I stepped into the bathroom long enough to grab my wallet from my discarded pants. When I’d counted out a thousand dollars, I handed the bills to Pierre.