Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Why is he cutting his hair?
I’ve been racing around the room since then, stripping off my clothes, finding the switch to dim the lights and slipping a CD into the player—Peruvian flute, which is the sexiest music available at the moment. I’m working with a limited arsenal here.
Everything needs to be perfect.
I’m a man on a mission. The last few days with my father were like a high budget Scrooge reenactment in my honor.
Here’s a ghost from your past, in the present, telling you about your shitty future if you ever let yourself turn out like him.
The last time I’d talked to him—less than a year after my mother died—he asked me to sell back her stocks in the company. But after what he said yesterday, I made sure he paid what they were worth before I cut him out of my life for good.
I chose my real family a long time ago, and the conversations Miller’s been having with me on the phone for the last few days—about starting a family of his own—showing me that now might be the perfect time to make it clear that I want to be a part of that future. With him.
Even JD would think this is romantic.
I hear steps in the hall and get in position on the massage table, covering my ass with a sheet and my head with the closest available pillow.
I hope he likes the surprise.
“Nina, did you turn on the—oh.” There’s a long pause, then I hear him pick up the clipboard with the fake name and details I scribbled on there while I waited.
“Mr. N. Cage?”
“Mm-hmm.” I’m trying not to laugh, because yeah, Nicholas Cage.
“Mr. Cage,” he says matter-of-factly, setting down the clipboard. “I’ll admit I don’t have many male clients, but I do know all about the lower back injury you say you’re suffering from. Would you like to discuss what I intend to do, or should I just show you instead?”
Does that sound as suggestive as I think it does? He knows it’s me, right? I mean, I don’t have any tattoos or birthmarks, but if anyone can pick my body out of a lineup, it should be Miller.
Without revealing myself, I hold up two fingers.
“Option two. Great choice. I can’t wait to get a feel for your problem.”
Okay, he’s got to be fucking with me.
When he doesn’t rip the pillow away or give me hell for not letting him know I was coming back today, I’m honestly not sure what to do next.
Why do I try to plan things? They never go the way I expect them to.
When he starts rubbing the warmed oil into my tense arms, my shoulders, my back… What was I saying again?
The pillow muffles my groan of ecstasy. I can’t even describe what he’s doing, but he’s finding and fixing aches I didn’t know I had. I’ve never been this relaxed in my life. I’m even starting to dig the flutes.
Which is why it takes me a minute to react after his hands slip beneath the sheet and start to rub my ass.
“You’re holding a lot of tension here, Mr. Cage,” he purrs, kneading the cheeks in a way that makes my cock instantly swell and demand to be let in on the conversation.
What the fuck?
“Relax. You know, you remind me of someone, Mr. Cage. He was a hard ass too. Excuse me, has a hard ass. If he hadn’t disappeared on me a few days ago, I might have done something like this for him.”
He slides one warm, slicked-up finger through my crack, lightly glancing the sensitive nerves in between, and my entire body starts to heat up. I’m actually tingling.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“I think this is the kind of deep, thorough massaging he needed.” His fingers return again and again. A small rub. A teasing circle.
Then he starts massaging the tight bundle of muscles and I’m so hard I can barely get the words out. “Do it.”
“Mr. Cage?”
I toss the pillow on the floor and push up on one elbow, twisting to reach for him. “Stop fucking teasing me and do it, Miller. Let me feel it.”
I snag the back of his neck but there’s nothing to grab onto. “Damn haircut,” I grumble, pulling him down to kiss him in a way that leaves no doubt who I am and how much I’ve missed him.
“Do it,” I repeat the command against his lips. “I know you’ve thought about it. Let’s see if we can keep that wild streak going.”
“Breathe out,” he whispers, excitement deepening his voice as he pushes inside with his thick, slippery finger.
“Oh fuck,” I gasp, my ass clenching at the invasion. “Miller.”
“Relax.” He kisses me again, almost breathing for me until I get used to the sensation.
“Don’t stop.” My voice is shaking. I’m shaking. I’m not even sure if I like it, but I need him to keep going. “Please.”