‘ I’ ve never seen such big hands!’
‘ And you know what they say& ‘
‘ That’ s feet they say that about.’
‘ Who cares? Anyway, with such an impressive front, I can only imagine what-’
Brie gave me a shove. ‘ Get going. We want to see him walk away.’
I waved good-bye to them. They cooed like proud mothers sending their baby girl off to lie naked on a table while a total stranger rubbed his hands over her.
He introduced himself as Runner and escorted me into a dimly lit room barely big enough for the massage table. The drill was the same as usual: He left while I stripped and lay facedown on the table underneath a blanket. When he returned after I’ d called out that I was ready, he was all business.
I wished I could have said the same for myself. Something about being naked and so near such a bastion of masculinity had me& well& thinking.
‘ Do you prefer hard or soft?’ he asked innocently enough.
‘ Hard,’ I gulped, not so innocently.
‘ Okay. Let me know if it’ s too much.’
He began massaging my back and shoulders in deep, firm strokes. I could hear him breathing as he worked. He was careful to keep me covered. I felt his hip graze against me, but it was all very clean and on the up-and-up and wholesome and, cripes, I was so horny. There was no getting around it. The candles& the soft music& a man’ s strong hands gripping me and rubbing me& his raspy grunts as he threw his weight into it. How could I not have filthy thoughts? Even though I would have been horrified if his hands actually wandered, that didn’ t mean I couldn’ t entertain the fantasy that they might.
He moved my towels around and then dug his fingers into the flesh of my thighs. It was all I could do to suppress a moan. I wondered how many women threw money at him and asked for the ‘ full service’ massage.
I wondered if he said yes.
And how much money would it take?
Not that I was interested, mind you.
Simply curious.
Runner told me to turn over onto my back, and then he covered my eyes with a cool cloth. My mind wandered, first to thoughts of work& and the list& and then to thoughts of Troy Jones swimming, the muscles on his back rippling as he dug through the water. The way he’ d smoothed the water from his hair when he’ d stepped out, completely wet, his swim trunks clinging to him.
I must have sighed at the memory, because Runner murmured, ‘ This feels good?’ His hands gripped my hips, pushing firmly up and down, which brought me back to the moment.
‘ Mmm-hmm.’
‘ Good.’
He continued, making a noise from deep in his chest from all that pushing and thrusting and grabbing. I was trying to do that thing men do to stave off arousal, think of something neutral like baseball-only I was imagining buying that new set of plates I wanted at Pottery Barn-when I sensed Runner shift so that he stood behind my head. ‘ We’ re almost finished,’ he said.
I felt his hand rest to put pressure on my right temple. Then his other hand pushed on my left temple. Then his other hand pushed firmly into the crown of my head.
His other hand?
I distinctly recalled him having only two hands when we started, so what was that pressing into my head?
Oh no-it was his penis. He was jamming his erection into me. I felt it rubbing against my hair, making firm, hard circles. I must have been sending out signals. He probably thought I was enjoying it!
I had no idea what to do. It was one thing if I’ d asked-Hey, would you mind sliding your throbbing manhood against me?-but I’ d done no such thing! Boy, if he thought he was getting the full 15 percent tip after this&
I needed to say something. Make it clear that he was out of line. Because although I was still covered by the towel, I felt naked. Exposed. How could he?
He made a noise& mmmm& yet I lay there with the cloth over my eyes, doing nothing. At the very least, I needed to slap him. Or report him!
Mustering my courage, I pulled off the cloth and opened my eyes. When I did, I realized that he wasn’ t digging his penis into me. He wasn’ t even standing behind me. He was to my side. One of his huge hands stretched across my face so he touched both temples at once.
Which left his other hand free to touch the top of my head.
‘ How was it?’ he asked warmly.
‘ Great,’ I said, trying not to blush.
Was it my fault the man had freakishly large hands? Anyone could have made the same mistake.
As I threw on my robe to join the other women before going upstairs to get ready for dinner, it occurred to me that that pent-up sexual energy had to go somewhere. And I knew exactly where.
It almost seemed unfair not to call Troy Jones and give the poor boy a running start.
Chapter 21
T his is your motorcycle?’
‘ Something wrong?’ Troy asked, handing me a helmet.
‘ Where do I sit?’
