A Massage to Remember
Steamy Sapphic Stories #1
Lesbian Fiction
Kayleigh Patel
Copyright © 2020 Kayleigh Patel
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This book is for adult audiences only. It contains sexually explicit scenes with graphic language, which may be considered offensive by some readers. All sexual activity in this book is consensual, and all sexually active characters are 18 years of age or older.
Photo credits:
Original image licensed from Depositphotos.
The use of photography on the cover does not imply personal endorsement by the models or photographers.
First edition March 2020
Khajuraho Books
20200312-AZ
Contents
Title Page
A Massage to Remember
Books by Kayleigh Patel
About the Author
A Massage to Remember
Preview
Her fingers trailed down my stomach, and she worked the area just above my mound. By now, I was pinning everything on the hope that her fingers would slip and end up rubbing against my swollen clit. Once again, I was disappointed.
Gradually, she moved down to my thighs. She kneaded and pummeled my muscles, traveled down to my feet, and then back up again. She grasped my thighs with each hand, her thumbs resting just below my crotch. Instinctively, I parted my legs. I no longer cared if she saw how wet I was.
***
I both loved and hated working at trade shows. I enjoyed interacting with customers and the thrumming energy of being on the show floor. As a regional sales manager for a medical device company, I did a lot of traveling, and I attended a lot of trade shows. It was a heady sensation, waiting for the exhibit hall to open and knowing that our booth would soon be swamped with customers.
What I hated was being polite to the men who simply saw me as a booth bimbo and asked me questions that showed they had no understanding of what our company actually did, all the while leering at my breasts. Half of them had no idea how insulin pumps worked. And most of the time, I was on my feet all day with only a few breaks, which didn’t help my attitude any.
But, I have to admit, a chance encounter with a beautiful woman made it all worthwhile. At most shows, when the exhibit hall closed for the day, the social events began. I’d had more than a few steamy encounters with women I’d met during the show—a night of passion or two, with the bonus of knowing that, in all likelihood, we’d never see each other again after the show had ended. I have to admit I wasn’t much for long-term relationships.
Although it had been more business than pleasure, over the past few nights, I’d enjoyed dinner and drinks at my favorite spots around San Diego. My first night, however, had been free of social engagements and I’d ended up meeting a woman at the hotel bar and then going up to her room for the rest of the evening. We both understood the rules of the game, and we didn’t even exchange phone numbers. There was no need, when we knew it was highly unlikely we’d see each other again.
Now, I scanned the crowd filling the aisles. It was the morning session break, when attendees thronged the exhibit hall to get their hands on free coffee and pastries—while they lasted. The booth staff were doing a good job, engaging prospective customers who were walking by and sorting out the real prospects from those who were just tire-kickers. Every show I’d ever attended had a few of them, the ones who went to every booth in the exhibit hall, stuffing their bags with as many free giveaways as they could score from all the exhibitors.
My gaze was drawn to a spectacular blonde in a crisp business suit who was making her way toward our booth. She must have noticed me staring, for she brushed back her bangs with one hand and favored me with a brilliant smile.
“I’ve heard so much about your company.” Her voice was low and throaty, igniting an instant spark of desire in my chest.
“All good news, I hope.” I extended my hand. “I’m Tori. How can I help you?”
She took my hand and held it just a moment longer than would be expected for a casual business acquaintance. I was already getting good vibes.
Holding her badge up for my scrutiny, she smiled again. “You probably haven’t heard of our company, but we’re very interested in your new insulin pump. We develop diabetes software for mobile devices, and I’d love to talk to you about how we could work together.”
I sighed. “I’m afraid that we already have a long-standing relationship with our software developer. We’ve been very happy with them and, quite frankly, it would take years of validation before we’d even consider switching to another vendor.”
Her face fell but, to her credit, she recovered quickly. “I understand that. However, wouldn’t you agree that competition in the software market can only benefit our mutual customers—people with diabetes who are counting on their insulin pump to provide clear and simple analysis of their data?”
It wasn’t the first time at this show that I’d heard a software sales pitch, but I found myself unable to send Melissa on her way.
“What did you have in mind?” I started to lose my focus, captivated by her expressive blue eyes.
She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “Well, we’d have to test our software with your pump first, of course, but I have no doubt that our developers can make it work. What if we sold our software independently but arranged for a seal of approval from your company? It wouldn’t be
