Free The Masseuse by Sierra Kincade Page A

door to the waiting room.
    I waited until she was gone before stepping back into the room. I hadn’t known what to expect, and in those seconds before I saw him, my imagination had gone wild. Visions of him lying on his chest, his bare back exposed for my tingling fingers, followed by him lying on his back, naked and hard as a rock, filled my mind.
    What I didn’t expect was to see him still fully dressed, peering at my supplies on the granite countertop.
    I blew out the breath I’d been holding.
    “What is this?” He held up a small amber bottle.
    So much for staying steady. When he turned, and his gaze found mine, I practically melted.
    “They’re essential oils,” I said, motioning to the matching bottles behind the black marble sink. “You pick the scent that you like best, and I mix it in the oil for the massage.”
    “This one, specifically,” he said.
    I approached, and took the small glass bottle, uncorked it, and breathed it in.
    “Sandalwood,” I said. “It’s supposed to be calming.” Unless inhaled in concentrated doses, when it became an aphrodisiac. I wasn’t going to tell him that, though. The small, dim space was already brimming with sexual tension.
    “It smells like you.” He slid closer and leaned down, the tip of his nose running down the wildly pulsing vein in my neck. “I can’t get it out of my head.”
    He backed me into the counter, hands on either side, and eased his body against mine. He was so warm, even through the layers of our clothing, and his muscular chest rubbed my nipples to peaks. I nearly groaned from the pressure of his heavy cock against my belly. My breath came out in a shudder.
    “Is this what you want?” I tried to focus, but it was quickly becoming impossible. “The oil, I mean. Is that what you’d like me to use on you?” I set the bottle down on the counter before I dropped it.
    He pulled back and smiled wickedly. “Always with the teasing.”
    Unexpectedly, he lowered and cupped the back of my legs with his strong hands. In one fluid motion, he lifted me up to straddle his hips. From this position, the soft parts of me found his hardness, and the friction alone was enough to bring me close to orgasm. I gasped, unable to hide the reaction as the blood rushed to my cheeks and the dampness flooded between my legs. My calves flexed around him and I grabbed his shoulders, eliciting a hiss through his teeth.
    My skirt bunched around my waist as he turned and set me on the end of the table. When he stepped back, I had to bite back the groan of frustration. I was on fire, my breasts heavy and sensitive. If he didn’t kiss me soon, I would die.
    He removed one of the black patent-leather ankle boots I was wearing. Not the wisest choice for working on your feet, but they matched my outfit, and today I’d dressed to kick ass. As he removed the other shoe, that well-laid plan crashed through the floorboards.
    “What are you doing?” I whispered as his fingers skimmed over the bare strip of skin between my rumpled skirt and the straps of my garter belt. He unhooked both of the fastenings with a flick of his fingers. One smooth, practiced move. He’d done this before.
    My gaze shot to the door. I was at work. I couldn’t do this.
    But one of his fingers slipping beneath the top of my thigh-high made me forget everything but him.
    He eased it down, fingers grazing the inside of my leg and tickling the sensitive skin behind my knee. When he got to my calf, he stopped, and began again on the other side.
    “I told you,” he said, and I trembled as his fingertips came close to my sex. “I’m making it up to you.”
    Embarrassment flushed through me. My desire was obvious, and I was making no attempt to cover myself up.
    He knelt, his head even with my throbbing clit. Gently, he pulled the nylons free and left them in a puddle on the floor. My chest was rising and falling, my heart beating wildly. I held absolutely still, scared he would do what I thought he was