by Pamela Yaye
Dominique smiled. “All right, then, let’s get started. Strip down to your boxers, and drape this over your waist,” she said, handing him a towel. “I’ll step out of the room while you…”
Grabbing the tail of his shirt, he pulled it up over his head and tossed it on one of the chairs. Next came his shoes, socks and shorts. Before she was finished with her sentence, he was lying facedown on the massage table, waiting. “I’m ready when you are.”
Dominique gulped. “Right, yes, just give me a minute to arrange my supplies.”
Had seeing him undress aroused her? Curiosity piqued, Marcel studied her closely. His eyes traced the curve of her lips, the slope of her breasts and her legs. He loved how sexy she looked in her uniform, but she was more than just a hot bod. Dominique was intelligent, spirited and full of life, and just because he wasn’t a multimillionaire didn’t mean they couldn’t get to know each other better—starting right now.
“To loosen your muscles, I’m going to start by using an almond oil.”
As the scent filled the air, he felt her fingertips glide slowly along his neck. Her touch instantly soothed him. The subdued lighting enhanced the quiet ambience of the room, but it was her sultry voice that helped him to relax.
“Your forearms have incredible definition. You must work out a lot.”
“Not really,” he said, with a lazy shrug. “I swim and shoot ball a few times a week. You should come by Total Fitness and watch me play sometime.”
“Maybe one of these days I will.”
“I’d like that.” And he loved the pressure she was applying to his forearms.
“If you feel pain or discomfort at any point, let me know.”
“Too late,” he said, chuckling. “I got worked over pretty good on the tennis court today.”
Dominique kneaded his shoulder blades. “Did you at least win the game?”
Marcel opened his mouth, but when she squeezed his biceps, his tongue went limp. Every bone in his body ached, and his pulse hammered in his ears. Waves of pleasure, stronger than anything he’d ever experienced, tore through him. His limbs were heavy, and his eyes were out of focus.
Marcel couldn’t breathe—not when the woman he shared such an insane sexual attraction with was working the knots of tension out of his lower back. Her breasts skimmed his shoulder, and he imagined licking, sucking, and tweaking her nipples until she cried out for him to stop.
“How does that feel? Is it too much pressure, just right or not enough?”
Her tone was hypnotic, and several seconds ticked by before he emerged from the sexual fog he was under. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. It feels great.”
Using her nails, she lightly raked their tips down the length of his back. His body throbbed, pulsed. To keep from groaning, Marcel smashed his lips together and prayed that she wouldn’t do it again. If she did, all bets were off.
His eyelids slid closed. Marcel didn’t know what else the waiter had put in his vodka, but he was starting to feel the effects of the drink he’d had back at the country club. It felt like her hands were in his hair, along his neck, on his legs. Then, the inevitable happened. His erection grew. It strained against the flap of his boxers, tall, erect, dying for release.
Marcel grunted. He’d had massages before but never like this. What was the matter with him? Sexual tension engulfed the room, plugging his nostrils and stirring something deep within him. He couldn’t believe what Dominique was doing with her hands and where she’d just put her lips. Did she just blow in my ear?
“Are you comfortable enough?”
To keep from moaning out loud, he nodded his head in response. Marcel felt as if he was about to blow. Dominique cupped, kneaded and stroked his body with such urgency that lines of electricity zipped down his back. Each bolt was stronger than the last, deeper and more intense than anything he’d ever experienced.
Try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting her, and he finally gave up after a valiant two-minute effort. His eyes shot open when he felt her hands on his butt. Lifting his head off the table, he turned and stared over his shoulder at her. His vision was clouded with lust, but he saw the heat in her eyes. Dominique had sex on the brain, and when she slowly licked her lips, Marcel jumped to his feet. Now it was on.
Chapter 8
Dominique’s inner voice told her to smarten up. Goodness, girl, have some pride, and quit rubbing on his ass like an oversexed stripper. Fighting to remain calm, she commanded her arms and legs to stop shaking. Damn Marcel and his spellbinding smile. He was a graduate student with the charm of 007, a dreamy French accent and an Olympic swimmer’s physique. How am I supposed to resist such a sexy man? Warning bells went off in her mind, one after another. Stop. Now. Right now. Take your hands off him, and back away from the table.
Dominique didn’t move.
She prayed the air-conditioning would kick in and reduce her scorching body temperature. Marcel’s gaze pierced her. There was a charge, a spark, a pull so strong she couldn’t fight it a second more. Trapped in a dizzying, adrenaline-charged whirlwind, she felt the room spin around her and her heart beating out of control.
Her breathing came in quick spurts. Dominique was so wet—so ridiculously wet that she didn’t know what to do first: kiss him or ride him. Massaging his forearms had been her undoing, and in a moment of weakness, she’d substituted her fingers for her lips. Naturally, her mouth had wandered to other parts of his body. And now, all she wanted to do was climb on top of Marcel and enjoy the ride.
Marcel yanked her to his chest and she gasped. On fire, she kissed him with all the passion coursing through her veins. Tilting her head back allowed him unlimited access to her mouth. She felt a gush of moisture between her legs and knew that an orgasm was waiting in the wings.
Her appetite grew with each flick of his tongue, and she had the odd feeling of being transported. Of flying high up in the sky, above the clouds and beyond. Was he—her eyes fluttered closed—massaging her scalp? How did Marcel know that she loved when men played with her hair? Things were spinning so fast out of control that she could hardly keep up. Dominique couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t stop stroking his chest, couldn’t stop grinding herself against his long, thick erection.
“Take your clothes off or I’ll rip them off.”
It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. As Dominique slipped off her shirt, she tried to remember which bra and panty set she’d put on that morning. Hoping it was something expensive and lacy, she wiggled out of her shorts.
His lips were a drug, and Dominique was so delirious with need that she trembled when he dipped and then curved his middle finger inside her. Their moans and groans perfumed the air. She wanted him to lick and suck and bite her nipples and told him so. Within seconds of doing this, Dominique came. Yes, this was utopia—the kind she craved and thought only existed in those stupid X-rated movies her ex had been so fond of. Letting go was the most freeing, empowering and exhilarating thing she’d ever done in her entire life.
A second, more powerful orgasm followed on the heels of the first.
“I’m guessing it’s been a while for you.” He spoke softly, but a knowing smirk lit the corner of his lips. “We’ll have to make up for lost time, won’t we, Dominique?”
Grinding her hips against his fingers brought hot torrents of pleasure washing down all over her body. The table squeaked under their weight, and for a second, Dominique feared that it might break. Not that it would matter if it did, because she wasn’t going anywhere until the deed was done.
All of the second thoughts that had been crowding her mind suddenly evaporated into thin air. His cologne energized her senses, and her heart rate surged when he ran his fingers up, down and sideways across her clitoris. The force of her orgasm almost knocked her over. But still, she wasn’t satisfied. She wanted more. Eight months’ worth to be exact. Dominique couldn’t get enough of him, and when Marcel sank his teeth into her neck, she purred to the high heavens.
Marcel treated her nipples like two chocolate chips. He licked, bit and sucked on them nice and hard, just as she instructed. Screams of delight streamed from her lips. To remind him who was in charge, Dominique slid her hands over his crotch and massaged him until he doubled in length. Stroking his erection through his boxer shorts wasn’t enough. Desperate for more, she yanked down his shorts and seized his hardness. Clasping it, she smoothed her thumb over the tip, marveling at its length. Thinking about it nestled deep between her legs caused her to moan.
Driven by impulse, Dominique sat down on his lap and cupped her hands behind his head. Being on top all but guaranteed another orgasm, and when she lowered herself unto his erection, a shudder tore through her body. He felt good inside her—firm, hard, longer than the world’s most expensive sex toy. Dominique rotated and rocked her hips, high from the thrill of being in control. Squeezing her vaginal muscles produced the most exquisite sensation, so she did it again. Beneath her, Marcel grunted and cursed, as if he was being physically tortured.
“Dominique, we have to…stop…we don’t have any—” Marcel lost the war with his conscience. Desire flowed in his belly, and the taste of her flavored lip gloss incited his hunger. She blew on his ear, and a thousand bolts of pleasure careened down his back. To keep from falling face-first on the floor, he gripped the side of the massage table.
“Please.” The soft pleading of her voice shocked him. She sounded so unlike herself—quiet, subdued, on the verge of tears. “Marcel, don’t stop. You feel so good inside me, so big and powerful and strong…”
Marcel no longer had the energy to speak, and the sound of his accelerated heartbeat made it impossible to think. He dug his hands into her hair and twined her dark, smooth locks around his fingers. Her beauty went beyond her good looks. Dominique had it—the X factor. And tonight, Marcel had only one goal in mind: to give her the best sex of her life. He wanted Dominique to replay this moment, this night in the Euphoria suite, for years to come.
Clutching her hips, he lifted her up and then set her back down. On and on it went. A purr tumbled from her lips, and then she was laughing, groaning, rubbing her breasts in his face. Marcel loved seeing Dominique lose control. Her behavior was unladylike and an unexpected turn-on. Their lovemaking was exciting and emotional, like something he’d once seen in an old French film.
The sexy masseuse rode him so hard and so fast that Marcel didn’t realize he was losing control until it was too late. Violent spasms rocked his body. Unable to control himself, he gave into the pleasure and sensation of her hands and mouth. Pulling out was no longer an option, and he cursed himself for not stopping sooner. He knew better than to have unprotected sex—or at least he thought he did. Everything had happened at lightning-fast speed, throwing him off his game, but that was no excuse for not protecting her.
Lying flat on his back, he waited for the haze to lift and his thoughts to clear. Marcel wanted to bask in the glow of their lovemaking, but when he reached for Dominique, she turned away. Covering her breasts with her hand, she slid off his lap and moved swiftly to the other side of the room. Marcel had never seen a woman move so fast after having sex. He sat up, unsure of what had just happened, unsure of how to make things right. As a man, it was his responsibility to take care of her and he’d failed. How could he have been so careless?
“Dominique, I should have protected you,” he said, sitting upright. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
Marcel spotted his boxer shorts and T-shirt at the foot of the massage table and scooped them up. Within seconds, he was dressed. As he watched Dominique, he searched his heart for the right words to say. She was staring outside the window, her arms crossed, her lips stretched tight. Regret showed on her face, lining the depths of those pretty brown eyes he liked so much. In the hopes of easing her guilt, he apologized. “I’m sorry about what happened.”
“We lost control. It happens. No one is to blame, right?” Her voice fell to a whisper, and when she glanced at him, Marcel thought he saw a damp spot on her cheek. “You should go.”
“I’ll wait outside while you lock up.”
“No,” she objected, shaking her head. “I’ll be a while.”
Marcel frowned. “I don’t feel safe leaving you here alone. The rest of the plaza’s empty—”
“I always call Taryn just as I’m leaving, and besides, my car’s parked right out front. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be okay.”
“I’m still uncomfortable with it. You never know who might be watching you.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m fully capable of taking care of myself. I’ve been doing it for thirty-three years, without the help of any man, and I don’t need one now, so just go home.”
Marcel gripped the door handle, but he didn’t turn the knob. He couldn’t leave—not like this, not when she looked angry and sounded upset. “Can we get together this weekend? I have tickets for the Kenny G concert on Saturday night, and I’d love if you could be my date.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t.”
“Is this because of what just happened,” he asked, gesturing with his head to the massage table, “or something else?”
“I’ll be out of town this weekend. I’m visiting a friend in…in Olympia.” Dominique averted her gaze, but her nervousness shined through when she spoke. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to clean up the suite before I go.”
To prove it, she began loading the oils and lotions onto the glass shelf. What was the matter with her? Five minutes ago she was riding him with more zeal than a horse jockey, and now she was giving him the cold shoulder. Marcel was trying to figure her out, trying to make sense of what was going on, when Caesar’s words came back to him. All the girls who work at Destination Wellness offer extra services.
Like a pin stuck in a hellium balloon, his chest deflated. That was what this was all about. Money. What, was she worried that he was going to skip out without paying her? Anger tore through him, but he held his temper in check. He wasn’t going to lose it on her. It wasn’t her fault he’d been played. Like an idiot, he’d actually thought that this could be the start of something special. With hard-eyed scrutiny, Marcel looked her over. Dominique’s heart was made out of stone, but he had to admire her cunning. She did and said all of the right things, and her skills between the sheets were second to none, he thought, stalking out of the room.
Dominique watched Marcel leave the suite and sighed in relief when she heard the front door close. Still trembling from the aftereffects of her second orgasm—or was it her third?—she sat down heavily on the massage table. For the first time ever, she’d allowed her body to rule her mind, and although she was angry at herself for not using protection, it had been the best sex of her life. Marcel had taken her to higher heights and deeper depths she never knew existed. Dominique shook her head. She couldn’t afford to take risks like that—not when she had a younger sister and niece who she was trying to set a good example for.
Swallowing didn’t expunge the taste of his mouth. Remembering the raunchy, sexually explicit language she’d used made her entire body flush with heat. What would her colleagues think if they knew what she’d done? Surely none of them had ever had sex with a client at the boutique. At least not anyone who wanted to keep their job. Mrs. Tomlinson would fire her on the spot if she caught wind of what had happened tonight. Dominique shook her head. There was no way her boss was going to find out, because she was taking this secret with her to the grave. Sleeping with Marcel again was out of the question. And if he ever showed his face at the boutique again, he’d just have to see another masseuse.
Dominique stood. It was almost ten o’clock, and she was exhausted. Her stomach grumbled, and she tried to remember the last time she’d eaten. I could really go for some… What was the name of that dish she’d had at the Seoul Kitchen? Her mind slipped back to the afternoon Marcel had taken her out for lunch. He excited her in
ways she couldn’t explain, and knowing that she’d never see him again saddened her.
In the reception area, Dominique straightened the furniture, switched off the lights and activated the security alarm. As she strode past the water cooler, she noticed a white envelope on the floor with her name printed on it. Fear seized her. Had someone been here earlier? While she was in the Euphoria suite with Marcel? There was only one way to find out. Bending down, she grabbed the letter and stuffed it into her handbag.
Once the blinds were drawn and the front door locked, Dominique hustled over to her car and slipped behind the wheel of her Range Rover. While she waited for the heat to kick in, she pulled out the envelope and tore it open. Five fifty-dollar bills fell onto her lap. A yellow post-it note was stuck to one of the bills.
Thanks for the massage, Dominique, and I really enjoyed the extra services. You’re incredible at what you do, and there’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll go far in this business.
Dominique’s vision was so blurry that she couldn’t read the last line of the note. Incensed, she crumpled the paper into a ball and hurled it to the floor. Why would Marcel write something so cruel? Didn’t he care about her? Even a little? Clicking on her seat belt, she backed out of her parking space, a plan already brewing in her mind. Marcel was going to pay for insulting her, and she knew exactly what to do to even the score.
Chapter 9
“You asshole!”
Dominique’s voice carried down the sixth-floor hallway of the Hurst Park Apartments. Startled, Marcel glanced over his right shoulder. His eyes widened as he watched Dominique stomp toward him, her face taut with anger, her arms standing stiffly at her sides. Marcel tried not to stare, tried not to check out her sleek, curvy physique, but she dazzled his senses in a white linen jacket, peach skirt and silk scarf. Remembering she was the enemy, he asked what she wanted.