by Bebe Balocca
Damien’s face darkened in colour and his breath quickened. Chloe wanted to do a fist pump and a victory lap. He feels it, too! I know he does!
He licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak, then dropped his gaze down to Chloe’s full lips. The corners of her mouth curved up. Damien looked away sharply towards the desktop, where Chloe’s feet were propped.
“Something about you, Chloe, is making me want to bend my rules about mixing business with pleasure.” He swallowed, eyes fixed on Chloe’s delicately boned ankles. “And about, ah, touching.”
“The boss makes the rules, you know,” Chloe whispered. “And you’re the boss.” She rubbed her bare feet together, letting her toes trace a seductive trail down her other foot’s arch.
Damien cleared his throat and shook his head. He picked up her right foot and gave it a soft squeeze. “Can I reward you with a foot massage?” he asked.
Chapter Eight
Chloe’s lips—and every other part of her—screamed silently in disappointment, but the delicate skin of her foot gave a resounding ‘Hell, yes!’
“I think you’re breaking your rule here and not just bending it,” Chloe teased. “I’m pretty sure that champagne plus a foot massage will involve some pleasure, in addition to some serious touching.”
Damien stroked the arch of her foot with the practiced pad of his thumb. “But it will be me giving pleasure to you, right? I’m okay with delivering some pleasure for a job well done, if you’re game. I want it to be all about you.” Chloe blushed and nodded her assent. Obviously, it was wildly inappropriate for her boss to give her a foot rub. Emily Post would be aghast. But then, Emily Post would be aghast at so many things that happened there at Volare…
Damien immersed two hand towels in hot water from her bar and squeezed them to remove excess water. He then wrapped her bare feet in their steamy, almost-too-hot folds. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small, blue glass bottle.
“Hey, that reminds me of something I’ve seen before,” Chloe quipped as he poured a generous dollop onto his hands.
“Mm-hmm,” Damien answered. “Same company, different product. Organic and mild—edible, even. It’s infused with peppermint oil and raw sugar.” He warmed the lotion between his palms and took one of her feet between them. Chloe rolled her eyes back in pleasure as he squeezed and kneaded her foot, finding her pressure points with his deft fingers. She felt twinges of mild pain as he probed—they swiftly melted into pockets of sheer bliss. “Don’t forget your Veuve Cliquot,” he reminded her. “It goes well with a nice foot rub.”
Indeed. Chloe sipped the cold bubbly and let her eyelids fall to half-mast. It was perfection—Damien’s hands on her feet and the taste of fine champagne in her mouth. Only one thing might possibly make it better, but she squelched that greedy thought immediately. It was like asking for Publishers Clearing House to knock on the door after you’d won the Powerball lottery. Ridiculous.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Damien said suddenly. He slipped a hand inside his blazer and pulled out a smooth brown box tied with a sky blue ribbon.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Chloe whispered when she read the ‘Godiva’ name in gold print. Apparently, one really could win a sweepstake and a lottery in the same day. Who knew?
“May I suggest the roasted almond truffle?” Damien said as he took her foot back between his hands. “I’m guessing it would be magnificent with the champagne.”
“Mm-hm”—Chloe nodded—“I’m guessing you’d be right, boss.” She slipped the blue ribbon from the box and opened it. Eight succulent orbs of truffled perfection smiled out at her. Consulting the key, she selected the almond truffle, elegantly swirled with milk chocolate scrollwork, and took a nibble.
Heaven.
Chloe alternated sips of chilled champagne—silently refilled by Damien—with decadent bites of chocolate. She moved on to a delectable coconut truffle next—the rich, vibrant flavour of the confection made her curl her toes. When Damien began to bend her instep over his hardened knuckles, she groaned.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Chloe said thickly, “but this is quite an unusual working relationship we seem to be developing. I’ve never had a boss even look at my feet, let alone offer to rub them for me.”
“Well, Volare is a pretty unusual working environment,” Damien replied, “and besides, I find it impossible to believe that your previous employers failed to notice feet as lovely as yours.” He lifted her scented, slippery foot to his lips and placed a tender kiss on her pinky toe.
“Eeeep!” Chloe squeaked. Her foot shot out reflexively and kicked Damien in the nose, hard. He bent over with a grunt and cupped his nose between his hands.
“Oh my gosh!” Chloe sputtered. “I am so sorry! I’m a little bit ticklish, and I just didn’t expect…” Damien sat up and held his nose between his fingers. She could see his eyes crinkle with merriment behind his hands. “You know. I didn’t expect that,” she concluded.
He took his hands from his affronted nose and gave her a quizzical look. “All in one piece?” he asked.
Chloe nodded. She refreshed his champagne flute and offered it to him. “Here,” she said meekly. “Maybe a little bubbly will help.” Damien downed half of the glass and replaced it on the table.
“Now,” Damien said. “I want you to be prepared. No more kicking, okay?”
He took her foot in his hands again. “I’m going to kiss your toes now, if that’s all right with you. Do you think you’d like that? Do you approve?”
Chloe nodded, feeling her cheeks flame with embarrassment and eagerness.
She leant back in her chair and sighed. Damien’s soft lips parted and took her smallest toe between them. The soft, wet heat of his mouth sent a jolt up her leg, but she successfully stifled her body’s reflex to kick. He held her calf between his hands, kneading her flesh, and moved on to her next toe. Chloe studied the silky, soft brown curls of his head as he bent over her foot and slid his tongue between her toes.
“Oh my God,” Chloe sighed. She sipped her champagne and took another nibble of her coconut truffle. Damien eased her big toe into his mouth and sucked. She bit her lower lip and arched her back. Suddenly, her tailored blouse and slim pencil skirt seemed way too confining.
Damien let her toe slide from his mouth and planted kisses down the arch of her foot. “I find that I don’t want to stop with your feet,” he told her. “You ankles appear to need some attention as well. I don’t want to be discourteous to any of your body parts.” He moved his lips to the bumps of her inside ankle and planted kisses on the bony mound. “And your calves,” he murmured. He ran a trail down her calf with his tongue, leaving wet fire in its path. “And the backs of your knees.”
He knelt in front of her and freed her other foot from the heated towel. Damien lifted her left leg and nibbled the tender skin in the crease behind her knee before settling her leg on his shoulder. Then he repeated the motion with Chloe’s other knee.
“And, of course,” he whispered, running kisses up her inner thigh, “There’s one spot that might give you the most pleasure of all.” Chloe felt his hands slide underneath her skirt and gather it roughly up to her hips. She felt trapped, but what a rapturous confinement.
She’d worn her black lace boy shorts today. They were cut straight across her thighs, granny-panties style, but the sheer material revealed everything. Damien nestled his face between her legs and sucked the plump flesh of her labia through the lace. “Mmm,” Chloe hummed, tilting her hips towards him. Damp excitement gathered between her legs, fuelled by the brazen actions of Damien’s lips and tongue. His breathing grew harder, and, without warning, he lifted his face to hers. “I just realised I haven’t kissed your lips, Chloe,” he said with a sideways grin. “Please forgive my bad manners. Would you like that?”
“God, yes,” Chloe replied.
He gripped the back of her neck and pulled her down to him for a long, wet kiss. Chloe tasted her own flavours in his mou
th and arched against him, hungry for more of his attention. He held her in a kiss and unbuttoned her blouse with quick, agile fingers. With his warm tongue filling her mouth, he slid the blouse from her shoulders. The peaks of her breasts tightened into hard nubs as he studied them with obvious approval. Damien lowered his mouth to her skin.
Chloe felt shameless, ecstatic, alive. She held his head to her tit and lifted it with her other hand, willing him to suck more of her flesh into his mouth. She wanted him to devour her.
Damien traced one hand down her belly and gripped the front of her panties in a tight fist. He yanked upward suddenly, pulling the fabric against her swollen lips like a lace rope. The abrupt movement shocked Chloe, but the intense pressure on her sensitive skin was divine. She saw his eyes grow dark with desire. Chloe didn’t know what he would do next, but, oh God, she couldn’t wait to find out.
He pulled harder, stretching the lace over her sensitive flesh. Chloe gasped and bared her teeth. She couldn’t decide if she wanted him to let go or to never, ever stop.
“These panties,” he growled, “have got to go.”
Chloe nodded, dazed.
“I’ll buy you some new ones,” he promised. Damien transferred his fistful of fabric to his left hand and stroked her through the lace. He tore a hole in the delicate, damp material and widened it with one wiggling finger, then lowered his face to her spread legs. Chloe shuddered. The tight lace of her panties, still wadded in his left fist, chafed against her juice-slicked asshole and cunt, while he swirled his soft, wet tongue over the stiff nub of her clitoris.
This was way better than chocolate and champagne.
Chloe spread her legs as widely she could, writhing against the sweet torment of her lacy binding. She lifted her hands to play with her stiffened nipples. Damien’s tight grip on her underwear loosened at last—he looked at her with unabashed lust and tore the crotch of her panties wide open. The release from the tight pressure combined with the open air felt like a splash of cool water.
Damien pulled her hips to the edge of her desk chair and kissed her offended folds tenderly. He yanked her knees far apart, stretching her legs until her muscles ached, then held them spread wide. “Please let me…” he whispered, and lowered his face over her belly and between her legs. Chloe groaned when he pushed the tip of his tongue inside her. She felt her skin tingle, from her scalp to her puckered nipples to her peppermint-scented toes. He tongue-fucked her faster, deeper, more urgently.
The pressure on her knees eased. Chloe felt Damien’s fingers in her cunt and his lips on her clit once more. She had the sensation of being in a fast river, rushing towards a steep drop-off until there was simply no chance of swimming to shore. “You’re doing it,” she told him. “You’re taking me there, Damien.”
She gasped, yanked his head tightly to her cunt, and plummeted over the edge of the waterfall into welcoming, swirling darkness.
As she came to, she thought, dazedly, of a phrase she’d learnt in a college French lit class, ‘la petite mort’. She smiled to herself, thinking, There it is, then. I’ve felt the little death. And yes, it was to die for.
Damien kissed the side of her knee tenderly and sat back on the floor in front of her. Chloe ran her fingers through his hair and gave his earlobe a soft tug. “Okay, then. It’s your turn.”
“Huh?” he looked up, looking vaguely startled. “No, Chloe. Remember, this was all about you.”
“Fair is fair,” Chloe answered, tracing her hand down the lightly stubbled side of his jaw. “You got to push me over the edge, and now I get to do the same to you.” She lowered her eyelids in what she hoped was a sultry expression. “Why don’t you just have a seat, Mr Walters?” She stood and gestured to her office chair with a meaningful tilt of her head while tugging her slim skirt down over her hips.
Damien looked down for a moment and stood. He seemed oddly distant. “Come on,” Chloe asked. “What’s wrong?” She pulled his face to hers for another kiss, but this time it was chaste and light. Damien withdrew with a guarded expression and walked to the door.
“I’ve got some work to do, Chloe,” he said. “I need to meet with the decorator about plans for Razzo.” He cleared his throat. Chloe suddenly felt cold and exposed in her sheer lace bra. She slipped her arms back through her blouse. The bucket of emotional cold ice he’d thrown over her head gave her the chills, as well.
“I was hoping, if you were up for it, that you’d assist me with some clients on Saturday evening,” Damien said. “Glen and Danielle are married, and Danielle sought me out because Glen is disinterested in intimacy with her. I thought that you might be able to help with your female perspective.”
Chloe took a step towards him. “Well, sure, I can do that. I can try, anyway. But, Damien, why are you pulling away from me? I hope I didn’t…” She shrugged. “It seems like you’re—”
Damien covered the distance between them in half a heartbeat. “No, Chloe, you’re perfect. It’s me. I just…can’t go there. I can’t let you touch me like that. It’s a big enough step for me to touch you at all. But you are nothing but wonderful, okay?” He kissed her, tracing his tongue between her lips. Chloe’s unpleasant chill melted in his arms, but all too soon, he was out of the door.
“Perfect, huh?” Chloe muttered as she buttoned her blouse. “I think you need a dose of your own medicine, Mr Walters.”
Chapter Nine
Chloe blotted her lips and squinted at her reflection. She hadn’t agonised this much over an outfit since her junior prom. She wanted to look professional, yet approachable—attractive, yet not distractingly so—fashionable, while not girlishly trendy. Dressing like a proper sex therapist was hard.
She’d finally settled on her lightweight, three-quarter-sleeved, navy blazer over a tailored tangerine skirt, cinched with a skinny silver belt. Chunky turquoise jewellery accented her neck and slim wrist, and dangling silver discs flashed from her earlobes. Tailored, but creative! Smart, but fun! That’s the idea, anyway, Chloe thought. She sighed and grabbed her purse.
Damien waited for her in his office to brief her about Gene and Danielle’s session. He wore a version of his usual outfit—tailored flat-front khakis, a soft, moss green Oxford and a sky blue tie printed with swallows in flight. Chloe was nervous about her performance. She tried to remember how anxious she’d been when she’d had her own session with Damien. It was unsettling to talk about one’s intimate problems, especially with a complete stranger. Damien had done a good job of setting her at ease, though. A really good job. Chloe blushed and sat in the armchair next to him.
“Gene and Danielle will be here in about five minutes,” he told her. “I’ll do most of the talking, and you can just chime in when you feel like you have something to add. My plan might change, but right now I’m guessing that a little role playing might help rekindle Gene’s fire.”
“Role playing? Like, some old school Dungeons and Dragons? Can I be an elven thief?” Chloe quipped.
“Role playing is serious business, and no, you can’t be an elven thief. At least not today, Chloe,” Damien answered, with a little quirk of his mouth. “Role playing might help us get to the root of Gene and Danielle’s problems. I’m hopeful that we’ll make a lot of headway today, and I might give them some homework and ask them to check back next week.” Chloe made a face at the word ‘homework.’ “Don’t worry,” he assured her, “the homework I assign is nothing but fun.” His blue eyes crinkled mischievously.
Chloe felt a tremor in her belly. “Damien, we need to talk about what’s going on between us.” She bit her lower lip. “Like, what’s going on between us?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “I loved what happened yesterday, but what does that mean? And do you do that with, you know, everybody who works here?”
Damien shook his head. “Not at all, Chloe,” he said. “You are the first person I’ve…touched since my divorce, years ago. I’ve got my own scars, Chloe.” He shook his head and searched for words. “There are things I can’t bri
ng myself to allow, and I hope you can accept that. I can’t be a partner. I’m not good at give and take.” He lifted one of her hands and bit her knuckle softly. “I’m awfully good at giving, though.” He flicked the tip of his tongue between her fingers. “I can tell you, though,” he promised, “that I’d never, ever pressure you. If you don’t want me to touch you, you just need to say the word. Your job will definitely still be in place. You are an incredibly valuable addition to Volare.”
Chloe cleared her throat. Why was it that being around Damien made the cups of her bra start to chafe and her internal temperature go up a few degrees? And why was he willing to give endlessly without being willing to receive at all?
A tentative knock on the door stifled her response. Damien admitted Gene and Danielle and made introductions all around. Gene was fairly short and solidly built. He wore nondescript blue jeans and a polo shirt. Beneath a deeply receding hairline, Gene’s eyes were shrewd and alert. He described himself as ‘a football-loving plumber who loves his wife’. Fair enough, Chloe thought.
Danielle, on the other hand, looked like she lived at the shopping mall and spent weekends at the beauty parlour. Her heavy makeup was expertly applied. Ash blonde highlights streaked through her artfully teased brown hair. She wore a light pink suit with a cropped, military style jacket, and her manicured fingers sparkled with gems. Danielle is one high-maintenance lady, Chloe ascertained. After providing everyone with bottled water, Damien asked Danielle to describe what had brought her to a therapy session with him.