When I came out dressed in my robe, the living room had been transformed. Antoine had lit candles and had dimmed the lights. A set of speakers were set up on the table, and relaxing, instrumental music had replaced the voices of the talking heads on the tv.
“Ms. Young,” Antoine greeted me.
“Please, call me Cassie,” I said. I walked over to the massage table. It was covered with blankets, and I felt the manufactured warmth of an electric blanket beneath the covering.
“Yes, Cassie, of course. I have a selection of oils here; would you like to choose one?” He waved to the table where several dark bottles of oil sat. I smelled each, selecting a combination of lavender and sandalwood. “That’s one of my favorites,” Antoine said as I held it out to him questioningly. “I’ll leave you to disrobe. Please, lie on your stomach; I’ll begin my work on your back.”
I always found this few minutes to be the most nerve wracking of a massage; standing naked in the moments before submerging my body beneath the covers of the massage table, waiting for the masseuse to walk in accidentally and catch me in the act. Because of this fear, I always tore my robe off and dove under the blanket, my heart racing. I laid down, my face resting comfortably in the doughnut shaped rest. I heard Antoine enter the room.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Please,” he said, as he began to rub my back over the blankets, “let me know if the pressure is adequate, or if you’d like more or less.”
I doubted it would be anything less than perfect, and, as Antoine began to rub my body down, pulling the blankets down to expose my back and rubbing his hands with oil, I found the pressure he used to be absolutely perfect.
I probably fell asleep. It was easy to do, with the scent of lavender, the soft lights and music, and Antoine’s hands rhythmically stretching and pressing my muscles. I drifted in and out.
“How does that feel?” Antoine asked.
“It feels amazing,” I said. “What happened to your voice?” I was still riding the fuzzy line of consciousness, so I couldn’t put my finger on it exactly, but something had changed. Antoine’s touch had hardened, though it was still comforting. His hands moved with confidence over my body, as if they had been there before.
And then I realized.
“You,” I said, my muscles freezing.
“Hi Cass,” Brad said softly. “Don’t move. Just lay as you are and enjoy.”
I shook my head. “As if that’s possible,” I said, and twisted my torso up, lifting my head from the headrest. There he stood, more real than life, sexier than my imagination had given him credit for.
“You need to mind me better,” he whispered.
“You need to stop sneaking up on me,” I retorted. “When did you slip in? What did you do to Antoine?” I looked around, then glanced back at Brad with teasing suspicion. “You didn’t kill him, did you? He was a good masseuse.”
Brad laughed. “No, I didn’t kill him. Antoine has been a masseuse at this hotel since before the Legacy was even a thought in my mind. He’s the only male masseuse we have on staff, and I owe him big time for this.”
He leaned down and kissed my ear, slowly pulling the blanket off of me, exposing my bare ass to the cool air.
“Mmmm,” he said. “Come here.” He lifted me up, my body smooth and slick with oil, and he kissed me.
“Fuck you feel good,” I moaned. He wore jeans and a white button down shirt, which I dispensed with immediately. His broad chest felt like coming home under my fingers, my palms pressing against his rock hard muscles.
“You’re good enough to eat,” he whispered, moving his kiss from my mouth down the length of my body, stopping at my hips.
I laid back as he began to explore my body. Questions flooded through my mind: how had he gotten here so quickly? Why was he here? Were we dating? Were we about to have another fling? The more questions that pushed into my mind, the more I wanted to lose myself in Brad’s touch.
“I don’t understand you,” I said as a summary of all of the activity in my brain.
“I’m simple,” he said.
“You’re a billionaire,” I said. “You’re a billionaire with a dark secret.” My words all ran together, thoughts pouring out of my head stream-of-consciousness style, my mouth barely aware of what I was saying.
Brad pulled away and looked at me sharply. “What do you mean?”
“Hmmm?” I asked dreamily.
“Dark secret. What do you mean?”
I laughed. “Don’t get so cranky,” I said. “Every billionaire has a deep, dark secret. It’s common knowledge. I just have to figure out what yours is.” I cracked one eye open and looked at him. “And, I will… I’m a smarty pants journalist.”
“Shhh,” Brad said. “You won’t figure out my secret. I’m going to keep you far too busy to even figure out your own name.” And he plunged his fingers into me, two and then a third, and circled my clit with his lips as he flicked his tongue back and forth.
“Cassie who?” I asked. And I laid back, trying to ignore the small warning flaring in my brain. You won’t figure out my secret.
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