by Jenna Rose
He keeps telling me to stop blaming myself, and as hard as it is, I’m working on it.
Not only did Caleb pay off my father’s medical debts, he also paid off the money we owed on his house. Oh, and then he paid for the whole thing.
“You should keep it in the family,” he told us as my mom cried at the news. “Besides, I’d like a place upstate too when I want to get out of the city.”
He took me to the lake, and if things weren’t already magical enough, he proposed to me with the most beautiful ring I could imagine.
“Desiree, I knew since the moment I first saw you that you were the one for me,” he told me as my eyes welled up with tears. “Will you make me the luckiest man—”
I wasn’t even able to let him finish. “Yes!” I blurted out. I threw myself into his arms and cried for what had to have been several minutes before I could stand back and let him put the ring on my finger.
I moved in with him in the city, and four months ago found out I was pregnant. Caleb confessed he had never even thought about having a family, so I was surprised when he told me he wanted to make me a mother. I didn’t even hesitate.
“Does that mean you get to come in me more?” I’d asked him with a smile. He didn’t even answer. He just threw me on the bed and did just that.
Talk about a fairy tale. With Caleb as my husband, I obviously don’t have to work, but after joking with him so many times about wanting to write a romance novel based on our lives, Caleb actually convinced me to go ahead and do it. I’m about halfway through and keep going back and rereading and rewriting. I’m not even sure I’m going to finish it, but Caleb believes in me.
“You will,” he always tells me. “I’m sure of it.”
“What time is our flight tomorrow?” I ask my incredible husband. We’re taking a trip to Maine to see the foliage and drive up and down the coast. Caleb doesn’t answer. I feel him turn and look at me like I just said something stupid.
“What…?”
“Did you really just ask that?” he laughs.
“What!?” I protest. “I just wanted to know what time—”
“Baby,” he chuckles. “I own the plane. It leaves whenever we want it to leave.”
“Oh, yeah…” My cheeks go red. “Sometimes I forget I’m married to a billionaire.”
“So you’re saying you’re not just into me for my money?” he teases. I prop myself up on one elbow and lift my shirt up over my breasts.
“I am,” I tease back. “But not just that…” I run my hand down his chiseled abs to the bulge growing beneath his briefs. “But also this.”
I’ll never grow tired of seeing his eyes flare with desire when he looks at me. I feel like the only woman alive when he does it. A growl rises from his chest and he pulls my lips to his. His grip is strong on the back of my neck, and I moan as he slides his hand into my bedtime shorts.
My back arches as he finds my pleasure button and applies just the right amount of pressure. Tingling warmth flows through me, and I reach into his briefs and pull out his hard cock.
Always ready.
Breaking our embrace, I press my forehead against his and whisper, “How is it possible to love someone so much?” I ask. “Our life…it’s like a fairy tale.”
Caleb smiles. “So that makes me a prince, right? And I guess that makes you my princess.”
The End
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Hands On Sample
1
Grayson
“It will be better this time. I bet my job on it.”
I turn to Sheryl, my assistant for the last three years, and shake my head. “Unless she’s miles better than the last four girls you brought me, I highly doubt it.”
Today is Day 5 of my masseuse-try-out week. Galina, the old Russian lady who worked for me for the last fifteen months, decided now would be a good time to move back to the motherland and reunite with her high school boyfriend and leave me high and dry with a neck full of knots and no one to work on them.
So I told Sheryl to find me a replacement and find me one fast, but so far all she’s come up with are a bunch of college girls who want to know if I’m “a generous man” and if I “know how to spoil a girl.”
Fuck outta here. I may be a billionaire, but I didn’t become one by blowing money on cute girls with gym booties stuffed into yoga pants. And besides, I’m not looking for a companion; I’m looking for a masseuse. If all I wanted was a gentle rub with a happy ending, I’d get one. What I want is a professional.
“Well, if you weren’t so damn particular, Grayson—”
“All I want is someone who knows what she’s doing,” I reply, dampening my abruptness with a smile. Sheryl is an amazing assistant, but she’s also pretty sensitive. She sighs and glances at her phone.
“Well, she’s three minutes away. Why don’t you go get ready and I’ll send her in when she gets here?”
One of the great things about being a billionaire is that you can do the most absurd things to your home. Like for instance, having a spa installed, or a bowling alley, or a gym…or a massage room.
I strip down to my briefs, turn on some Mozart, and get on the table. Despite Sheryl’s reassurance, I’m skeptical. To say the least.
Girl 1 started off with what she called a “tease routine,” that involved dragging her acrylic nails gently up and down my back until I told her to stop. “It’s supposed to stimulate your autonomic nervous system,” she’d told me. I’m pretty sure she just read that on Google.
Girl 2 didn’t even get a chance to get her hands on me. She smelled like avocados that had gone bad and brought a small dog with her. I told her to scram and went back to work.
Girl 3 was decent, but told me she could make sure I was “fully satisfied” if I was generous with my tips. Girl 4 said basically the same thing but just came right out with it. She got topless after about five minutes, oiled up her tits and rubbed them all over my back while doing pornstar breathing sounds in my ear.
Most guys probably would have hit it, but not me. I’m not interested in girls throwing themselves at me because I’m rich. Been there, done that. The next girl I’m with is going to be the one who’s with me for the rest of my life.
I’m getting comfortable on the table when the intercom on the wall buzzes and Sheryl says, “She’s on her way in.”
The speaker clicks off, and I sigh. Here comes another girl looking for a sugar daddy, a pay day, an easy gig from some rich guy simp. I glance over my shoulder as I hear footsteps approaching. When I see her, every one of my expectations shatters like broken glass.
I’m a perceptive person, so I quickly search her for any warning signs that she might be trouble, but don’t find any. Instead, I see a vision of beauty walking towards me, wearing black yoga pants, a nice but professional top, with her hair pulled back and a bag over her shoulder.
The smile she flashes at me as she enters the room could move armies. Is this Helen of Troy reincarnated?
“Hi, Mr. Radcliffe,” she says, extending a hand. We shake and I feel her strength in her grip. “My name is Jennie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I feel my cock between to swell against the table. “The pleasure’s all mine.” The girls I’ve seen up until now would wink at a comment like that – or their eyes would sparkle and they’d respond with some sexual innuendo, but Jennie doesn’t miss a beat. She sets her bag down and pulls out a bottle of lotion.
“So, Sheryl said you have some issues with your neck and upper back?”
“Yeah, I carry a lot of my tension there,” I tell her as she starts to work on me.
“Must be because you’re so tall,” she replies. “How tall are you anyway?”
“Six-four,” I reply. She makes a little “mmm” sound of approval that causes me to grin. Who knows where this will end up, but she’s got great hands on her – almost as good as Galina’s. All she needs is a little coaching.
And all I need is a little more…
Yeah, I know I said I was just looking for a masseuse, but that was before I met Jennie. Christ, she’s gorgeous. I don’t even want to put my head down into the cushion. I just want to keep my eyes on her and explore every inch of her body. Shit, I’d switch places with her right now just to get my hands on her.
My cock is aching. I’m so hard I have to raise my hips slightly off the table just to relieve some of the pressure. Jennie notices.
“You all right?” she asks. “Carry some tension in that booty, too?”
“Just…getting comfortable,” I reply. I can tell by the length of the pause she takes that she isn’t that innocent; she gets what I’m saying but chooses to stay professional.
“So what happened to your last masseuse? Sheryl said something about her leaving the country?”
“Back to Russia,” I reply. “A shame too. She was good. The only gal who knew how to work my kinks out.”
Jennie digs right into my neck with her thumbs, causing me to groan with relief as I feel the stress starting to slip from my body. Of course, another area is having a completely opposite reaction.
She’s working on my legs when it happens.
It’s delicate and could be read as a complete mistake, but the tips of two of her fingers gently brush up my inner thighs and against my balls.
My body instantly responds.
Did she mean to do that? I almost glance up at her, but I don’t want to ruin the moment. If it was a mistake, it will only make things worse. And if it wasn’t a mistake, my acknowledging it will ruin the moment.
“That’s it!” she says happily. “Let me wipe you down with a hot towel.”
That’s it? My mind’s racing as she cleans me up. Every primal instinct I have is telling me to spin around, grab her, throw her down on the table and fuck her pretty little brains out. But if I’m misreading the situation…
I sit up, but as I do, I let the sheet that’s been draped over my midsection bunch up and make no attempt to straighten it. I’m so hard it hurts and there’s no hiding it.
“You got the job.” Jennie may be a consummate professional, but her cheeks go red and her eyes flash with excitement. “R—really?”
“You’re damn right,” I tell her. “But there’s just one more thing you have to do for me.”
She knows what’s coming, but she plays innocent. “Wha—what’s that?” I reach out and slide my hand around her back and pull her to me. “This.”
And I kiss her.
Find out what happens to Jennie and Grayson HERE!