Page 64 of Heart on Ice

“Ew, no.” I giggle as I dodge his hands.

“Don’t you remember how good I used to be at massaging your feet?” he says.

That’s right, he would massage my feet when I came back from Pilates, his strong fingers digging into the right spots.

“Come on, give me those little piggies,” he teases. I could use a foot massage, being in heels all day hurts. Reluctantly, I move my feet into his lap, he places his glass of wine on the side table, and then grabs my feet. The first slide of his thumb along my arch has me moaning.

“Oh my …” I groan, throwing back my head as his fingers work wonders over my skin.

“Told you I was good.” He chuckles.

“So good,” I moan. Who knew so much tension was being held in my feet?

“I miss hearing you moan like that,” he says as he suddenly stops massaging my feet. “Did I say that out loud?” I nod. “Ignore me. I’ve had too much wine.” He starts massaging my feet again. This time, I try to keep my moans to myself. “Fuck,” he grumbles as he moves uncomfortably on the sofa. I open my eyes and realize what is happening. The tenting in his sweats is a damn giveaway, he’s hard and he’s trying to move his cock into a more convenient position.

“Did I make you hard?” I stare at the large tent.

“Um, yes. The sounds you were making were hot,” he confesses.

“Your fingers are good.”

A proud smirk falls across Pierre’s lips. “You know they are.”

I bite my bottom lip, remembering the other night when I let him slide his thick fingers inside me before I broke down. Thank goodness for my battery-operated friend who was able to finish me off. “Pierre!” I blush.

“Right, sorry. I can’t not flirt with you. It’s a habit.” He grins.

“You can flirt, I guess, as long as you aren’t expecting anything,” I warn him.

“I would never dare.” He smirks suspiciously.

“I mean it. You and I are friends only,” I remind him.

“Looks like I’ve been upgraded from acquaintance to friend,” he teases.

I roll my eyes and try not to laugh. “I have to go to bed, I have work in the morning.”

“Think of me while you play with yourself, eh?” he calls out to my retreating back.

Asshole.

But he’s not wrong.

19

ISABELLE

“Morning,” Pierre greets me happily. The smell of bacon wafts through the air, and my stomach grumbles.

“Morning. How are you so chipper this morning after all that wine?” I ask him. I walk straight over to my coffee maker and start preparing my glass of energy.

“I’ve made breakfast, thought we could use something to soak up all that wine. We polished off a couple of bottles,” he says, sliding the tray of bacon toward me.

“And my head feels every bit of it.” I swipe a piece from the tray and nibble on it.

“I was thinking about cooking steak tonight for dinner.”

“You’re going to cook for me again?” I ask.

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