Page 21 of Tempting Kat
The intercom crackles as she sucks in a sharp breath.
“My hands could wrap completely around your ankle,” I continue, my voice a low rumble. “I could hold both your wrists in one grip while the other explores every inch of you.”
Her legs twitch, a movement so subtle most men would miss it. But I'm watching for it, hungry for any sign that she wants this as badly as I do.
“All you have to do is ask, kitten,” I whisper, close enough now that my breath stirs the fine hairs on her legs. “I will gladly touch you until you tell me to stop. Just say the word.”
The intercom stays silent, but her breathing has changed—faster, shallower. I can practically hear her brain working, battling between pride and desire. Her legs have stilled completely, like she's afraid any movement will betray her.
“Fine,” she says, voice dripping with feigned indifference. “If you're offering calf massages, I'll take one. My feet always kill me after a night shift.”
“As you wish,” I murmur, my lips curling into a predatory smile.
The moment my fingers wrap around her ankle, we both inhale sharply. Her skin is warm, impossibly soft under my calloused palms. I start slowly, firmly kneading the delicate bones of her ankle before moving up to her calf.
“Jesus,” she mutters through the intercom. “Your hands are fucking huge.”
“The better to hold you with,” I reply, working my thumbs into the tight muscles of her calf. I can feel the tension there.
I take my time, methodically working the knots from her muscles, feeling her gradually relax under my touch. My cock throbs painfully with each small sigh that comes through the intercom, but I keep my movements clinical and professional for now.
“You weren't kidding about the tension,” I say, pressing my thumb into a particularly tight spot that makes her leg jerk. “When was the last time someone took care of you properly?”
The intercom stays silent for a moment too long.
“That's what I thought,” I continue, working my way up to the sensitive spot behind her knee. “No one's been taking care of my girl.”
“I'm not your girl,” she protests, but there's no real heat behind it.
“No?” I let my fingers drift higher, tracing circles on the back of her thigh, just below the frayed edge of her shorts. “Then whose girl are you, Katarina?”
Her breath catches audibly. “Nobody's. I don't belong to anyone.”
“Mm.” I switch to her other leg, starting again at her ankle. “We'll see.”
I work in silence for several minutes, enjoying the way her muscles yield under my touch. The small involuntary twitches when I hit a sensitive spot.
“You know,” she says finally, her voice slightly breathless, “for a guy who paid to look at my ass, you're spending a lot of time on my legs.”
I chuckle, the sound dark and full of promise. “I'm a patient man. I like to take my time. Long hours on your feet means your body requires different things. The tension in your legs is lethal.”
“Occupational hazard,” she mutters. “You try running around a bar for six hours straight.”
“I own several bars. I know exactly what it does to the body.”
Her leg stiffens under my hands. “You own bars?”
Shit. I hadn't meant to reveal that much yet. But maybe it's time to start dropping breadcrumbs.
“Among other things,” I say vaguely, working my thumbs in small circles up her calf. “I've done well for myself.”
“Clearly,” she snorts. “Most people don't drop six figures on a glorified peep show.”
I dig my thumb into a pressure point that makes her whole leg twitch. “This is hardly a peep show, Katarina. This is...an investment.”
“In what? My ass?”
“In you,” I correct, my hands sliding higher, just below the hem of her shorts. “All of you.”
