Page 29 of Saint
“I don’t care if she’s with the fucking Pope. Get her. Now.”
The girl’s eyes widen, and she scurries away. Two minutes later, a woman in her fifties with immaculate silver hair approaches, a professional smile firmly in place.
“Mr. Ravello,” she says, recognizing me immediately. “This is unexpected. How can I help you?"
“Lily Moore has a massage appointment. Which room?”
Her smile falters. “I’m afraid I can’t?—”
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Let me be clear, Ms. Winters. Your husband’s gambling debts to my organization are substantial enough that I could own this place three times over. So you can either tell me which room and ensure the masseuse doesn’t show up, or I can make a call that ensures you don’t have a business by tomorrow.”
The color drains from her face. “Room seven. Down the hall, the last door on the left. The masseuse is already there."
“Then call her out. Make sure she doesn’t give me away.”
She nods quickly. “Of course, Mr. Ravello.”
I follow her directions, finding a small locker room where I can change. I strip down to just my boxer briefs and wrap a towel around my waist, then grab a bottle of massage oil from a nearby shelf. A quick glance in the mirror confirms I look the part—or close enough for what I have planned.
Outside room seven, I pause, listening. I can hear soft meditation music playing inside. I knock gently.
“Come in,” Lily’s voice calls out.
I enter to find the room dimly lit with candles, the air heavy with the scent of lavender and sandalwood. Lily lies face down on the massage table, a sheet draped over her lower half, her bare back exposed. Her face is turned away from me, nestled in the cushioned face rest.
My cock hardens immediately at the sight of her smooth skin and the delicate curve of her spine. I close the door silently behind me, setting the bottle of oil on the warmer.
“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” I say, pitching my voice higher than usual, just enough to disguise it.
She murmurs an acknowledgment, completely unaware.
I warm the oil between my palms, then place my hands on her shoulders. She tenses momentarily at the contact, then relaxes with a soft sigh.
“God, that feels good,” she whispers as I begin to work the tension from her muscles.
I remain silent, working my way down her back with firm, deliberate strokes. Her skin is like silk beneath my fingers, and I have to force myself to maintain the pretense of professionalism—for now.
“You have strong hands,” she comments, and I bite back a smile, continuing my ministrations.
I move lower, my fingers tracing the curve where her back meets her ass. The sheet covers her, but I slowly, deliberately push it down, exposing the perfect roundness of her backside. When she doesn’t protest, I grow bolder, massaging the firm globes of her ass with both hands.
She makes a slight sound—surprise, perhaps, but not objection. Taking it as encouragement, I work my way back up her body, my hands sliding along her sides, deliberately brushing the outer swells of her breasts.
Her breathing changes, becoming heavier. “That’s... that’s not the usual?—”
She turns her head, twisting to look over her shoulder, and our eyes meet. Her blue eyes widen in shock, her lips parting in a gasp.
“Luca!”
I press a finger to my lips. “Shh, baby girl. Let me take care of you."
“What are you—how did you—” Her voice is a frantic whisper, but she doesn’t scream, or call for help.
“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.” I continue massaging her, my hands moving more purposefully now. “I told you this thing between us isn’t something you can run from.”
Her eyes are still wide, conflicted. “My mother is in the next room!"
“Then I suggest you stay quiet.” I untie my towel, letting it drop to the floor. Her gaze travels down my body, lingering on my obvious arousal straining against my boxer briefs.
