Page 48 of The List
“Right there?” he murmurs.
“Mmmhmmm. Oh, yes! Don’t stop.”
He’s breathing heavy now against my neck, and the sound of my own heartbeat is hammering in my head. I’m not sure how we hear the thud of a door through all that noise, but we both freeze in unison.
Footsteps echo through the Ladies’ Relaxation Suite, and we both glance at the dressing room door. It’s bolted tight, but there’s eighteen inches of space separating the bottom of the door from the floor. If anyone glances under it, we’re busted.
Maybe the person will leave quickly. I put a finger to my lips, signaling Simon to be quiet. It’s probably housekeeping or another spa guest or?—
“Cassondra Michaels?”
I bite my lip. I can easily pretend I’m in the restroom. Maybe if I just?—
Achooo!
I gasp, startled, as Simon sneezes again.
Achooo!
Incidentally, having a man sneeze while his cock is inside me was not on The List. Maybe it should have been. God bless the man, he didn’t slip out.
I yank my robe up over my bare shoulder, though that particular spot of naked flesh should be the least of my concerns. I shoot another glance at the locked door and wonder if that sneeze sounded too manly.
Achooo!
I fake my own sneeze, pitching the sound a little deeper to match Simon’s while giving it a decidedly female tone.
This is serious business, the fake sneezing.
“Bless you,” comes a voice on the other side of the door. “Miss Michaels?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Henrietta, your massage therapist. I’m just getting everything ready for your appointment, and I had a couple questions about your preferences.”
“My preferences?” I swallow hard and glance down. Simon is still nestled inside me, our bodies joined at the edge of the countertop.
This is officially the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had.
I look up to see Simon grinning at me, a conspiratorial look in his eye. He inches back just a little, then presses into me again.
“Your preferences,” Henrietta repeats as I stifle a gasp. “It says here you requested a Swedish massage. You’ve had one before?”
“Um, yes. Yes of course. Hundreds of times.”
I’m actually not sure if I have, but that seems like the answer that will have Henrietta gone the quickest. Right now, with my legs spread and Simon deep inside me, I’m not up for a detailed explanation of the differences between Swedish and deep-tissue massage.
I watch Simon glance down at the door lock again. I keep expecting him to pull out, but he doesn’t. To be honest, I don’t want him to. He feels so good, and if we can just get Henrietta out of here?—
I take a few deep breaths, hoping that’s the end of my conversation with Henrietta. Hoping we can get back to the business at hand.
But Henrietta has other ideas. “Are there particular areas where you’re feeling tight right now?”
Simon grins at me. Those brown eyes flash with mischief. Slowly, oh-so-deliciously, he eases back. Then he slides in again, never once breaking eye contact. It feels exquisite. It feels?—
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
He draws back again, then slides in deeper. My body clenches around him as he leans close to whisper against the side of my neck. “I can tell her where you’re feeling tight,” he murmurs. “So tight. So hot. So wet. So?—”
