First Touch Page 8

  “Damn, Emily. You like that, don’t you? Your body says you do.” Rob’s voice was gritty. Tight. “Now, kiss each other.”

  I hesitated for only a second, but when Amber’s mouth met mine, I’d been ready. It was strange and different – softer and wetter than the kisses I’d had before. The actual kissing didn’t turn me on the way that Rob groaning and rubbing at the crotch of his jeans did. It was my first taste of the power of sexuality. I could do that to someone. I could bring a strong, self-assured man to his knees. Where a similar realization might overwhelm me in other circumstances, having my best friend at my side only bolstered my new confidence. It was singularly the most electrifying moment of my existence.

  Amber pulled away suddenly. “I have to pee,” she announced. She wavered as she headed to the bathroom, but she glanced back over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner and winked. At me or at Rob, I wasn’t sure.

  Rob put the camera down and looked at me with clouded eyes. Then he took Amber’s place on the couch next to me. His hand drew lazy circles on my knee, sending my pulse skyrocketing. “You look really good in my boxers,” he said as his fingers drew up my thigh. “I bet you look really good out of them too.”

  Goose bumps scattered along my skin and I stiffened slightly. Not because he scared me, because he didn’t. But the way he made me feel scared me, and that he was Amber’s boyfriend.

  “Have you ever been with a man?” he asked, his touch nearing the hem of my shorts – his shorts.

  “I’m not a virgin.” I didn’t think it was what he was asking, but I didn’t know what else to say.

  He leaned in closer and grazed his teeth along my collarbone. “But have you been with someone who knows what to do with his cock? Have you been with someone who can make you come?”

  I shivered. Did he know? Was it obvious how much I yearned for a more grown-up sexual experience?

  He moved in to kiss me, and I forced myself to pull away. My eyes glanced toward the hallway. “Amber.”

  Rob paused but he didn’t retreat. “You know why Amber brought you here, don’t you?” His thumb caressed my lower lip as his other hand found the elastic ribbing of my underwear.

  My hips instinctively bucked up, begging for him to touch me there, touch me where he was so close to touching me.

  “She brought you here for me.”

  I should have been repulsed. I should have been terrified. I should have been pissed at my friend for luring me out on the pretense of giving me a birthday present when she really only meant to bring me as a gift for her pervert of an “uncle.”

  But I didn’t feel that at all. I felt exactly the opposite. Beautiful. Wanted. Special enough for Amber to be okay with sharing her lover with me. Special enough that she’d known I would be a prize.

  It was enough. I was sold. I was ready to strip off all of my clothes and let Rob do whatever he wanted to my body.

  Except he had more to offer. “What do you want, Emily?” His fingers slipped under my panties and through the wet mess of curls to find my clit. I hadn’t been touched there by anyone but myself. I gasped at the pressure of his thumb against the sensitive nerve center, certain I’d explode.

  And he’d asked me a question… How was I supposed to answer? All that came out was a breathy, “Please.”

  “I’ll give it to you,” Rob said between kisses along my jaw. “Whatever it is. Amber likes to be pampered. Spa trips. Beauty salons. Is that what you want?” The strokes against my clit grew more intense while a finger reached down to dip into my entrance. “Or what about clothing? I’d prefer to see you in items that fit you better. Showed off this beautiful body of yours.” He bent to suck my nipple into his mouth through the tank top. “Tomorrow we’ll go pick out a whole new wardrobe. Does that sound good?”

  “Yes.” I would have said yes to anything he offered at that point. Yes to what he was doing. Yes to how he was making me feel.

  Rob took it as the green light. As soon as I’d gotten the word out, his lips were on mine. His tongue fucked my mouth like his fingers fucked my cunt. When I came, it was fast and intense and amazing.

  That was just the beginning.

  Amber joined us eventually and we played like that all night long, all weekend, taking turns kissing and petting and stroking and making each other come. It was hot and naughty and like nothing I’d ever imagined sex could be. And maybe it was wrong. Because Rob was married. Because Amber and I were half his age. Because Amber and I were underage. Because Rob bought us presents in exchange for letting him stick his cock into our pussies and our mouths.

  But as far as I was concerned, it was the first time anything in my life had ever felt right. Though the full potential of my newfound sexuality wouldn’t manifest until later, I already knew that this would be my way out. Who cared if my grades wouldn’t get me into college? Who needed a degree when I had the power of my body? Who needed a job when I could be taken care of by a man?

  And how much better that my best friend was with me through it all?

  CHAPTER 7

  I sat forward, rubbed my forehead, and stared at the clipboard in my lap. I hated intake forms. They were such an awful part of spa visits that I often wondered if the point of it was to get you tense so that the massage would seem extra relaxing. But maybe not everyone hated them as much as I did. While I filled them out honestly at doctors’ offices, I couldn’t ever figure out why half the information was necessary for someone to simply rub lotion into your skin.

  The new-client paperwork at Reeve’s spa was just as irritating. Stating that I was on birth control was okay, I supposed, but other questions made me cringe. Have you ever been pregnant? Have you ever done illegal drugs? Which ones? As I often did when I felt the answers weren’t pertinent, I lied.

  “I did my best,” I said as I handed the clipboard to the masseur who called me back.

  “I’m sure you did fine, Ms. Wayborn. I’m Geoffrey and I’ll be attending to you today.” He spoke with an affected accent that emanated the snobbery of a luxury spa. Or of a flaming homosexual. I didn’t really care either way. Geoffrey looked like a man with strong hands and that’s all that mattered to the knots in my back. “Do you have a specific area you’d like to focus on today?”

  “No. Everywhere.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt truly relaxed. Even now I couldn’t let go of the source of my tension. I asked the question I was there to ask, the one I knew I probably shouldn’t. “How long have you worked here¸ Geoffrey?”

  He proceeded to give me his résumé, probably thinking my reason for asking was due to a lack of confidence in his skills. I heard very little after he’d said he’d been at Reeve’s spa for four years.

  “Last summer – did you ever see a client named Amber Pries?” Had she been in this very room? Had Geoffrey been her masseur?

  Geoffrey’s expression clouded. “I’m sorry, Ms. Wayborn. Client/therapist privilege prevents me from sharing that information.”

  “Of course. I wasn’t thinking.” I probably should have slipped him a hundred. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Though, what could he know? The spa experience wasn’t designed for chatting. If Geoffrey had worked on Amber, he would have seen her body but what could he tell me that would be useful about that?

  “If there are no other questions…?”

  I considered leaving. I considered asking for another masseur. I considered trying harder to get something more from Geoffrey, like a key to the file room. But I was tired of dead ends and the massage sounded good. God knew I needed one. “Nope. I’m ready.”

  “Well, then. Get undressed to the level you’re comfortable. Then lie on the table under the sheet, chest down, face in the cradle. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Having been to plenty of spas in my lifetime, I knew the drill. I stripped completely, took my place on the table, and closed my eyes.

  Then, as they always did when I had a silent moment, my thoughts went to Amber. Where was she now? Was
she better than how I left her or worse? Did she forgive me in the end? Did she ever realize I needed forgiving?

  With no warning knock, the door opened and I heard Geoffrey come in. He didn’t say anything as he began, first running a light path up my spine from my ass to my neck with the palm of his hand. I always liked that part of a massage – the initial touch. The hello. This hello was firmer than others and dared to go lower on my behind. It was confident and in charge, just like I’d expect from a Sallis spa. Despite feeling off-balance the last few days, this simple action helped me regroup. And finally I began to relax.

  Geoffrey pulled down the sheet to my waist, and though the cool air sent goose bumps parading on my skin, I was soon warm from the lotion and the rhythm of his hands. He continued to work my back and shoulders for long, silent minutes, loosening the tightest knots, smoothing out the rocks in between my ribs. Then he moved to my arms, then legs, magically relieving the tension in first one limb, then another.

  He’s good, I thought as my mind went empty of everything but where I was. This is exactly what I needed. Then I began to drift.

  Thoughts returned, hazy, dreamlike. The touch of my masseur morphed into touches from the past. Touches from Amber and Rob. Then Amber and Reeve. Then just Reeve. His caress became erotic, forceful. He kissed me – hard – and it felt like a scene I’d been in before, except different. False. Because I liked it and I wasn’t supposed to. Because he was supposed to be awful and mean. He was supposed to hurt me. I pushed away, confused, and saw Amber at the door. Then came familiar words, words that had stained themselves into my memory. “You fucking bitch. You knew I loved him, you fucking bitch.”

  “No,” I tried to say, as I always did in response. “I didn’t. He did this.” When I finally got it out, though, it was wrong. Because I didn’t deny. I didn’t refute. “Yes,” I said. “Yes.”

  Reeve chuckled through the fog. “Good dream?”

  Had I said something? Yes. I’d said yes.

  Then he said, “Time to turn over.”

  I blinked, rousing from my sleep. Lifting my head, I found the sheet held in the air above me. It blocked Reeve’s face. He wanted me to change sides, I realized. He was covering me so that I could make the shift without being exposed.

  And it’s not Reeve, silly. It’s Geoffrey, I said to myself, scooting down so my head wasn’t lying on the face cradle.

  Except when he let the sheet fall again, it actually was Reeve’s face that stood above me. What the fuck? When the hell had he come in?

  “Uh, hi.” I sat up suddenly, clutching the sheet to me, disoriented from my dream. When had Geoffrey gone? Had I slept longer than I thought? Spoken in my sleep? How embarrassing. I wiped my mouth, hoping I wasn’t drooling.

  Reeve smiled in that devilish way he often did – the way that made the insides of my thighs tingle. “Hello. Did you enjoy your nap?”

  “I enjoyed the massage before the nap. Geoffrey is really —” I cut myself off, noticing Reeve was wearing suit pants and a dress shirt, but no jacket. His sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows, and his tie was missing. Clarity bolted through me. “That was you the whole time, wasn’t it?”

  He answered with a question that was all the affirmation I needed. “Ready to go on?”

  “Sure.” It was still the dream. It had to be. I lay back on the table and closed my eyes.

  The sheet was tucked around my upper thigh, exposing my leg. I heard the pump of the lotion dispenser. Reeve picked up my foot and began rubbing at my ankle, working his way down to the sole. At my heel, he used just his thumbs, alternating them up and down with medium pressure.

  I fought against the moan that threatened. It felt good. So good. Too good.

  Too good to be a dream.

  Fuck, this wasn’t a dream. My eyes flew open. Peering down at him, I found him watching me with a satisfied grin. As if he’d been waiting for my gaze to meet his. Or as if he’d been watching my expression.

  I propped myself up with my elbows. It really was Reeve. He really was there. “I’m sorry. I’m sort of out of it.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.” His face was somber, and I couldn’t decide if he was teasing or not.

  Mostly, I couldn’t decide why he was there in the first place. Reeve wasn’t a man to do things without motive. Was this a friendly surprise? Was this his way of making the first move that he insisted he always did?

  I hoped it was. Because that would mean I hadn’t fucked up after all. That would mean that plan A was back on. It would mean that there could be more between Reeve and I, and that was increasingly becoming very important to me.

  But after the way he’d left me the night of our date, I was almost sure that a friendly surprise was wishful thinking. And something about his tone felt icy. Ominous. Or was that my imagination, fueled by cobwebs remaining from my dream?

  “You’re thinking too much,” Reeve chided, as if he could read my mind. “Lay down. Let your mind go.”

  His eyes left mine to concentrate on his hands. He moved up to my calf now, digging into the sensitive knots with a walk of his knuckles. His touch was so specific, so concentrated. So in tune with what I needed.

  I resigned myself to it and lay back down. But there was no way I could let my mind go again. Not now. There was too much tension between Reeve and I, and as he kneaded and stroked me into a listless puddle, the tension between us wound tighter. It was a much different experience than it had been when I’d thought it was Geoffrey hovering over me. Now the massage didn’t just feel good, it felt sensual. Now the firm pressure from Reeve’s hands wasn’t just good technique, it was intimate. Now the sheet didn’t seem modest, it seemed skimpy. Now I wasn’t relaxed, I was aroused.

  Especially as his hands got higher. And higher. When he bent my knee. When his kneading met the muscles of my hips. When his fingers worked the inside of my thigh, up, up, the tips brushing the outer lips of my pussy.

  Heat boiled in my veins. Want. Need. It took every ounce of my strength not to fidget and squirm. Everything not to beg for him to… what? More. That was all I could articulate. Just, more.

  To keep myself centered, I watched him intently as he invaded the landscape of my body. He was focused. Restrained. Professional, when this wasn’t even his job. Controlled. Always controlled.

  But his quiet intensity gave him away. I saw the effort it took. Saw the desire cloud his features. Saw his eyes sweep along my skin. I stopped wondering what this was and started wondering what it could be.

  He tugged at the sheet and I hoped. But he merely covered my leg and moved to repeat the process on the other side.

  Except this time, he spoke. “I hope you’re nice and relaxed, Emily. Because we need to have a chat.”

  Apprehension fluttered in my belly. Chatting was definitely not the direction I wanted to go in from here. Whatever he had to say, I couldn’t possibly listen. I was too agitated.

  But without him spelling it out, I knew those were the terms of this arrangement. He’d touch me – in his way. And I’d listen, whether I wanted to or not.

  So I propped myself up again and gave him as much of my attention as I could.

  “It’s interesting,” he said, his thumbs doing that amazing thing on the bottom of my foot, “how people respond to you when they believe you’ve gotten away with murder.”

  My stomach dropped. No speech that started with murder had a happy ending.

  “Most people are frightened of you,” he said as his hand stroked up my shin. “They pull their business. They stop attending your events. They certainly won’t let themselves be seen with you. It’s not really anything to fret over, losing those connections. You don’t want cowards in your court. Good riddance to them.”

  “I’m not a coward,” I managed to say defensively. Though I wasn’t sure why I was defending myself. Or why I was anxious that he might mean good riddance to me when that was probably exactly what I should be wishing he meant.

  He glanced
up at me, amusement in his features. “No, you’re not. You’re not scared. Or you’re not scared enough.”

  I barely fought the shiver that begged to stutter through my body. It was a menacing statement, and I wanted to deny it as well. Tell him that I was definitely scared enough. But what the hell did that mean, anyway? Considering how turned on I was despite everything I’d learned about him, still turned on despite the foreboding in his tone, well, maybe he had a point. I really wasn’t scared enough.

  The amusement transformed to what looked more like awe. Then his attention fell back to my leg and I couldn’t see his face well enough to read him. But after he pushed my ankle back so that my knee bent, his touch changed. A single finger traced the line of my inner thigh. Softly. Sweetly. Just as he got to where I so wanted him to go, he abruptly stopped. One second passed. Two.

  Then he resumed the firm pressure from before, reclaiming his restraint. For now.

  I could wait.

  His speech continued, his voice firm, icy. “There are other people, too. Those that respect you. They aren’t necessarily your friends, because they’re also scared – probably even more so than those who keep their distance. They continue their financial support of your endeavors. They invite you to their parties. Their children’s weddings. They look out for you. Because, you see, they’re afraid that if they don’t… well…”

  My heart hammered in my ears. Suddenly I was feeling vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with my nudity and everything to do with the frailty of my small frame compared to the strength of his much larger one.

  As if to prove that point, Reeve increased the pressure of his kneading, digging his fingers into the flesh of my thigh with a bite that sang and stung. “It’s a very intense form of power, actually. Much like having money. I’m sure you’ve gotten a taste of that with the recent success of your show. Imagine that but multiplied by a billion.”