Page 64 of Manhattan Bossholes

“Don’t ever stop doing that,” I closed my eyes and sighed.

“You like?” Vincent asked as he rubbed his knuckles along my arch.

“Did you see those torture devices Chloe had us wear all day? I’m not sure my feet will ever recover.”

He chuckled. “And you still managed to spend half the night on the dance floor.”

“I’ve never met a cheesy line dance I didn’t like!”

We were both fresh from the shower after an epic wedding day, settling into bed but not ready to sleep. We recapped everything, from the victorious Mercedes introduction to the way Paul and Chloe had seemed over-the-moon happy throughout the whole thing. We both hoped they’d find their way back to a more even keel now that the drama of the wedding day was behind them.

Vincent poured more massage oil into his hands and started focusing on my calf. He was sitting up at the end of the bed with my feet nestled in his lap.

“Ohh,” I sighed. “That is…divine.”

“Summit’s massage oil is fantastic, huh? It’s coconut oil-based, so it has a variety of uses. Let your mind wander.”

I opened one eye to peer at him. “Is that a fact? It feels fabulous, but I wouldn’t give the oil all the credit.”

He bowed his head. “Why thank you, madam. Hopefully, my tip will reflect your appreciation.”

I bit back a smile. “Do you only take cash tips?” I asked him coyly, leaning into the role play. I nestled my other foot against his crotch. “Or could we work something out?”

“I’m definitely open to other forms of payment.” Vincent’s strong hands moved farther up my calf in rhythmic strokes. “What did you have in mind?”

“A little quid pro quo, maybe?” I purred as his hands reached my thigh.

“I like the way that sounds,” he agreed.

“But first you have to prove your worth,” I scolded lightly, “before I lay a finger on you. You’re off to a decent start, but I need to know if you have any…special skills in your repertoire.”

“Ah, okay,” his hands slid higher, moving to my inner thigh. “Like this?”

“Getting warmer,” I rasped as his fingertips grazed the edge of my underwear.

Vincent moved to kneel in between my legs. “You know, I could get fired for this. But I can’t resist you.” He moved his fingers beneath my underwear and found my heat. “I can’t resist this.”

I sucked in a breath as he slid a finger inside me then paused.

“Maybe I should stop?” Vincent said in a low voice, still playing the role of the horny massage therapist. “We could get in trouble if someone catches us.”

I pushed against his hand. “No, don’t stop.”

“Beg.”

His voice shifted from customer service tone to dominant in a single syllable.

I was so desperate for him I didn’t even pause. “Please, sir, don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop what?” he rumbled. His hand slowed between my legs.

“Don’t stop…touching me,” I panted. The man was a maestro at playing my body, and I needed more.

His fingertips teased, slipping inside, then against my clit, then paused again. Vincent was serious about the begging, and he was going to get what he wanted because I was desperate enough to plead with him for more.

“Please. I…I need you…”

“You need me to do what?” Vincent asked in a growl.