AllFreeNovel
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I throw my hands in the air. “Well, yes, but that was in your bedroom. You know, like put your clothes in the dresser drawers and your books on the nightstand?”
“Well, I only did what you offered me to do. This is how I make money,” she tells me, lifting her eyebrow, as if daring me to argue more.
“I get that,” I grumble, glancing down at my shiny brown leather shoes. “I just thought you went to the massage parlor for, you know, massages.”
She shrugs and heads to the fridge, retrieving a water bottle. “Usually, I do, but some of my clients that I’ve had forever have always come to my place. Priscilla is one of them.”
“One of them?”
“Sure, there’s Sally and Garth Peterman and Emmie Snodgrass, who refuses to wear underwear. Plus, Phyllis Jones and Angel Cays. They both come once a week,” she tells me, making my eye twitch.
“Okay, okay, so I get that you need to work, and apparently, some of that is from home. I think we just need to set some ground rules,” I concede.
Before she can reply, the bathroom door opens. “Hold that thought, Sammy,” Freedom says, patting me on the chest and heading back to the living room.
I follow, but linger in the doorway, leaning a hip against the wood trim. Freedom goes over post-massage details, even though I know she doesn’t need to, and gives her client the bottle of water on her way out the door. Once she shuts the door, Freedom turns and busies herself with picking up the sheets and setting them in a pile to be washed, all while humming along to the sounds of the ocean waves rolling through the speakers, as if you can somehow hum to unheard music. But she does.
When she grabs a Clorox wipe and starts cleaning her table, I say, “Freedom.”
She glances up and smiles. And my heart pounds heavily in my chest. That one simple gesture is enough to bring me to my knees. To beg her to stay. The concept is so foreign to me, I’m not sure what to do with it. Before I even realize what’s happening, she’s standing directly in front of me. Her wide brown eyes gaze up, innocence and desire battling for dominance.
“What?” she whispers, the mintiness of her breath tickling my chin.
Clearing my throat, I try to push all inappropriate thoughts of kissing her—or worse, making love to her—from my mind. That’s not going to happen.
Even if we are technically still married.
Freedom slides her hands up my arms, and even through my dress shirt, I can feel the burn of her touch. My brain starts to malfunction. I can’t seem to think about anything but her. Wanting her. Tasting her. Needing her.
Freedom.
I’m not sure who moves first, but suddenly, my lips are on hers, a hunger I’ve never felt before. No, I take that back. It feels familiar, yet new at the same time. A sudden flashback of kissing her in the shower with the same fervor parades through my mind. My hands on her ass as I press her against the wall, press my cock into her body. It’s the slightest glimpse of a memory, but it’s there, flashing like a neon sign and refusing to leave.
I wrap my arms around her back and pull her against me. My body completely takes over. Desire and demand crash together like two cars in a demolition derby, both fighting for dominance. Freedom goes up on her tiptoes, her chest pressing tightly against mine. She purrs, like a kitten. A sexy kitten in a long blue and paisley skirt and tight pink top.
“This isn’t exactly the ground rules I was planning to discuss,” I grumble, gasping for air.
She’s still in my arms, her nipples hard and pressed against the material of her shirt, pretty much confirming she’s not wearing a bra. Her eyes are even darker, full of her own desire. So, when she places her lips against my ear and whispers, “Fuck the rules,” well, I pretty much lose all ability to think rationally. That’s the only logical explanation as to why I reach down and grab her hips, lifting her small body and carrying her to my bedroom.
Her hands dive into my hair, and for the first time in forever, I’m a little glad to have missed my last haircut. She tugs, pain shooting down my neck and spine and landing in my groin. That little burst of discomfort only seems to fuel the craving I feel right now. That deep down yearning for something I shouldn’t want, yet can’t seem to stop myself from caring.
When I step inside my room, I head immediately to my bed. Freedom’s legs slip out from under the skirt as she brings them up and hooks them over my hips. Setting her down on the duvet, my mouth finds hers once more, my tongue dipping into her mouth and tasting.
Her hands are clawing at my shirt, pulling at my tie and grasping at the buttons. “Take this off. Now.”
I quickly stand up and start to unbutton my shirt. Freedom crouches on the bed and carefully removes my cuff links, tossing them onto my nightstand. “Be careful. Those are antique.”
She rolls her eyes and I swear I can feel it all the way down to my balls. “Oh, they’re fine, Sammy. But you won’t be if you don’t get this shirt off immediately.” Freedom practically grabs the material and pulls it apart, pawing it as if it wasn’t custom tailored to fit. I’m able to save the buttons by getting them released right away as she loosens my necktie. “I like this,” she whispers as she smooths the black and gold silk.
“I like this, but it needs to go,” I tell her boldly as I reach for her top. She instantly stops and extends her arms over her head, waiting for me to remove it. My fingers graze against warm, soft skin as I lift. My mouth waters as I expose her small breasts, the ones I’ve held in my hands before, yet barely remember.
But I’ll remember tonight.
Even though we should stop, even though I should send her to her own bedroom and forget about this crazy lust consuming me, I don’t. I can’t. The need for her is too great to fight.
So I don’t.
The moment her top is gone, my hands are on her breasts, palming them and pinching her nipples. She mewls, her head falling back in ecstasy. When she looks back up at me, her eyes are blazing as she leans into my touch just a bit. Something almost animalistic sweeps through me, and I know I need more. Picking her up, her body pressed against mine, I lay her back down on the bed and start to lift her skirt. My cock aches in my trousers, but I ignore my own lust, needing more of her.
