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“If you’re trying to find redeeming qualities in me, your search isn’t going to go very far.”
“Why are you trying to convince me that you’re bad?”
To warn you. Nice girls like you get burned by guys like me.
“Oh, I get it,” she continues. “You like to project a ‘bad boy’ image.”
“I sure as hell can’t project a ‘good boy’ image if I’m not that. Turn around.”
“What?”
“Lay on your stomach and relax.”
She hesitates but does as I say, laying her head on her pillow. “So how did you get into foot reflexology?”
“I had it done to me in Bali. And my girlfriend at the time really liked it.”
“Was that girlfriend Kimberly?”
“Yes.”
“I did some web research on reflexology.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s…interesting.”
I look over the length of her body, wondering what it would feel like beneath mine.
She starts asking mundane questions: do I see a regular reflexologist, what else did I like about Bali, do I try other forms of TCM? I keep my answers short and eventually she stops talking as she sinks into the massage.
Once she’s completely relaxed, I start to home in on the sexual points. She muffles a giggle.
“We’re finishing this time,” I tell her.
She nods, then buries her face into the pillow. I sense the shift in her body, the blossom of energy. Her body shudders. The pillow muffles what might be a groan, gasp or laugh. I move to a different part of her foot. She remains prone and quiet. After a few more minutes, I set down her feet. I need to adjust the crotch of my pants but don’t move so as not to disturb her.
“That was…” she murmurs.
Slowly she sits up. Her cheeks are slightly flushed, her eyes are bright. She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Thanks.” She swings her legs over the side of the bed. “You’re, um, really good. Like, you could be a professional masseuse.”
So she’s not going to acknowledge the orgasm she had. It doesn’t bother me, though. She knows it happened. I know it happened.
“Should we check on the eggs?” I ask.
She leaps up and scrambles out the room. I follow her into the kitchen.
“I almost burnt the pot,” she says, showing me there is just a little bit of water left.
“The Lotus opens in less than two hours, and I’ve got to greet someone there,” I tell her. “We can redo the cooking lesson later. I can have JD’s driver pick up you and Amy.”
“Later tonight?”
“Just text me when Amy’s done at work. Around ten o’clock.”
She bristles, probably taken aback by the fact that I didn’t ask her to come over and instead told her she would. ’Course, she could simply object.
“I’ll have to see,” she replies. “I was going to work on my resume and type up those notes.”
Not allowing her that out, I say, “You have time between now and ten.”
She sucks in her breath.
I stare down at her. “If you’re good, you can earn another foot massage.”
As I expected, she doesn’t know how to respond to that.
I take my leave and close the door behind me. I let out a large breath. Coming over probably wasn’t the best idea. Now the only way to get her out of my system is to fuck the crap out of her.
