Squeezing my legs together, I clear my throat and cross my arms over my chest. “I’m trying to be professional.”

“Professional Avery. I like where this is going.”

“Just …” I roll my eyes. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I turn. Damn … he’s six feet, two hundred plus pounds of raw sex appeal on his stomach with his to-die-for ass mostly covered with a much-too-tiny hand towel. Coincidence? I think not. “What kind of pressure do you like?” Kneeling beside him on the bed, I draw in a slow professional breath and squirt lotion onto my hand.

He rests his head on the opposite cheek, peering back at me. “You know I like it hard, Ave. Just like you.”

Harnessing my poker face, I nod. “Firm pressure. Noted.”

He smirks, but I cling to my stoic expression, even if I’m drowning in my own arousal in other areas.

My hands, forearms, and elbows go to work on his back. He moans, eyelids drifting shut. My knees pull inward to stave off the desire that’s out of my control. After twenty minutes of working on his back, I wipe the sweat from my brow.

This might have been a bad idea. I’m a good massage therapist. Clients pile up on waiting lists to see me, but Jake might not see my amazingness shine through because I’m a bitch in heat.

Rules of massage: focus all your thoughts on your client, let go of extraneous thoughts.

Done.

I’m all about Jake right now.

Powerful messages—palpable sensations—can be transferred from my fingers and palms to my client.

Done.

By now Jake should know I want to touch him everywhere with every part of my body. I want to give pleasure and take some of my own as well.

Moving on to his legs, I scoot off the bed and stand at the end, working my thumbs deep into his muscles.

“Ave … you’re so … fucking … incredible,” he mumbles like a drunk.

“I know.” I grin, but if I’m honest, Jake’s approval of my skills makes fireworks explode inside of me. His moaned words trump every glowing review I’ve ever received.

After another thirty minutes, I’m not sure he’s awake. Stilling my hands on his calves, I give his legs a gentle shake. “Roll onto your back.” I turn, flexing and bending my fingers, rubbing them to relieve the stiffness.

“Ready,” he says.

“Oh!” I cover my mouth, eyes wide.

Jake grins without opening his eyes.

I was wrong. He’s far from being lulled to sleep. He’s very much awake. I toss a pillow over his midsection because the towel lost the battle with his stiff cock.