Best Women's Erotica(13)
She sighed and told the guy she would give him the rest of the details later. I wondered if that tactic would be successful for her; dangling the fruit on the tree to show off how ripe it is. From the look on his face, I’d have said that it was working. “Do you want a male or female therapist?” she asked finally, staring at the computer screen.
“I’ll take whoever is available first. I know it’s short notice, but I was hoping to get a back rub in about an hour.” I tried to make a joke: “You know, it’s like an emergency.” It went completely over her head, and she tapped at the keyboard, sucking her teeth in annoyance. “If it’s not too much trouble,” I added sarcastically, becoming annoyed a bit myself—confounded that a four-star hotel could have such a two-star employee working for them.
“It’s not a problem—it’s just this dumb computer. It froze on me again. I’ll have to reboot it.” She tapped impatiently on the enter key a few more times in exasperation. “Just tell me what room you’re in; I’ll send someone up.”
“Up?” I asked, with confusion.
“Yes, up to your room. The spa closes at six during the week.” She finally gave me some eye contact. “It will cost you thirty-five dollars more an hour for in-room service; you okay with that?”
She was really pissing me off with her fucked-up attitude, but not having to leave my room again for the night sounded great. Hell, yes, I wanted to pay the extra thirty-five dollars. “What time can I expect someone?” I asked simply.
“Soon,” she answered, with no promises for specifics.
Luckily, room service was more responsive, and in a half hour I was sequestered in my temporary hideout with a grilled-chicken salad and a glass of wine, eager for my pamper session to begin.
Around eight there was a knock on my door. Already showered and nude under my fluffy white hotel robe, I checked to confirm that my masseur had arrived. When I opened the door, I suddenly realized that I certainly did care whether I had a male or female therapist. In fact, I couldn’t have asked for someone more perfect for my needs that evening. He was delicious looking with longish sand-colored hair and a cleft in his chin that was only a bit deeper than the dimples advertised in his warm, pleasant smile. Suspended effortlessly in one hand was a folded massage table; in the other, a large bag with towels spilling over the top. I stood there a moment, drinking him in. That idiot at the concierge desk actually got something right, I thought and returned the friendly smile with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m Sean,” he said. “Have a seat; it will just take me a moment to set up.” I sat in the middle of the bed watching him keenly, examining his fluid motions as he went about unpacking his equipment. He seemed to notice that he had my undivided attention and made sure to meet my eyes with a wink. “You look like you could use a little TLC,” he said securing the legs of his table. “Long day?”
“Long enough,” I replied coolly, pondering whether this was something he said to break the ice with all of his clients. He tilted his head and let his gaze travel into the shadows of my open collar. If he weren’t so beautiful, I’d have instinctively pulled it tighter around my neck. Instead I found myself biting my lip in consideration of his angled jaw and amber-colored eyes and stretching backward onto my elbows, certain that my robe would fall slightly off my shoulder. Just as he was finishing setting up there was another knock on the door. Assuming that room service was retrieving my tray, I answered with it already in hand.
The rather muscular guy standing in my doorway was just as hot as the one already in my room, but a bit darker—both in hue and in spirit. He stood there with his cherry red lips offsetting his white teeth, grinning ruefully. “Hi there, are you ready for your massage?” he asked in a smoky tone. As I took note of his identical spa-issued white shirt and pants, he spotted his colleague prepped to begin an overhaul of my tired body. Entering my room, he said with a frown, “What are you doing here, Sean? This is my call.”
“I don’t think so, Mike, you’d better check with the desk.”
“I have the room number right here.” Mike moved closer to him with an official-looking piece of paper in his hand. Continuing under his breath he muttered, “This gig is mine and so is the tip that comes with it,” and he nodded in my direction.
“I have the same work order, so I guess we’ll have to go with who got here first.” Sean was holding his ground and made no moves to disassemble his table.
I held my up hands, interrupting them with my tendency to take control of a situation. “Why don’t you both stay and split the time that I’ve paid for; if you do a good job, then you can split the tip.” No need to let either of you go to waste, I added silently, pressing my lips together in anticipation of their response. I figured I might as well find a way to take advantage of the mistake and enjoy both of them for the price of one. They nodded and seemed to think it was a fair solution, so I peeked into my purse to see how much cash I had.