by Mika Lane
Talk about hot!
The man was freaking gorgeous. At least from behind.
To maximize the pressure of her juicy center on his muscular ass, Dakini shifted forward with her hands on his shoulders, pussy lips grinding against him while her own breath came in gasps. As her orgasm built, she directed all pressure to her clit. Mr. A, clearly aware of her growing pleasure, slammed his ass upward, rocking against her to meet her demands. With all her might, she ground against him one last time, gasping. Her eyes closed and she threw her head back and forth as she lost herself in undulations of pleasure while orgasms quaked her body.
Jake, Jake, Jake…
Shit. She hadn’t said that out loud, had she, fantasizing about Hot Bartender Guy?
Trembling, she collapsed against Mr. A’s back as her grinding slowed. Rubbing her face into his now oily hair, she smelled lavender mixed with spice and sweat—the perfect masculine aroma.
Mmmm. My favorite kind of client.
While her breath recovered, Dakini slowly climbed off Mr. A and down from the massage table. Her legs quivered, both from orgasms and for sitting so long in a straddle. She leaned against the wall cabinet to catch her breath and let her heart return to normal.
God, that was hot. Barely touching, but still exploding like the world was ending tomorrow.
I do love my job.
She adjusted her robe and retied it, covering the panties that were now soaked through.
“Mr. A, how are you feeling?” He still lay face down. Was he asleep?
He cleared his throat and raised his head the smallest amount from the massage cradle. “Great. That was incredible. Holy shit.”
Dakini busied herself with putting away the massage supplies and tidying up. She turned from her duties just as Mr. A flipped over onto his back, propping himself up on one arm. He smiled widely.
Goddammit.
No wonder the tattoos looked familiar. No wonder she loved his scent.
Mr. A was Jake. Jake Abbot.
The hunky and muscular Left Bank bartender. Rock ’n roll god. Her crush since forever. A witness to her recent morning-after humiliation. Yes, there he was, with his dark eyes and sly smile as if he were quite pleased he’d made her come.
Great. Just great.
Dakini backed into the wall and stumbled, at a loss for words. One of the massage stones she was in the process of drying dropped from her hand to the floor, just missing her pinky toe. She stared as she fumbled to form a coherent thought or word. “What the…? Why didn’t you…why didn’t you let me know it was you?”
Unsure whether to be irritated or embarrassed, she glared at his sleeve tattoos. How could she not have recognized them? Of course she’d seen them before. She looked at them every time she went to Left Bank! And his scent! Simple soap and deodorant. Clean with a bit of spice. It had lingered in her apartment after he’d left the other day. She knew what threw her off.
Where is the goddamn man bun?
Jake’s fingers ran through his oily hair, and he looked confused. “What do you mean? You didn’t know it was me? I texted you this morning.”
“No, I most certainly did not know it was you.” The heat of her reddening crept across her face.
Why did she have to blush like a freaking virgin? She never got away with anything. Ever.
“Um. Didn’t you call out my name? I’m pretty sure I heard you call out my name.” His brows knit together.
Shit. I did say his name out loud.
Ignoring his question, she turned to busy herself in a storage cabinet. “I didn’t get your text, and my schedule just said Mr. A. So no, I didn’t know it was you.”
“Geez. I’m sorry I threw you off. But if it makes you feel better, the massage…and, everything…it was all just amazing. Damn.” He dreamily rubbed himself dry.
“I’m glad you liked it. I guess.” The blush still roared across her face, a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “But I feel duped. Or something.” She avoided his gaze as she blew out candles. Not that they needed blowing out. She could just let them burn down. But she just didn’t know what else to do.
Dakini turned to glare at him. He glared right back. A moment later, she burst into laughter over their showdown.
“It’s all good,” she said, throwing her hands in the air in defeat. “Want some privacy while you dress?”
“Nah, don’t worry about me.” Jake hopped off the table, completely naked, deliciously unselfconscious, and gratefully accepted the wet towel she offered.
As he continued cleaning off oil and cum, Dakini stole a look, and then another of him completely disrobed. His arms were huge with muscle, covered of course with tattoos that she should have recognized. His chiseled pecs led to rock-hard six-pack abs, which led to a delicious stripe of hair, which led to...
Get a grip, girl!
She turned away and faked busyness, rearranging the massage oils for the third time. He moved closer, so close she could feel his breath.
“Dakini…” he started.
“Yeah?” Her heart pounded. She turned to face him. She’d dreamed about and hoped for a moment like this so many times. But not when she was rattled like this.
“I’d like to get together again. But away from here. And not the bar where I work. Some place else.” He studied her as if to assess interest.
She’d crushed on him for so long, wishing and wanting, that she found herself unsettled to at last be the focus of his attention.
“I’d like that, too.” Inhaling his scent, her eyes fluttered closed.
Leaning toward him, her lips searched for his. When they met, they drank each other’s closeness while their tongues flicked and teased. Her fingertips scratched through the light scruff of his unshaven beard and she let herself press into him.
His lips moved to graze her cheek and he ran his fingers along a piece of hair that had escaped her long braid. Shivering, fear zipped through her. Would his delicious touch somehow be taken away as fast as it had found her?
“Mmmm.” He pulled back to see her. “What do you say to tomorrow? Are you free?”
Was he getting hard again? Dammit, now her knees were shaking. Good thing she had his strong, naked body to lean against.
“I’m free until about four o’clock.”
“Okay. How about I pick you up at your apartment at noon? We’ll go to lunch.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and released her to pull on his jeans and an old concert T-shirt.
No underwear. Damn.
She felt suddenly alone. And cold.
But he didn’t seem to notice. “Remember, I know where you live.” He winked at her as he pulled on his boots.
Dakini’s insides felt like mush. Damn that hot, crooked grin. “Um. Yes. Let’s do that. Okay.”
He headed for the door. “See you then.” And he was gone.
She looked down at her shaky hands and took a deep breath to slow her racing heart. Double damn! She’d worked on him for ninety minutes with no idea of who he was. But maybe it was better that way. Had she known, she’d have been a wreck for the last hour and a half. Seeing him tend bar made her heart pound, but being close to him scrambled her brains.
Shaking the cobwebs from her head, she grabbed the sheets off the massage table and gathered them into her arms. She had more important things to take care of at this point in her life—like keeping her friends and her job. There really wasn’t room for a guy—that is, outside of her stalking fantasies. She headed back to the staff room. Time to give Grandma a call.
Chapter 4
The morning sun streamed into Dakini’s windows. The brightness always boosted her spirits. Sunshine and blue skies in foggy San Francisco were a rare treat, and every day her home burst with unexpected light was a novelty that never wore off.
Like many in the city, she had a small condo, but it was rich in architectural detail. The crown molding was coated with years’ worth of paint, but was still a beautiful feature as were the original hardwood floors
. French doors opened from her bedroom to the living room, affording mind-blowing views of both the celebrated Golden Gate and Bay Bridges. But what she loved most about her place were the details she’d added herself.
The past few years’ earnings at Devi’s Bliss had enabled Dakini to build, bit by bit, a modest art collection. When local artists opened their studios to the public, she scoured their works and purchased her favorite pieces at relatively affordable prices. As her collection grew, it ignited her interest in all things art, and she devoted hours to studying its history. Sensual massage was her dream job for the time being. But one couldn’t do it forever—a point shared by the more senior therapists at Devi’s.
The time she spent helping people relax and heal through sensual release was precious to Dakini. It felt important and useful, though there was no question the work was physically demanding. She’d grown strong from the massages she’d given, but by the end of a day, she was pooped. Few therapists lasted more than ten years.
Actually, few had to work beyond ten years. The profession paid so well that many “retired” and went on to the next phases of their lives—opening businesses, getting married and having kids, or just moving to a tropical island to bury their toes in the sand. Dakini had purchased her apartment with her earnings from Devi’s, planning to pay off the mortgage in five years, give or take.
With her place tidied, and all evidence of her drinking binge earlier that week erased, she readied herself for lunch with Jake. She blew out her long dark center-parted hair and dipped into a bit of lip gloss for color. Slipping her curvy figure into a long tank dress, she added high-heeled booties and pulled on her old jeans jacket. The finishing touch was a pair of gold hoop earrings her grandmother had given her when she’d graduated from college. She turned in front of her mirror.
Not too shabby.
Then, the doorbell rang. Dakini had been so preoccupied with cleaning her apartment and getting herself ready she’d not focused on the reason for all the preparation—a real date with Jake.
At last!
With a deep inhalation, she shook her shoulders and arms to get rid of the nerves that ganged up on her without warning. She never got jitters before a date. What was going on here?
As she buzzed him from the street into the building’s lobby, she unbolted her apartment’s front door and listened as he climbed the stairs, his footsteps growing closer.
“Up here. Third floor,” she called
His voice traveled up the stairwell. “Yup. I was here just a few days ago. Remember?”
Smart ass.
At the top of the landing, he strolled into view. Damn, he was one handsome man. The sleeves of his white, button-down shirt were rolled to the elbow, tucked into dark wash, straight-leg jeans. A distressed belt accentuated his flat belly, and the hem of his pants puddled on his scuffed, brown, chukka boots. He walked toward her, his dark grey eyes focusing on hers. Placing a hand on the doorjamb for support, her heart raced. His effort to look nice did not go unnoticed, and Dakini’s sex tingled at the sight of a patch of dark hair peeking through the open neck of his shirt.
“Hey there,” he said, greeting her at the door with a casual kiss on the cheek.
Well, shit. If this isn’t like being the awkward girl at the dance.
“Hello.” A giggle escaped her mouth before she could catch it. Chill out. No guy liked a neurotic bag of nerves. But if he noticed, he didn’t let on.
He followed her into the apartment and crossed to the living room window. “I didn’t see much of your place when I was here the other day.” He pointed toward the burnt-orange Golden Gate Bridge. “Killer view!”
“Yeah, I lucked out. It was one of the biggest selling points of the apartment.”
“You own this place? It’s awesome.”
“I do. Devi’s Bliss has been good to me and I was able to buy in this expensive city. I feel very fortunate.”
He nodded approvingly. “Good for you. Impressive. It’s not easy to make that happen.”
“You’re telling me! My boss, Devi, actually loaned me part of the down payment. Otherwise, it might not have happened.” They stood looking at each other for a moment. Then, as if someone had pinched her, she snapped back to attention.
“Hey, would you like a beer?”
“Absolutely.” He followed her into the kitchen where she popped open an Amstel Light.
“Sorry about the diet beer. It’s all I have at the moment.” She grabbed a Perrier for herself.
“No beer for you?”
Was this a test?
“Um, no. Trying to cut back.” She avoided his gaze by taking a swig of the sparkling water.
“Right. Gotcha.” He wandered back to the living room and looked around the apartment, taking it all in.
“I like your art. Really nice.” He walked through the room, checking out her collection. He stopped in front of her favorite, a painting of the city bus depot on Presidio Avenue.
Thrilled that he’d zeroed in her favorite, she stood beside him and considered it, too. “I was really drawn to this one from the first moment I saw it too,” she explained. “I’m not really sure why. I guess maybe the contrast between the industrial feel and whimsical colors appealed to me.”
“It’s really well done. I can see why you like it.” He drifted over to check out her bookcases. “My mom was an artist. In fact, she had this very book right here,” he said, setting down his beer and pulling out one of the biggest volumes on the shelf, its cover featuring a painting by Botticelli.
“No kidding! Do you have any of her work?”
He flipped through the volume’s pages covering Italy’s late medieval period. “I have a couple pieces, yeah. When she died, everything was divided up among my brothers and sisters and me.” He closed the book and replaced it on the shelf.
“How long ago did you lose your mom?”
“Let me think.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It’s been five years now. I loved watching her do her thing. She painted in oils, and I remember how they smelled, and how she made her first mark on the canvas.”
Did she see a flash of sorrow cross his face?
“I like to imagine what the artist was feeling when they started a painting and when they finished it,” she said. “And realizing I’ll never know.”
He turned to her. “What do you think about when you start a massage? And then finish one?” He took a sip of his beer and helped himself to her cushy sofa.
Joining him, she tucked her legs under, facing him. No one had ever asked her that question. Impressive. The few guys she dated rarely asked her anything about herself. Instead, they babbled on about themselves as if they were the only people in the room. If there were one piece of advice she would offer men should anyone ever ask her, it would be: stop talking about yourself already.
Anyway.
“Okay, let me see. Before I enter the room, I think about how grateful I am that this person is entrusting me with their health and well-being. I may meditate a bit, you know, so I can transfer a sense of peace and relaxation.”
She studied the view out her window while she thought. “I take cues from the client. You can tell from how they move and breathe what they may need, and that sort of directs me and helps me identify their physical boundaries. You know, every body is beautiful and deserves to be respected and valued. And I guess when the massage wraps up, I try to ensure they’ve had the chance, for a short amount of time, to feel good about being focused only on themselves—to be lost in sensation.”
“You’re passionate about your work.”
“Yeah. I am,” she said, nodding.
“And the sensual part?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow.
“You know, the joy of massage shouldn’t stop short of sensual touch. I know not everyone agrees with that. But for those of us who do, thank goodness for places like Devi’s Bliss.”
Enough about that.
“Ugh! I’m lecturing,” she said. “I should h
ave warned you not to get me started on the politics of my work!” She finished her water and stood to smooth her dress. “What’s for lunch?”
“I was just about to say I’m starving. Let’s roll.” He took her hand, and when they reached the door, he pulled it open for her.
Yes. A man with manners.
As they set out, Dakini led Jake down a San Francisco hill so steep there were steps built into the sidewalk so pedestrians wouldn’t slip and fall. The sun was high and the breeze still, and as she shook off her jacket, she watched Jake pull on his Ray Bans. He looked hotter than ever with those dark shades hiding his eyes. With her arm snuggled in the crook of his elbow, she wrestled with playing it cool and controlling the giant smile snaking across her face as she navigated the hill in her platform sandals.
“Hey, ever been on a cable car?” Dakini asked.
“Nah. They seem so…touristy.” He shrugged a shoulder as he looked at one trudging its way up Powell Street.
“Yeah, they are.” Dakini laughed. “But it’s incredible how many San Franciscans have never been on one. I’ve only been a couple times myself when family was visiting. But everyone ought to ride a cable car at least once.”
“All right. I’ll go if you take me. But right now, all I want is food,” he said, rubbing his belly.
“We’re almost there.”
She led him through the Union Square crowds where they dodged throngs of tourists and office workers basking in the sun. Food trucks emitting delectable aromas provided Indian, Greek, and Middle Eastern dishes for the lunch crowd. A small mime troupe danced about, flirting with children and earning tips from beleaguered parents while white tarps sheltered artwork and jewelry for sale by locals. The sound of San Francisco’s ever-present construction frenzy filled the air, punctuated by the occasional thunder of some piece of heavy equipment.
“So where’re we going?” Jake asked, as they maneuvered through a swarm of Japanese tourists.
