I know the date that happened between me and Heath yesterday was just part of the act, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there was something there. He was so gorgeous, nothing at all like I had imagined. He could have any woman in the world, so why would he possibly need to pay someone to pretend to be his bride? I’m glad he did, though. This is going to be the easiest job I’ve ever had, wrapped around the arm of a man who is handsome and surprisingly fun to talk to once you get past his rough, suspicious façade.

I find myself eager to see him again. I’ll have to tamp down those feelings, though; this is a job, not a real marriage. A real marriage will never happen, not after the horrible experience I had with my ex.

To get thoughts of Heath and our kiss out of my head for the moment, I decide to make myself a bowl of cereal and study the folder Heath gave me. I need to learn everything I can about his family and friends, the things I’ll need to know if this engagement is going to be believable. His family lives overseas in Europe where his father runs the headquarters of their family business. Says here his mother is kind, but naïve, his father is rougher around the edges. It says he’s severe and quiet. Heath also has younger twin siblings who can be somewhat suspicious and intrusive. That doesn’t help my nerves at all.

I sit back and rub my eyes. There’s so much to memorize. It feels like my brain has locked up. I need coffee.

There’s a knock at the door. I figure it’s probably a delivery man since Mandi has something sent to the apartment daily. I get up to open the door, but it’s not a delivery man. It’s Heath.

“Oh,” I say, surprised. This is not how I wanted him to see me. I’m wearing cut-off sweats and a tank top I slept in with no bra. The messy knot of hair piled on top of my head hasn’t been washed in two days. Thank God I shaved my legs and gave myself a pedicure, or this encounter would be a lot more embarrassing. Still, he’s so crisply dressed, his perfectly coifed hair looking as if it came out of a mold. I feel even more disheveled than I would if he were in casual clothes.

“Did we have a meeting?” I ask. He doesn’t seem like the type to just show up unannounced.

He has that same stern look he wore when we first met, as if he’s already shed away the thought of our wonderful first date. I don’t know why that bothers me so much, but it does. Part of me feels kind of hurt by the brushoff.

His eyes flicker to my breasts, then, reluctantly, back up to my eyes. I feel the slight twinge of pleasure as they harden from the attention. Normally, if someone came over, I would try to hide it. But I like the idea of torturing him a bit.

“No, I’m just stopping by to bring your transportation,” he says.

I’m confused and, for a moment, flirting with him takes a back seat. When he told me I wouldn’t be able to take public transportation during this job, I’d assumed he would send a company car for me like he did yesterday when he sent me home after our meeting/date.

His big body blocks the doorway, so I can’t see what he’s talking about at first until he steps to the side. Sitting in front of my dingy apartment is a sleek black something or other—I’ve never seen anything like it before. I’m pretty sure it’s a car—or maybe a spaceship. I’m certain it’s not something you can pick up off the lot at the auto mall.

“Is that …” My words trail off when he hands me a key fob that has the word Maybach on it. Is he for real? “There’s no way I’m driving that,” I tell him.

His eyebrows come together and his head tilts. “Why not, is there something better you’d rather drive?”

I laugh. I can’t help myself. He puts his hands on his hips, not looking amused.

“Better?” I say. “Is there such thing as a better car?”

“I’m sure there is,” he says.

I shake my head. “No, I don’t think there is. It’s just … I don’t know … a bit excessive, don’t you think? That’s a half-million-dollar car.”

The only reason why I know that is because Mandi is addicted to reality TV and the mother of the Kardashian girls drives something similar.

“You’re my betrothed,” Heath says. “I can’t have you driving around in a Toyota Corolla covered in rust spots. There’s a certain image we have to uphold.”

“How do you know what kind of car I drive?” I ask, taken aback by his knowledge of me.

“I did some research after we met.”

“I like my Toyota,” I say, a little offended by his remark, and a lot offended that he’s been spying on me.

I don’t actually like my Toyota. The thing is a money pit and makes this god-awful squeal as I drive down the road. It’s embarrassing, really. But so is driving around in a Maybach. I don’t want people staring at me. I’ll get self-conscious and end up rear-ending someone, or doing something embarrassing.

“What about a compromise then?” he says.

“A compromise is good. That’s what marriage is all about,” I say.

He gives me a surprised look.

“What?” I say.

“Nothing … I guess I’m just surprised how seriously you’re taking this whole marriage thing.”

“I have excellent work ethic. You’re paying me to be your bride and I plan to be the best damn wife a man has ever had.”

He still looks bewildered, but he shows me a slight smile and continues. “What kind of car would you prefer to have?”

“What about a newer Toyota. They’re reliable, efficient, get great gas mileage. There’s a little used car lot down the road—”

“No,” he says bluntly.

This time I’m the one with my hands on my hips. “This doesn’t sound like compromise to me.”

“You do realize that any other woman in your position would be jumping at the chance to drive a Maybach?”

“I’m not any other woman. I’m me.”

“I’ve noticed. You’re not like the women I’m used to.”

Is that an insult or a compliment? It’s hard to tell with his expressionless demeanor.

“Maybe you should find yourself a different caliber of woman then, because anyone who would ask you for a Maybach cares only about your money,” I say.

He looks at me like a puzzle he can’t quite piece together. “Isn’t that what you care about as well?”

“No, of course not. I mean, well …” I’m getting flustered. “Yes, I care about your money, because I’m doing a job and you’re paying me for my services. But if we were actually dating, your money would have nothing to do with it. My last—” I almost said husband—not that it’s a secret (he probably already knows after spying on me), I just don’t like telling people the reason I’m no longer married. “—boyfriend, worked as a short hall truck driver. Not exactly the kind of job that makes millions. When I’m with someone it’s because they make me happy.”

“Good to know,” he says and manages to swing the subject back around to the car issue. “A Mercedes then.”

“No way. That’s like putting a target on my back and being like, ‘Hey, look at all this money I have, come car-jack me.’”

“Maybe in this neighborhood, but not in mine.”

“Definitely in this neighborhood. That’s why I need something a little more inconspicuous.”

“That’s why you’re moving in with me,” he says.

I freeze. Did I just hear him right?

“You want me to move in with you?”

“Yes. I need you to stay with me while my family is in town. You’ll have your own wing if you need your privacy.”

His place is big enough for me to have my own wing? I don’t even know if I’ve ever been in a place with a wing.

“Keep the car for now,” he says, “and I’ll work on getting you something different. In the meantime, I want to show you your new living arrangements.”

I can’t help but get a little excited. Mandi is my best friend, but she makes a terrible roommate. The thought of having a wing to myself, even if it is temporary, is a wonderful thought. I can finally get to that stack of books I’ve been meaning to read but never had the chance because Mandi comes home at weird hours and always has the TV on at full volume. The possibilities are endless.

Heath makes me drive the Maybach because he doesn’t like driving. Apparently he’s used to being driven around in his company car everywhere he goes. That’s fine by me. I’m less nervous about driving the car after he tells me he has amazing insurance. I believe him since I doubt a dealership would let him drive this thing off the lot without it. I finally settle down and just enjoy the ride. It looks like a cockpit inside with all the different lights. The supple leather seats are like butter and fit my ass just right. No wonder this car is so expensive. Worth every penny.

We pull up to a tower of luxury condos. There’s a circular covered drive and a row of valets waiting out front. The only thing close to a valet at my apartment complex is the thug on the corner waiting to jack it.

One of the men wearing a suit and tie comes up to us. “Good morning, Mr. Starre,” he says.

Heath hands him a one-hundred-dollar bill. “This is Sylph, my fiancée. I want you to make sure her car is well taken care of.”

“Yes, sir,” the man says and jogs over to where I’m getting out of the driver’s seat.

If that’s how much valets make in tips, I see a career change in my future once this deal with Heath is over.

Heath leads me into the building. The foyer opens up into a hall with a grand staircase, and pillars all around. There’s a fountain in the middle and a lounge area with a coffee bar. Everyone who works in the complex seems to know Heath’s name and has a smile waiting for him. It’s like I’m in that scene in Pretty Woman where everyone is staring at Julia Roberts because it’s so obvious she’s a prostitute by the way she’s dressed. Except I’m not dressed like a prostitute. My ensemble leans more toward homelessness. Before Heath had shown up, I was doing my laundry and all I had left to wear were a tank top, sweats, and ballet flats. Heath has to be embarrassed to be seen with me looking like this, especially since he seems to be so into his image and status. But if he is embarrassed, he isn’t showing it.

Everything in the lobby, from the wallpaper, to the furniture, is accented in gold. The art on the walls look suspiciously like the real thing. I want to take it all in, examine the different brush strokes, the soft carpet, everything, but Heath seems to be in a hurry. This is by far the fanciest building I’ve ever been inside aside from a museum.

We get into an elevator. It’s super fancy inside with ornate detailed wood carvings and gold leafing. It’s a cramped space. Heath’s arm touches my breast. He looks down at it. Every time he gives me any kind of attention, my nipples stand at attention. I know he sees where his arm is touching me, but he doesn’t move it. I don’t move either. How does this man manage to turn me on with just a single touch?

He clears his throat. “Have you had a chance to look over the folder more?” he asks. His rich velvet voice fills the space in the elevator.

“Stayed up all night going through it,” I admit. There was a lot, and it was strange reading about a life that is supposed to be mine yet I’ve never experienced any of it. I found myself wishing I was that girl who went to wine tastings with him in Napa Valley, who sat on the rooftop of the apartment building watching the sunset. The girl in that folder is happy and carefree. She has a man who loves her dearly and who also respects her. She doesn’t have to scrimp and save every penny just to survive on toxic food or suffer through an equally toxic relationship. She’s able to go and do things, experience life on a whole different level. Must be nice to live like the girl I’m pretending to be.

“Good. You’ll be meeting my family tomorrow night,” Heath says.

“What? Already?” For some reason I thought I’d have a little more time to prepare, to perfect my character. I don’t know how to be a wealthy person. There are rules, mannerisms. Rich people hold themselves a specific way, head up, chin out. And there’s a certain arrogance to them that comes from either getting too much attention as a child, or not enough. At this point his family will never believe that I am anything more than who I am: a jobless, penniless, desperate girl pretending to be in love with a man who has more money than God.

“I’m afraid so. They got into town earlier than I was expecting,” he says.

My head’s spinning. The elevator feels like it’s moving at warp speed. I sway. Heath catches me before my knees buckle and he holds me in his sturdy arms. Damn, he smells good. I put my forehead against his chest to keep the elevator car from going in circles.

He starts to stroke my hair. It feels good and comforting. One of his hands slips down to my bare shoulders. My body comes alive from his touch and I find myself with temporary amnesia. I’m no longer thinking about his family or my duties. Right now, all I know is that he’s touching me and I want more.

Then the elevator opens, and he steps away from me. “Are you all right?” he asks.

I nod. “I’m fine.”

We step out of the elevator which leads us directly into the condo. This place is as big as two houses. Windows wrap around, giving us a stunning panoramic view of the city below. The floors are white polished marble tile. The furniture is also white. The leather couches are all straight lines and hard edges. They’re beautiful but don’t look like they’d be very comfortable to sit on.

The wallpapered walls are covered in beautiful art pieces just like in the lobby. This entire place looks like an art piece. That, or a showroom. I can’t believe people actually live like this.

He gives me the grand tour, which is definitely grand. In the wing he’s calling mine, there’s even a library. I feel just like Belle from Beauty and the Beast—if the beast were the sexiest man alive.

“What’s mine is yours. As long as you’re working for me, you have free rein of the place.”

His smile stirs that needy place deep in my core and I find myself imagining him walking around this place wearing nothing but that sexy smile.

“Thank you,” I say.

I ask myself yet again why this gorgeous man is pretending to be engaged and getting married when he could have the real thing with any woman of his choosing. He’s beautiful, obviously brilliant to have gotten this far in life. He doesn’t need to pretend.

“Is it off-limits to ask why you need a fake bride? Clearly you don’t need one. You’re gorgeous, and smart, and kind …”

His eyebrows lift and I blush.

“I’m almost thirty-years-old and my mother thinks I’m lonely and she’s always trying to set me up with someone, so any possible free night I might have is spent on mindless dates trying to pretend to be interested in some pampered brat’s little purse dog. My father thinks a man without a wife is irresponsible and not planning well enough for the future. He’s constantly checking up on me. I just want them off my back for once in my life. I figure if they think I’m married, they’ll leave me alone. They live out of the country and I rarely see them, so they won’t know the difference for some time. When they come back, I’ll give them some sob story about how things didn’t work with my marriage, and hopefully that will be the end of their meddling,” he says.

“You’ve really thought this through.” Of course he did. He’s very good at details. It’s obvious from the folder he’s given me.

“I should get back to work,” he says.

“Do you need me to drive you back?”

“I’ll call for a car.”

I swallow hard. “I don’t suppose you’d want to stay and hang out with me for a while.”

He looks curiously at me. I continue. “We could watch TV, binge-watch something on Netflix.”

His curiosity turns to amusement. “You want to spend time with me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I want to hear more about your family. I’m nervous about meeting them.”

“You’re nervous? Aren’t you used to this sort of thing since it’s your job?”

I shake my head. “This isn’t my normal job. I’m just filling in for my best friend. She needed my help at the last minute and I needed the money, so I said yes.”

He gives me the strangest look, a mixture of surprise and understanding. Suddenly, his whole body language changes and his stiff demeanor crumbles.

“It all makes sense now. You don’t seem like the type to do this sort of thing. And you don’t look anything like the way my friend said you would.”

“Disappointed?”

“Not at all. Elated, actually. I was worried someone might recognize you from one of your other jobs.”

“Not unless that job was the cashier at Burger Hut.”

“I’m fairly certain I don’t know anyone who eats at Burger Hut.”

“Didn’t think so,” I say.

I press my hands together and give him a pleading look. “So you’ll stay?”

“For a little while.” He sits on the couch. I sit next to him.

“You look so uncomfortable in all those stiff clothes,” I say.

He looks down at his buttoned jacked. “This particular suit isn’t made for comfort.”

“I can tell, but it looks sexy as hell on you, so I guess that makes it worth it.”

He gives me a sideways smile and takes his jacket off.

“This needs to go too.” I lean toward him and take off his tie and unbutton the top button of his shirt to let his neck breathe. He pulls in a breath. When I look at him to see why, I realize my tank top is gaping and he can see everything. I pretend like I don’t notice, and let him get an eyeful. He doesn’t say anything, and doesn’t try to avert his gaze.

“You smell amazing,” I blurt out. I was thinking it, but hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Too late now. “What’s that scent?”

“Dolce and Gabbana.”

His brilliant blue eyes finally leave my breasts and now they seem to search my face. They leave a sizzling trail from my eyes to my lips.

Please don’t stare at me like that. I can’t think straight when you stare at me like that.

My breathing is erratic. I can hear it. I know he can hear it too. I try to slow it down, to take even breaths, but it’s not working.

Our eyes meet and though I know I should look away, neither of us seem to be willing, or even able to. Before I realize it, I have four of his shirt buttons undone. A small patch of hair on his chest shows through. I want to touch it so bad. He touches my arm and I jump a little. His fingers trace a line along the skin of my arm, down to my fingertips. His fingers weave together with mine and now he’s holding my hand.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about when it comes to my family. If they do or say anything to make you feel bad, you let me know and I’ll put them in their place.”

I look down at his hand holding mine and bring it up to my lips. His breathing changes too. I kiss each tip of his fingers, my lips lingering on the last one. His hands smell like soap.

“Is this part of our story?” he asks in a voice that seems off kilter.

I nod. “The more we bond, the more convincing our relationship will seem. Don’t you think? Then I won’t have to be nervous about meeting them and trying to make them believe we’re a couple.”

He nods. “Yes, that’s a good strategy.” He hesitates. “But maybe it’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m your employer. You’re dependent on the money for this job. It’s not a fair distribution of power.”

I grin. “That’s very thoughtful of you to care, but I don’t give a shit. I want you.” I undo the rest of the buttons and open his shirt. He groans in a way that makes me think he’s having an inner moral struggle but losing the battle of wills.

“And I’m pretty sure you want me, too,” I say.

He struggles to keep eye contact, but his gaze keeps finding the gap in my shirt.

I’m not going to make it easy for him to say no to me. I take off my tank top and now he can’t even pretend not to look. His eyes drink me in, pupils dilating. I use my shirt to tie his wrists together.

“There, now I have the power. Does this make you feel better?” I ask.

His low chuckle and sweet smile do things to my body I didn’t know were possible. “It does make me feel better, actually,” he says.

“Good.”

His chest is fully bare to me now. He has an amazing body, just as I imagined he would. Hard muscle, toned. His skin is the only soft thing about him. I lean over and kiss his chest, run my finger through the small patch of hair I’d been admiring earlier. I make my way up to his neck where I lick him. He tastes as good as he smells. When I’m done nibbling his neck, I taste his chin and lay soft kisses against his jaw line. And just as I’m about to kiss his lips, he suddenly pulls away, holding his bound hands in front of him as a barrier.

I’m so confused. I thought he was into it. “Did I do something wrong?” I ask.

“No, not at all,” he says. “It’s just … you don’t have to do that. It’s not part of the deal.”

“I know. I thought we already figured this out.”

“I want you to know that’s not required,” he says.

I get it. He’s in a male dominated business and as the owner of a multi-billion-dollar company he has to be careful, but this is different. There’s no HR team for me to run to if I don’t like the conditions of our arrangement. Then I start to wonder if maybe he’s just not into me.

“Do you not want me to touch you?” I ask.

His eyes widen. “Of course I do.” He moves his hands and I see the evidence of his lust filling the front of his pants nicely. “It’s just not appropriate for our business arrangement.”

“Wouldn’t it be more believable though, if we were intimate?” My voice comes out as a whine. I’m practically begging. I want him so bad I’ll make any excuse to make it happen. I think he knows it too because he lets out a breath of laughter.

“Maybe another time. I need to get back to work.”

I let out a disappointed breath, but I’m not going to pressure him.

He looks at my breasts as I untie his wrists and put my shirt back on. I know this is as hard for him as it is for me, but he clearly has far more will-power than I do.

* * *

I go to my wing of the condo. It’s huge. The same size as Heath’s, but not as lived in. The bed is bigger than the room in the apartment I share with Mandi. A girl could get used all this space … though, it’s a bit lonely.

As I look around, I think about kissing Heath’s chest and neck, the way he looked at me without my shirt on. I still can’t believe I did that. This isn’t real, whatever this is between Heath and me, but for a brief moment, it felt like it was and I wanted it. I guess I still do. I can’t stop thinking about him and I want him. He’s so handsome and sexy. Any girl in my position would. But that’s not what he wants from me. He’s looking for a fake bride to get through this time with his parents and I have to hold back these strange and unexpected feelings.

I need a few things from my apartment, so I take several trips back and forth to get them. It’s also an excuse to drive my amazing temporary car. I know I can’t keep it, so I’m going to enjoy it as much as I can while I have it.

On the last trip to my apartment, Mandi comes home and I’m so relieved to finally see her.

“How did things go?” she asks.

“Kind of amazing. He’s nothing like I thought he’d be. He’s really nice and sweet.”

Mandi sighs. “I was afraid this was going to happen.”

“What?”

“You’re falling for him.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes you are. I see it in your face and I can hear it in your voice. You can’t get involved with these guys, Sylph. They are clients, not people.”

“They are people,” I say.

“But not our people,” she says in the same lecturing tone I just used on her. “These men would never date anyone who doesn’t come from a family with money, or who isn’t on their level.”

My face must give away how crestfallen I feel because she gives me a sympathetic look and says, “I know. It sucks. I once had a client who I thought was into me. He took me on lavish vacations, wined and dined me. We even had sex on several occasions. I thought we had something special. But it turned out he was just trying to make his ex jealous. It worked. As soon as she was back in his life, he gave me the boot. I knew better, but I let myself fall for him anyway. It was heart-breaking. That’s why you can’t feel things, Sylph. You have such a big heart, which is why you have to protect it.”

“I know. You’re right,” I say. And I know she’s right, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. “I’m not falling in love or anything. I’m just enjoying my time with him.”

“Good.” She looks at my suitcases. “What’s all this?”

“I’m staying with him while his family is in town.”

“That’s normal. But like I said, sleeping with him isn’t part of the deal, so don’t feel obligated to do anything you don’t want to do.”

There’s nothing I don’t want to do with Heath, but there’s plenty I want to do with him—and to him. Problem is, he isn’t budging. “That won’t be a problem.”

* * *

Heath calls to let me know he’ll be back at the condo by eight in the evening and wants to go over a few things with me before I meet his parents tomorrow. While I wait, I decide to run to the grocery store to pick up a few things since his refrigerator is bare.

I stop at a roadside stand for fresh fruit and vegetables. I pick a few things up there and stop at the store for everything else I’ll need for tonight. I love to cook. My mom taught me from the time I could walk. Since I grew up on a farm, we never ate out, so learning to cook was essential.

I decide to make peppercorn steak with glazed carrots and a salad. Rooting through his cupboards, it’s obvious none of his pots and pans have ever been used. Some of them even have price tags and stickers attached. Now’s a good time as any to break them in. I learn my way around his kitchen. Since it’s clear he never uses it, I take the liberty of switching things around so the arrangement makes more sense.

I finish making dinner just as Heath walks through the door. He stops in the walkway and looks at the table that’s set.

“Hope you’re hungry,” I say.

He’s still looking confused when he hangs up his jacket and walks over to the table, studying the dishes I’ve set out. “I am, actually. I was about to ask you if you wanted me to call in something, but I see you’ve already done it. Who brought this? It smells amazing.”

Now it’s my turn to be confused. “No one brought it. I made it.”

“You made this?” he says.

I giggle at the way his says this, as though it was some great feat of engineering. “Yes, I did. Sit before it gets cold.”

He does as he’s told. I watch his face as he takes a bite, afraid he won’t like it. It’s just down-home country food. Nothing fancy. He’s probably used to eating in five star restaurants similar to the one in the file where we had our second pretend date. When his next bite is so big it barely fits in his mouth, I know he likes it.

“This is extraordinary,” he says with his mouth full. “Did you go to culinary school?” he asks, taking another heaping bite.

“No, just picked up a few tips and tricks from my mom. She’s a far better cook than I am.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

He cleans his plate and fills it again with seconds. I forgot how much I love cooking for someone. Mandi never eats my cooking because she’s always on some new diet. My ex always enjoyed my cooking, but he never appreciated it. Cooking was always just expected. It was required. Dinner on the table at 6PM sharp, or else …

“I can’t eat another bite,” Heath says, then takes another bite.

I laugh. He’s so adorable. It makes me happy to watch him eat. It’s good to be appreciated once in a while.

I get up and start to clear the table. “No, don’t. I’ll take care of it,” he says.

“You’ve been working all day, grab a beer and go relax,” I tell him.

“There’s beer?”

“In the fridge. I didn’t know what you like, or if you even like beer, so I just bought something from the local brewery.” I shake my head. He’s probably more of a wine kind of guy. That didn’t even cross my mind.

“I like beer,” he says and opens the fridge. He pauses at the door. “It’s full,” he says in surprise.

“You needed a few things.”

“This is more than a few things.”

“You needed a lot of things, actually.”

He grabs a beer and follows me into the kitchen as I grab our dirty plates. I fill the sink with soap. He sets his beer on the counter and grabs the plate from me once I’ve washed it. He dries it with a towel and puts it in the cupboard.

We fall into easy conversation while we work. It’s surprising that, even though we have nothing in common, we have so much to say to each other. There’s never a lull in the conversation or uncomfortable silence. He tells me all about his family, and we go over the plan again and again. Then I ask him about his day. He tells me about his meetings and the insufferable building inspectors. He asks about my day, which surprises me a little. A lot of things surprise me about Heath, I guess. My ex never asked about my day. He never helped me with the dishes. He never told me I was talented in the kitchen. He just ate my food and burped, then plopped down on the couch and watched whatever game was on at the time. Turns out my fake relationship might be the best one I’ve ever been in.

Once the dishes are done, he says, “I’m exhausted. I’m going to turn in for the night.”

We say our goodnights, and go our separate ways. I try reading, and when that fails to put me to sleep, I think about Heath and I masturbate. Luckily I remembered to bring my dildo. A very important accessory to have when you’re sharing a house with a sexy man you can’t touch. Getting myself off usually relaxes me enough to put me to sleep, but knowing that Heath is just down the long hallway makes thinking about him a poor substitute. I’m tempted to walk in his room naked and have my way with him, but I couldn’t handle the rejection if he’s not into it.

Hours pass and there’s no way I’m getting any sleep, so I decide to get up and get some ice cream and watch TV for a while.

I’m in the kitchen when the door to Heath’s room opens. I didn’t think he’d be up so I didn’t bother putting on a robe. My t-shirt is just barely long enough to cover my ass cheeks.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” I say.

He’s wearing only a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, and damn, he wears them well. I can’t get enough of his bare chest, the way his muscles look as though they’ve been carved out of hard wood. The guy is sculpted, and those arms …

There is nothing sexier than a guy with nice arms. I picture them wrapped around me, pulling me toward him, crushing our bodies together. I realize I’m staring at him, so I look down at the tub of ice cream in my hands.

“No, I couldn’t sleep,” he says. He’s staring at me too, at my bare legs.

“Me neither. I have a hard time sleeping in strange places. What’s your excuse?”

I grab a second spoon out of the drawer and hand it to him. He takes a spoon full of the chocolate caramel swirl.

“My family. I’m always tense when they’re in town. They can be overwhelming.”

He puts the spoon in his mouth, rolls his shoulders and winces. I can literally see the muscle in his shoulders taut with tension.

“Sit,” I tell him. “I have something that’s guaranteed to help you sleep.”

He looks skeptical but says, “Okay.”

I go to my room where I find my toiletry supplies that I brought from my apartment. Inside are some massage oils I was given as a pampering gift from Mandi for my birthday last year. Cinnamon, my favorite scent. It’s also good for sore muscles. I take the oils and head back to the kitchen where Heath is still digging into the ice cream container.

He looks at the oils in my hands, then up at me. I can see the muscles in his shoulders tense up even more.

“Relax,” I say, and put several drops into my hands and rub them together to warm them up. I stand behind him and start to knead his shoulders with my thumbs.

He lets out a quiet moan, then says, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

I work over his shoulders, up the sides of his neck and down his back until he starts to turn to putty in my hands.

“This would be easier if you were lying down,” I say. “Let’s go on the couch.”

“My bed is probably better, it’s more comfortable than that couch. The thing is built for looks, not comfort.”

I pause. His bed? I think he realizes just how it sounds and quickly says, “But I’m sure the couch will be fine.”

“No, let’s go to your bed,” I say.

I follow him to his room. It’s nothing special. Everything is plain, gray, boring. It needs a woman’s touch. He definitely has the bachelor vibe going on.

“Lay on your stomach,” I tell him.

He does and I climb on the bed, kneeling beside him. It’s not a very comfortable position to be in, and it’s hard for me to really dig into the muscles of his shoulders, so I straddle his butt instead. His back tenses up when I do that.

“Relax your muscles,” I whisper to him.

Finally, after kneading his shoulders some more, he starts to relax. Eventually his entire body loosens up. His skin feels delectable under my fingertips, especially at the small of his back. His ass looks nice and firm, I’d like to massage it too, but I don’t dare. I wonder if he can tell how hot I am between my legs, and wet. I’m sure when I get up there will be a wet spot on the back of his pajama bottoms where I’d soaked through my panties.

“Can you take these off so I can rub the backs of your legs too?” I ask, pulling at the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

“Um, I could, but I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

“I’ll grab a towel,” I say and go into the bathroom attached to his room and get a towel.

When I get back his pajama bottoms are off. He’s holding them in front of him, and he’s looking at the wet spot I left on the back. His eyes meet mine and I know he knows what caused it.

I pretend not to see it and hand him the towel. His Adam’s apple dips in his throat as he covers himself with the towel and drops his bottoms to the floor.

“Lay back down,” I tell him.

He does, and I start to work on his long legs, moving my hands from the base of his butt down to his feet where I spend a lot of my time. Even his feet are beautiful. Does this man have a single flaw?

I’m so turned on now that it feels like I wet myself. I should probably stop before I do something, or touch him somewhere that will change everything. “You can get up now.”

“I can’t, actually,” he says.

“Why not?”

Did I rub too hard? Did I hurt him?

“I have a bit of an embarrassing situation happening beneath this towel.”

I smile. He should see the embarrassing situation happening on the front of my panties. “I hate to break it to you, but I’ve seen your situation before, after we kissed in the park, and trust me, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He rolls over onto his back and manages to keep himself hidden by the towel. Sure enough, there is a situation. A very large situation. Without the cage of his suit pants to contain him, I see that he’s much bigger than I originally thought, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the mound hidden by that damn towel. I want to throw it off and expose him.

“You know my face is up here, right?” he says in a teasing voice.

My face is as hot as a kiln. I can only imagine the unflattering shade of crimson it must be.

“I’m sorry, it’s just been a while since, you know … and your skin, my hands, that chest …” I’m just spitting out random words, hoping they come together to make sense.

The way he’s looking at me is not helping matters. He’s looking at me the same way I feel myself looking at him, and we’re both turned on and there’s nothing but that pesky towel, my panties, and a moral dilemma to stop us.

He touches the side of my bare leg, sending goosebumps all over my body. I’m not wearing a bra, so when my nipples harden, it’s painfully obvious.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers to me.

“So are you,” I whisper back.

Then I reach out and I touch his chest. He sucks air through his teeth. Touching his chest is not enough for me. I don’t want to just touch him. He looks delicious. I want to taste him too. When I reach for the towel, he grabs my wrist to stop me.

“We can’t—”

“We can,” I insist. “I want to.”

His breathing gets heavier and he lets go of my wrist. I tug at the towel and let it fall. His cock might very well be the most stunning one I’ve ever seen. So many women I know think that a man’s dick is ugly, but not me. And Heath’s is especially tantalizing. It’s big and lovely, the head glistening. It’s a fucking masterpiece. I touch the length at first, gliding my hand along the velvet skin. He makes a dreamy groan as I wrap my hand around him. Then I kneel down and lean forward and take him in my mouth. He tastes as amazing as he looks and fills my mouth nicely. I slowly work his length down my throat and listen to the sexy noises me makes as he enjoys my efforts.

He runs his hands through my hair, taking a fistful as I miraculously swallow the entire length of him. I work his balls with my finger tips and he starts making a desperate sound.

“That feels so fucking good,” he says.

I come up for air and lick him from the tip of the head, along the swollen vein on the underside, down to his balls. I take one in my mouth, swirl it around with my tongue and do the same to the other.

“That’s one hell of a mouth you have,” he says with a crooked grin.

“You like that?”

“I love it,” he says, his voice thick with lust.

“I want you to fuck my face,” I tell him.

I love to give a soft, sensual blow job, but right now I want to make him dizzy with want. I want him never to be able to resist me again.

“Are you sure?” he says timidly, but I can tell he wants it.

“I can take it,” I insist.

I make my way back up his cock with my tongue, lick the drop of pre-cum from the tip and swallow him back down. Heath cusses and lifts his hips upward to thrust inside my mouth on my way down.

I love having this kind of control over him. The way he begs and pleads for me not to stop. I feel a sense of pride knowing how much pleasure he’s in right now and it’s all because of me. I watch his face as I suck him off, the rawness of his expression, the lust, the restraint.

His breath starts to come in rapid fire, the sounds he’s making are more animalistic. He holds the sides of my face and pumps into me as though it were my pussy.

He stops suddenly and says, “Wait, wait.”

But there’s no waiting. I want him, I want him all. I start bobbing on him, pushing his hands away so I can do all the work. I’m the one in charge now.

“Oh, god, oh fuck,” he chants.

Finally, with an almost pained sound, he lets go and I clutch his hips as he bucks into me. I swallow every drop, and with my tongue, I lick up everything that escaped the corners of my lips from his explosion.

“There, does that feel better?” I say with a twisted, satisfied smile when I release him from the clutches of my mouth.

“Much better,” he says, his voice husky and exhausted.

“Get some sleep,” I say. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

“But, don’t you want me to—”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” I say, and go back to my room where I masturbate yet again.