I was melting.

As Nick massaged my shoulders, my resolve oozed into the cheap-ass kitchen chair that had come with this place. His hands kneading away my stiffness was perhaps the best thing I’d felt in… forever. At first, the pressure was painful, but it hurt in a way my shoulders needed, and as I let him work, my muscles—tense and knotted from carrying the physical weight of the drink trays, not to mention the emotional weight of that humiliating outfit—uncoiled.

I grew more and more aware. Aware of him. Aware that I had this giant, very male man not only in my apartment, but right behind me, touching me, making me feel so fucking good.

My shoulders opened to his touch, and so did the rest of me. As tension flowed from my neck, the heat from Nick’s massage radiated throughout my body, melting my determination to keep him at arm’s length.

Nick carried himself with an aura of undeniable power and menace—especially when he was on the job at the club—but from everything I’d seen, that wasn’t who he was. Nick was more kind than mean, more gentle than brutish and—as funny as it seemed—he was sweet.

And this powerful, sweet man found me attractive. That was obvious.

While that often-present bulge in his jeans might not be irrefutable proof—the strip club provided plenty of stimulation—his eyes didn’t lie. The way he looked at me… I loved how his eyes watched me with so much heat. With indisputable lust.

A reciprocal lust built in me, clenching me from inside and rocking my pelvis as he worked on my neck and shoulders.

I argued with my body. Wanting this man was all kinds of stupid. In terms of power, Nick held every trump card. But on the other hand, while most men would have played the sex-favor card already, Nick hadn’t. Sure, he’d threatened to add sex to our deal. He’d dropped some innuendo, some pseudo threats, especially at the start, but they’d come off as playful and teasing. A bit of a joke between us.

What my body was feeling right now was no joke.

The air around me heated until I became sensitive to the slightest movement. I lifted my finger and it felt like I started a breeze that ruffled all the tiny hairs on my arms and tightened my nipples. I wiggled my toes and it created a wind that blew back my hair and brushed over the cotton between my legs. His hands might be eliminating one kind of ache from my body, but they were building another—the deep, dark, delicious ache of desire, of desperate need.

His thumbs stretched down my shoulder blades and fanned out, making me groan as my sex clenched. There shouldn’t be anything remotely sexual about this almost clinical massage, but Oh… My… God.

Would it be so bad if I fucked him? If I did, how would it impact our deal?

What if the sex wasn’t good? Or what if it was great and he wanted more from me than just sex? Would things get awkward? Would he retaliate by wanting me out of the apartment, away from my high-paying job or—much, much worse—would he renege on Crystal’s tuition and Dad’s protection in prison?

With Nick’s huge fingers at my neck and my literal life in his hands, I came up with a plan. I could tame my lust without risking our deal. I had a tool at my disposal that would give me some temporary power over Nick. One that, if I was careful, would keep me in control. Three cheers for the all-powerful BJ.

“Thanks for the back rub,” I said, rotating my shoulders and signaling I’d had enough, even though I’d be happy if he kept the massage going for the rest of my life.

His hands stilled but remained heavy, resting on my shoulders. I looked up at him and almost gasped at the intensity in his eyes. Further proof he’d want what I planned to give.

“I thought it was me who was supposed to be doing nice things for you,” I said softly.

“Breakfast?” he nodded toward the stove.

“That was no biggie. I needed to eat, too.” I swiveled around in the chair, putting my gaze directly in line with his bulge. “Is there something else I can do for you?”

My gaze on the impossibly big erection straining against his jeans, and my palms resting on the back of the chair, I lifted my index fingers, lightly stroking his upper thighs, close to his package but not touching it.

His hips shifted back. My fingers lost contact.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Like you don’t know.” I brushed his hard shaft.

“Fuck, Jade. I’m going to come in my pants.”

“Then let’s do something about that zipper.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to...”

If he wasn’t so obviously turned on, I might have been hurt, but I didn’t hurt easily. Plus, now I really wanted his dick. The idea of holding him prisoner to my lips and tongue and teeth, the thought of controlling his huge body with my mouth and hands consumed me.

“I want to.”

Staggering back, he looked down at his watch. “I’ve gotta go. Gotta sleep. Got an early meeting tomorrow.”

He dashed away, then turned back at the door. “Thanks again. For breakfast, I mean.” He shook his head, like he was trying to get his foot out of his mouth, then he left.

He left me. Left me horny and, I was shocked to discover, a little hurt.

I’d never heard of a man turning down a blow job. Was such a thing possible? What the fuck had just happened?