“If you’re having second thoughts,” she says, “speak now or forever hold your peace.”
I chuckle. “It almost sounds like you don’t want to touch myhands.” I slide one inside her pants; she’s still wet. “We could always do this instead.”
Her lips part. Her breathing becomes shallow, and she spreads her legs to let me in. Then, she remembers the point of the exercise. “Later, big boy. First, I’m going to give you the prettiest nails you’ve ever had, so sit back and enjoy the ride.”
Sara clips my nails first and then files them to make sure they’re even. She pushes back the cuticles—I didn’t even realize this was a thing—and snips away the excess. Then she massages my hands with oil that smells of coconuts and kiwi, paying attention to every individual finger as if she is making love to them.
“It’s therapeutic.” I lean back against the couch. It’s also a massive fucking turn-on the way she strokes my hands, and the bulge in my pants is the proof.
Sara chuckles. “That’s what you call it now, huh?” She strokes my erection through my pants.
“You’re making it really hard to ignore.”
“Sorry.” She removes her hand and unscrews the lid of the nail polish. She’s Sara the nail technician again. “In the salon, we would stick your hand underneath the lamp to speed up the drying process, so you won’t be able to touch me until they’re dry.”
“Is that my official warning?”
“Yes, because I don’t trust you to keep your hands to yourself.”
“It isn’t my fault that I find you irresistible.” I’m not even joking now. She must hear the emotion and desire in my voice because she licks her lips and swallows hard.
“I’ll start with your thumb.”
She splays my fingers across my knee and takes my right thumb into her palm, gently massaging the cuticle. Then, she presses the excess polish from the brush against the rim of the bottle and paints a pink line down the center of my nail. The polish feels surprisingly cold, her touch kitten-soft, and my erection continues to swell.
“How does it feel?” she asks, without raising her eyes.
“Sexy.”
“It’s the first time anyone has ever said that.”
“To your face.” I smile. “You’re even more beautiful when you’re focused.”
“I seem to recall you said the same thing when you fucked me with your tongue.”
I groan out loud. “Stop, Sara, or I’ll end up smudging polish all over your panties.”
She sits back on her heels, still holding my hand, and slants her eyes at me. “Defeated by a bottle of nail polish and a hand massage. If I’d known it would be that easy, I’d have offered to paint your nails months ago.”
“I’m not sure Gia would’ve appreciated watching me take her place.”
“She’d get over it.” Sara finishes painting my pinkie and gestures for me to swap hands. “From what I recall, Gia Rossi was always open-minded.”
Sara barely finishes my second thumb when my phone starts ringing on the coffee table.
She freezes, thebrush poised midair.
My shoulders slump. I’d almost forgotten that I’m employed by the Rossis, at their beck and call, twenty-four-seven. I’ve never begrudged their demands on my time before. They’re great bosses, and I enjoy my job, but right now, I would swap it for a nine-to-five just for the privilege of spending the night with Sara with no distractions.
“You should get that.” She dips the brush back into the bottle and screws the lid tight.
I reach for my phone, careful not to smudge the polish, and hold it to my ear.
“Romeo, how soon can you get here?” It’s Elio. Of course it is.
I don’t look at Sara when I say, “I’ll be there in ten.”
Gia is waiting for me in the Rossis’ sleek kitchen when I arrive, sipping black coffee, her silver nails tapping the side of her mug.
