CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sean
All the restraint I’ve used to stop myself from tearing every single piece of clothing from Layla’s body since the first moment I saw her is worth it when I see the way she’s looking at me right now.
Striving for optimum physical health has its perks, but I’d never once cared what a woman thought about my body until Layla’s warm, whiskey-colored eyes turned dark and lustful the moment I pulled my shirt off.
Just knowing she wants me the way I want her is electrifying, and proves she’s one step closer to admitting she wants to be mine.
“Wait!” She stops me, holding a hand up as I work at the buckle on my jeans. “I have to leave so you can get undressed.” She straightens out the sheet on the table with a blush creeping up her throat. “And a reminder? I’m not that kind of masseuse. I’m a massage therapist.”
“Thanks for clearing that up.” I grin, removing my holstered gun and my knife, both of which I carry everywhere with me, before setting them on her desk. “I’m not self-conscious. You can stay.” I shrug, just wanting to fuck with her.
I begin to toe my boots off as she moves toward me and presses a warmed towel to my bare chest. I take it from her, brushing my fingers over hers.
“As much as you think I’d like to see you naked, there are rules here.
This is a respectable place and I have to leave the room while you prepare for your treatment.
” She looks down to the sheet in my hand and her eyes trail over my chest one more time.
“And we’re not working on your glutes, so leave your boxers on. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I chuckle to myself at the way she fights the inevitable. It all serves to twist even further into the most complex puzzle I’ve ever tried to unravel. “For such a small person, you’re really fucking bossy,” I tell her as she opens the door.
She shrugs, brushing me off. “Maybe it’s just you who brings out the worst in me?” she fires over her shoulder as the door closes behind her and I’m left standing in the middle of her massage room with my boots off and my pants undone.
I try to remember the last time a woman said no to me.
Every time I think I’ve moved closer to understanding Layla, she throws me off my game.
I know she does it to prove her strength, but all it makes me want to do is fuck the fight right out of her, repeatedly.
I shake my head and pull my jeans off, folding them over the side of the chair where the rest of my clothes are, then I look down at my rock-hard cock and ask myself what the fuck I’m supposed to do with that now.