Chapter 25
I’m firing Daniel tomorrow, because I should always be the one giving Jiho massages. Kidding—that man has magic hands. But seriously, I’ll definitely be doing this more often.
The feel of Jiho’s heavy, corded muscles shifting and molding beneath my hands has me all sorts of hot and bothered. Not to mention, he moans, deep and gravelly, every time I hit a knot. And every time his body shifts, even a little.
Believe me, I saw his erection before he got on this table. As soon as his full body weight settled, he winced, grunting the word, “zesty.”
Took everything in me not to laugh.
Instead, I grabbed the warming oils and got to work, using the massage technique I picked up from the couple’s class Elaine and I took last year. At first, touching him was like trying to knead fucking concrete—tense for more reasons than one. Sure, everyday stress had him knotted up, but his grandfather could make anyone seize up like a water-scared dog about to get a bath.
Thankfully, it only took a few minutes—and my Masseuse-of-the-Day-award-winning hands, thank you very much—to start unraveling him, feeling him relax more with each pass.
I hit another knot in his upper back, ringing a wince from Jiho. “Holy fuck, that hurts so good,” he grits, then holds his breath.
Coaching him through it, I remind him, “Breathe, baby. I need to work this out. Deep breaths.”
“I am breathing,” he wheezes, bracing his entire core. Clearly not breathing.
“Sure, and I’m dancing the Nutcracker.”
“Yeah, I know,” he says on a chuckled exhale. “My nuts are all but cracked in fucking half. How much longer are you going to torture them?”
“Hmm,” I hum. “Until you come to your senses.”
“My senses?” He sounds a little confused. A little shocked.
“Yes.”
“With what?” Jiho quips, pushing himself up on his elbows and looking over his shoulder at me with a raised brow.
But all shocked curiosity shifts into a look of warning—the good kind—when I slap his bare ass, and the thing barely moves.
I, however, maintain my dignity, instead gesturing with my finger for him to lay back down. “A good boy, remember?”
“You know, some might call this emasculation.”
“What do you call it?”
“My girlfriend, making my painfully hard dick even harder. And more painful.” The words growl out of him in that low, sexy voice he knows I love.
Dammit. If he keeps this up, the happy ending I have planned may be pushed up to the second act. “Would you prefer I do the opposite? I have Michelle on speed dial. I can call her and have her explain in detail the surgical procedure for penile amputation.”
Jiho shudders. “No thanks. Please never do that.”
“Noted,” I chuckle, my hands moving to his lower back.
Moaning from the touch, Jiho finally gives in to my emasculation and lays back down, mumbling against his forearm, “You never answered my question, baby. What senses must I come to?”
I dig my thumbs into the muscles on either side of his lower spine, slow and firm, offering thoughtfully, “Are you…happy?”
“Answering a question with a question doesn’t count.” He exhales a long breath, back rising and falling beneath my hands. “And that’s a hell of a question to ask while I’m butt-ass naked and at your mercy.”
“Just humor me,” I say, my thumbs pressing into the muscles on either side of his lower spine. A smile tugs at my lips, because he really is at my mercy. “Are you happy?” I repeat. “Not in a fleeting way. The kind where—even on your worst day—you still feel it.”
Jiho remains quiet for a moment, long enough that I wonder if he’s going to dodge the question entirely.
Then, finally, he says through a sigh, “I don’t know. I guess…” He trails off, thinking. “I don’t think I’ve ever really let myself ask that.”
His honesty makes my chest squeeze, but I keep my voice even. “So, ask it now.”
“It’s complicated.”
I huff out a laugh. “Of course it is. But that doesn’t mean you don’t know the answer, or, at least, can’t figure it out. And you promised to tell me everything, remember?”
He says slowly, “I remember,” turning his head slightly, side-eyeing me with another warning look. I know I’m going to pay for that one later too. Duchess, my gal, you should mentally and physically prepare yourself.
Jiho’s brows furrow. Thank God—he’s actually thinking about it.
“Well,” he starts, “I’ve accomplished so goddamn much in my life. Built a successful company from the ground up. Attained a livelihood many would kill for. Provided for my loving-as-fuck family.” The crease between his brows relaxes, and a smile curves the part of his mouth I can see. “And most importantly, I’ve found a smart, sexy-as-hell woman who loves me—the good, the bad, and the ugly.”
Warmth spreads through every inch of me at the thought that I’m most important in his life. But there’s more to say on his part. There has to be. I’m determined to never see my boyfriend so…broken ever again. Because he’s not broken—he’s whole and perfect and strong. And just like he wishes for me to see myself the way he does, I wish the same for him.
“So, yeah,” he adds softly. “I’m happy, baby. Really fucking happy.”
“Even right now?”
“Yes.”
“Even tomorrow?”
“Yes, Morgan. Even tomorrow.”
“Even twenty minutes ago when your grandfather was here?”
Jiho stiffens. No longer relaxed, as if my hands haven’t been magically working out all his knots for twenty minutes straight.
But rigid—heat radiating off of him.
I have a feeling I just pressed on something way more stubborn than a muscle knot.
I’m not stupid—I know I did.
“What I mean is,” I add quickly, my hands pressing harder on his body, praying he’ll stay on this damn table, “where does your grandfather fit into your happiness?”
Jiho snorts, his shoulders shrugging at the same time, the rest of his body shifting with the movement.
Settling again, he says, “He doesn’t. He’s just a pain in my ass, and that’s about it.”
“Is that truly how you feel?” I ask softly, hands stilling, though not on purpose. Having now officially met Grandpa, I don’t blame him for his lack of affection toward the man. But it’s still…sad. Heartbreaking even.
Family, in general, is a pain in the ass, but I still love mine dearly. I wouldn’t even know how to function properly without any one of them. Even my grandparents. Sure, I don’t see them as often as I should anymore, but I still look forward to our phone calls.
Jiho shifts under my palms, startling me back into the moment. What did I ask again? Oh, right—if he really only sees his grandfather as a thorn in his side.
But before I can repeat the question, Jiho’s sitting up with his legs swung over the edge of the table, that erection of his singing my name. He’s so tall that his feet easily meet the floor, like he’s sitting in a chair and not on a table.
Fuck, it’s hot.
Focus, Morgan. Focus. And Duchess? Stop purring.
Jiho pulls me into him, settling my hips between his thighs .
I will not look at his penis. I will not look at his penis.
So instead, I look into his onyx eyes—just as good, different results. The butterflies-in-stomach kind. Dammit. I’m so screwed when it comes to Jiho Park.
His fingers lace behind my back, locking me in his hold. Mine instinctively follow, lacing behind his neck.
That playful smirk of his returns. “You really lay heavy into the therapy part of massage therapy, you know that?”
“Answering a question with a question doesn’t count,” I tease, meeting him tit for tat.
He shakes his head, his eyes growing tired. Probably tired of this conversation. You know what? He’ll just have to suck it up. This shit’s important. For him, for me, for us.
“Yes, Morgan,” he sighs, “that’s how I truly feel.” If his hands weren’t locked behind my back, his fingers would be drumming on my body right about now. “I can’t remember a single time in my life that my grandfather has shown me or Jina or my parents even an ounce of respect, let alone love. So why would I feel any sort of affection towards him, when he’s never fucking given any?”
“So, if that’s how you feel, then why do you let his words affect you so much?” He opens his mouth to speak, but I quickly unlace my hands and hold up a finger. “Hold on, I’m not done,” and it earns me another look that has my vagina screaming at me now.
I try to ignore it and continue, my hand resting on his solid chest. “I understand the cultural implications here, or at least as much as I can as an outsider looking in. You have to respect your elders, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing, Jiho. In my opinion, the elderly deserve respect from everyone. But if you take a minute and stand on the outside with me, you’ll see it’s entirely possible to show someone respect without losing yourself to it.”
“I didn’t lose myself.”
I crook my thumb in the generic direction of the gym. “Tell that to your punching bag.”
Frustration flashes across Jiho’s face, but I don’t back down, tightening my hold on him as he says, “So what exactly are you saying, baby? Let the man say his piece and listen? Because that’s what I’ve been doing. But when you hear the same shit over and over again, it wears on you.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say softly. “More than most, unfortunately.”
His brows bunch, regret replacing annoyance. “Shit, you’re right. I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t be. Because of you, I found the last piece of myself I’ve been missing for years. You helped me remember my strength, Jiho. Had I known you before, I don’t think I ever would’ve lost it.”
“And had I known you before, I’d be in fucking jail for murdering that d-bag.”
I chuckle, my fingers skimming the sharp edges of his jaw. “Probably, but I’d bail you out. And right now, I’m here to remind you of your strength, and that no one—your grandfather included—can take it from you. But if you do forget, and he steals more of it, I’ll always be here to lend you mine.”
His eyes soften. “You said, always.”
“I said, always,” I echo, nodding once. “And I mean it with all my heart. Whenever you need it, my strength is yours.”
As if it’s even possible, he pulls me closer in response, instantly reminding me of his Sudanese-sized cock between us.
And on that massive note, the final thread of my self-control unravels. “Except for now,” I whisper. “Now, I want you to take it from me.”