Chapter Five
Seraphine
I know the deal when it comes to massaging men. A lot of them get erections. Not because they want to, and not because this is sexual for them, but because their body is relaxed.
Contrary to popular belief, men need to be in a good head space to get erections, and it just so happens massages are a common time for that to happen.
We were taught all about this in school, as it’s a common occurrence.
Normally, I ignore them. It’s become so normal that it’s easy to look the other way.
But my God, I have never seen a dick so large before.
Though it’s hidden beneath the sheet, I can make it out perfectly.
When he turned over, one side of the blanket got stuck under him, so it’s pulling taught, showcasing the outline of his thick shaft and crown.
I’ve never wanted to see what a dick looks like before, but something about this situation makes me want to see his.
The urge to brush my fingers over it and watch it twitch is unbearable.
What would happen if I did that? Would he freak out?
Allow me to? He must know how hard he is; I’m sure he can feel it. Would he let me help him with it?
Why am I even thinking about this? This is my job, and I need to be professional. This is so far from professional.
Maybe it’s because he’s attractive, and most men I massage aren’t attractive. Maybe it’s because he’s a billionaire, and that’s why I find him attractive. Or maybe it’s because he’s my ex-boyfriend’s father and I’m that messed up in the head.
That revenge on Harrison is looking mighty good right about now. Though, I’m pretty sure my vagina has no sense of revenge and just wants this man’s dick.
Horrible. I’m horrible!
I’m here to work, and thinking about this man’s large erection isn’t part of my job. He’s probably married. How could a guy like this be single? There’s no way. I never heard Harrison mention a mother or stepmother, but he has a stepsister, so there has to be one, right?
Elliot Caldwell isn’t wearing a ring, but that doesn’t mean anything.
A lot of people don’t wear rings these days, especially people in positions of power.
But he’s more than twice my age, if I remember correctly.
Harrison made a comment about his father’s fiftieth birthday party being just before our first date.
And yeah, that’s another reason I shouldn’t be thinking about this man’s genitals. He’s my ex-boyfriend’s father!
Also, aside from all of that, I am not what this man wants.
People like him don’t date people like me.
People who have dead-end jobs and are living at home with their spiteful father.
I am so not this man’s type, but it does feel good to imagine I could be.
To think this erection is for me, because of me.
That he’s turned on by what I’m doing to him, the way I’m touching him.
Is it so wrong to wish that for just a moment, I could be wanted so much that nothing else matters?
That his wife wouldn’t matter, that his status wouldn’t matter…
Look at me, being so pathetic. I’m no better than Angela right now. How can I be dreaming of this man cheating on his wife with me, when I just found out I was the other woman?
I’m a terrible human, but my god, I may have to hide in his bathroom to take care of myself because I am aching.
Knowing this man of power, this billionaire CEO, is enjoying my touch is indescribable.
The sounds he made when I was working on his neck and shoulders were erotic.
I can’t remember the last time I wanted to be touched so badly.
It’s horrifying that my body is betraying me, my gaze constantly going to his dick.
Even as I work on his arms, squeezing and pressing on his muscles, my eyes keep trailing right back between his legs.
It’s just a natural reaction, Sera. It has nothing to do with you.
I just wish it did…
It could, right? It’s possible this isn’t just because his body is relaxed, but it’s because of me? Because he finds me attractive?
Finishing his arms, I move to his legs, working on his left foot and calf, then move up to his thigh. As I work on his quads, I lose count of the number of times his dick bobs under the blanket. I stare at it, hoping for the blanket to darken with a wet spot.
Making this man come with nothing but my hands massaging his body might give me a heart attack, but it would be a good way to go. Even at only twenty-one.
Get your head together, Sera. You’re being a creep!
I move to the other side of him, starting on his other foot and moving my way up.
My gaze locks onto the tent in the sheets, and my stomach warms when I see a dark spot on the sheet, no bigger than a dime.
He didn’t come, but that’s precum leaking from him.
He needs to, and I want to be the one to make him.
I don’t know why, I’ve never thought anything like this before, but there’s just something about him and this situation…
I want to make my ex-boyfriend’s father come.
“I won’t tell, if you don’t.”
I snap my gaze up, meeting Elliot Caldwell’s opened eyes. How long has he been staring? Hell, how long have I been staring?
“Wh-what?” I stammer, my hands still firmly grasping his calf.
“You’re so beautiful, and so fucking good with your hands,” he says in a near groan, his dick twitching again. Warmth pools in my lower belly, traveling up and out, heating my skin.
“You won’t tell?” I whisper.
What if I want you to? What if I want Harrison to know? Am I doing this for revenge? As some kind of after-break-up crisis? Or am I just being a normal twenty-one-year-old girl who is taking advantage of a situation she found herself in? Screw it. I don’t care what the answer is. I want this.
“I won’t tell,” he reiterates, then grips the sheet and tosses them away, widening his legs just a little.
His body is firm, muscled, tanned all over. Dark hair covers his thighs and groin. Everything about him is masculine and damn sexy. His abs are defined, chest chiseled, with strong, broad shoulders. His dick is big—bigger than I thought. Thick, veiny, and so desperate to come.
I blink a few times, bringing my gaze to Mr. Caldwell’s. He looks almost pained, desperate even. His breaths come slow but heavy, his throat working as he swallows thickly.
“We shouldn’t,” I say, giving one last go at denial. One last chance to not make this mistake, because that’s exactly what it’ll be.
“I don’t care.”
Neither do I.
I pump some oil into my hand and take a step closer to his upper body before squeezing my hand into a fist above his dick, letting the oil drip onto him.
He lets out a raspy breath, hips moving just the smallest bit when the liquid hits him.
Pumping more into my hand, I do it again, and this time he moans louder.
The vibrating need between my legs is almost too much to handle, making me want to beg him for relief, but there’s something else inside me fueling me on, wanting to give this big bad powerful man some pleasure.
Me, someone who means nothing to this world, giving someone like him pleasure? It’s inconceivable.
I wrap my hand around him, my fingers barely touching. He’s hard as steel, but so very warm. I bet if he were to be inside me, it would hurt. But I bet it would be the best hurt of my life. An ache that I would beg for; one I would crave.
“Fuck,” he hisses, thrusting his hips up. “Move. Please, for fuck’s sake.”
I lick my lips before slowly sliding my hand up to the head, squeezing gently before gliding my hand back down. Up and down, up and down, I move in a near-teasing way.
He just lies there, eyes closed, lips parted, hips grinding, enjoying what I’m giving him.
I’ve never felt so powerful in my entire life.
Never. Not once. I’ve never cared about having control or power, in or out of the bedroom.
I’ve been perfectly content with how things are.
But now that I have a taste of this? Now that I know what it feels like to have someone so damn vulnerable, literally in the palm of my hand? How will I ever give this up?
“Faster,” he growls.
I do not move faster. I keep up what I’m doing, watching in awe as his hands grip the edges of the table.
His body tenses, teeth gritting together, but he doesn’t force me.
He could. There are so many things he could do to get what he wants, but he does none of them.
He just lies there, allowing me to do what I want, while begging me for more.
Begging? Maybe not quite, but almost.
Harrison would never let me do this to him.
He always had to be in charge, always had to be on top.
But something about this, even though I’m the one in control, I don’t think I’m really the one in charge.
I hold the power of him coming, but something tells me this man is still very much in charge of this situation.
This is happening because he wants it to, because it’s what he wants from me.
From me.
A tortured sound leaves his lips, his hips bucking up higher, craving more.
So I give it to him, needing to see him come.
I want to watch him throb as he gives into his pleasure, want to see his cum splatter all over the dark hair on his chest and stomach.
I want to feel him soften in my palm, and revel in the blissed out look on his face as he orgasms.
How many people have seen this man like this?
Possibly hundreds, possibly none. How many women does he give this power to?
I have a feeling the answer to that question is not many.
I have a feeling that Elliot Caldwell is the kind of man who gets a woman for an hour, fucks her, and sends her on her way.
And they thank him because he’s a freaking billionaire who could have anyone he wanted. .
Right now, I’m special. Even if it’s only for today, just for this short time. I feel something I’ve never felt before. And that feeling is… well, it’s everything.
The fact that this would anger Harrison beyond belief is the cherry on top.
I stroke faster, needing him to come, needing to see this through. I want to think about this when I’m angry with Harrison for what he did and know that I got revenge in the best possible way. I can’t be sure if that’s even what this is about, but I don’t care. It’s a perk of the situation, anyway.
“Christ, Seraphine. I’m going to come.”
I watch intensely, staring at his dick, feeling the way it thickens in my hand.
His back arches from the table, neck straining, and the first rope of cum shoots across his chest. Another and then another, each one punctuated with a roaring groan of pleasure.
I stroke him until there’s nothing left in him, until his body is limp and his dick is softening—just like I wanted.
I stare down at the mess he made—the mess I helped him make—and the emotions that run through me are invigorating.
He throws his legs off the table to sit up, grabbing my wrist and pulling me to him. I gasp, stopping between his legs. The scent of his cum is strong, and I look down at how it drips from his chest.
What have I done?
“It’s your turn,” he growls, getting to his feet. But before he can push me onto the table, like he so clearly intended, I yank my arm from his grip and step back. He frowns at me, chest still heaving, dripping in cum.
“I…” I can’t even find words. What do I say? What do I do? How did I let this happen?
I could lose my job! Is that what he wanted? Was this actually his way of getting revenge? Of getting me to keep my mouth shut over what I saw? This is the perfect blackmail, isn’t it? I fell right into his trap. I’m so stupid!
His brow creases as he takes a step towards me.
“Seraphine?”
I move back, shaking my head, tears pooling in my eyes.
What the hell is wrong with me?
What did I do?
I just gave my ex-boyfriend’s father a hand job. I just touched someone sexually while working! This is so illegal it’s not even funny.
“Hey—”
I don’t wait to listen to what he has to say.
I turn and bolt, rushing for the door. I grab my purse from the hook on the way out and thankfully don’t drop my keys as I frantically find the right one to get into my car.
I peel out of the driveway so fast I leave tire marks on the pavement and may need new tires.
Seraphine, what have you done?