CHAPTER 1: THE PROFESSIONAL MASSEUSE

MIRA'S POV

His hands are on my calves and I'm trying very, very hard not to think about the fact that those hands belong to my best friend's father.

The oil is warm - he heated it before he started, explaining something about muscle receptivity and blood flow that I barely heard because I was too busy staring at the way his forearms flexed when he poured it into his palms.

The way the veins popped beneath his tan skin, the way his fingers looked thick and capable and like they could absolutely fucking destroy me if he wanted them to.

JeromePeters is forty-eight years...