My Stepson's Blackmail Toy - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading My Stepson's Blackmail Toy, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of My Stepson's Blackmail Toy.
"You need serious pressure for a proper back massage, so this position gives me better lrage. You don't mind, do you?" Her tone was all business, but the way she didn't wait for an answer sent my pulse racing.
What was I supposed to say? She'd already positioned herself over me before the words left her mouth. As her hands dug into my muscles, she moved between standing and kneeling on the bed—the rhythmic creak of the mattress and soft thuds of her shifting weight filling the room.
To anyone listening outside, it would've sounded like something way more scandalous than a massage.
At twenty-six and painfully single, this was the closest I'd been to a woman in... well, too long. My skin burned rywhere she touched, blood pounding so loud I barely heard her when she suddenly stopped.
"All done, sir. Would you like any... additional services?" The pause before those last two words hit me like a live wire.
My voice came out rougher than I intended. "What exactly is on the menu here?" If I'd been facing her, I wouldn't have trusted myself not to grab her right then.
"We offer rything." No hesitation. "Though some options require extra payment."
There it was—the smoking gun.
Grandelle Inn had been in my family for three generations. We ran a clean operation, zero tolerance for illegal crap. When Ethan Crawford tipped me off about shady dealings here, I'd called bullshit. But the proof was currently straddling my back.
I forced my breathing steady. Time to find out who had the balls to turn my hotel into their personal brothel.
"Get down for a sec. Hard to negotiate when I can't see what I'm buying."
She slid off obediently, standing beside the bed still wearing that damn mask, her breathing slightly unn from the workout she'd just given my shoulders.
"Lose the mask. Let's see if you're worth the premium price." I reached for it, fingers itching to tear it off myself.
She caught my wrist. "Ten thousand. Minimum. Pay that, and it comes off right now."
"Done." My mouth went dry imagining what face could possibly match that body.
The mask came away slow, like she was raling a masterpiece. And hell, maybe she was.
"Well?" She tilted her chin up, all confidence. "Do I look like ten grand to you?"
ry thought short-circuited. Delicate cheekbones, full lips, eyes that could melt steel—she was n more stunning than the grainy photos relatives had texted me after Dad's wedding.
Now I got why Richard Lowell had rushed to put a ring on her. If a woman like Vanessa Lombardi had pinned me down at sixty-five, I'd have married her too.
My stepmother.
They'd kept her hidden at the wedding, probably worried I'd make a scene. Smart call—because seeing her now, feeling her warm breath on my neck as she suddenly shoved me back against the mattress, ry cell in my body was screaming to do something we'd both regret.
And that was before I processed she'd turned my family's hotel into her personal playground.
What was I supposed to say? She'd already positioned herself over me before the words left her mouth. As her hands dug into my muscles, she moved between standing and kneeling on the bed—the rhythmic creak of the mattress and soft thuds of her shifting weight filling the room.
To anyone listening outside, it would've sounded like something way more scandalous than a massage.
At twenty-six and painfully single, this was the closest I'd been to a woman in... well, too long. My skin burned rywhere she touched, blood pounding so loud I barely heard her when she suddenly stopped.
"All done, sir. Would you like any... additional services?" The pause before those last two words hit me like a live wire.
My voice came out rougher than I intended. "What exactly is on the menu here?" If I'd been facing her, I wouldn't have trusted myself not to grab her right then.
"We offer rything." No hesitation. "Though some options require extra payment."
There it was—the smoking gun.
Grandelle Inn had been in my family for three generations. We ran a clean operation, zero tolerance for illegal crap. When Ethan Crawford tipped me off about shady dealings here, I'd called bullshit. But the proof was currently straddling my back.
I forced my breathing steady. Time to find out who had the balls to turn my hotel into their personal brothel.
"Get down for a sec. Hard to negotiate when I can't see what I'm buying."
She slid off obediently, standing beside the bed still wearing that damn mask, her breathing slightly unn from the workout she'd just given my shoulders.
"Lose the mask. Let's see if you're worth the premium price." I reached for it, fingers itching to tear it off myself.
She caught my wrist. "Ten thousand. Minimum. Pay that, and it comes off right now."
"Done." My mouth went dry imagining what face could possibly match that body.
The mask came away slow, like she was raling a masterpiece. And hell, maybe she was.
"Well?" She tilted her chin up, all confidence. "Do I look like ten grand to you?"
ry thought short-circuited. Delicate cheekbones, full lips, eyes that could melt steel—she was n more stunning than the grainy photos relatives had texted me after Dad's wedding.
Now I got why Richard Lowell had rushed to put a ring on her. If a woman like Vanessa Lombardi had pinned me down at sixty-five, I'd have married her too.
My stepmother.
They'd kept her hidden at the wedding, probably worried I'd make a scene. Smart call—because seeing her now, feeling her warm breath on my neck as she suddenly shoved me back against the mattress, ry cell in my body was screaming to do something we'd both regret.
And that was before I processed she'd turned my family's hotel into her personal playground.
End of My Stepson's Blackmail Toy Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to My Stepson's Blackmail Toy book page.