Page 3 of How to Date a Younger Man
Even more perfect is her half-naked body laying on my table. I take a quick moment to take in the sheet bunched up around her hips, the softness of her bare back, and her hair pulled neatly to one side. Layne is wildly outside of my frame of reference and if I’m being honest, she’s completely out of my league.
I approach her naked back like I’m Indiana Jones, and any wrong move could result in flying spears and huge boulders hurtling toward me. But the closer I get, the less nervous I become. I find myself fascinated by the curve of her spine, the little freckles on her shoulders that speckle her otherwise blemish-free skin.
“Can I use oil?” I ask, my voice husky and low.
It’s a standard customer-service question in this line of work, but I feel as awkward as if I’d just asked her if I could finger her. I watch as the fine, pale hairs that trail the length of her back stand up in arousal. Holy shit.
“Yes, please,” she says with a sigh.
She’s finally giving in.
I pour a little lavender oil into my hands and rub them together to create a warm friction.
When my fingers make contact with her back, my mind goes completely blank. I don’t know what comes over me, but I know for a fact that I’m about to give this gorgeous woman the best massage I’ve ever given.
And this time, it’s not about customer service at all.
2
* * *
LAYNE
It’s a quarter to two on a Tuesday afternoon, and for the first time in over a decade, I’m not thinking about my next three cases. I’m not thinking about how to negotiate with a pushy board of directors, or when I can find the time to shove a quick protein-bar down my throat for dinner.
All of the above are far from my realm of thought right now because the only thing on my mind is the twenty-something piece of man candy working his strong, determined hands over my tight, knotted shoulders. And, trust me, there is not one single thing I hate about it.
Ever since I took the leap and opened my own law firm, the team of corporate-law badasses I employ have stuck to pretty generic boss gifts for my birthday. A nice box of chocolates, a case of wine from a local vineyard, or a gift basket filled with artisan crackers and smelly cheeses.
But this year, they apparently decided to think outside the box. And by outside the box, I mean they sent a hottie probably young enough to be my son into the office to rub lavender-scented oil all over my body for the next ninety minutes. As if I didn’t already know they all secretly thought I was an uptight workaholic, now they were hoping to have it rubbed out of me.
I’d be lying if I said my birthday present isn’t delivering. I can’t imagine that he grew up wanting to massage strangers’ bodies for a living, but the way he’s unraveling the knots along my shoulder blades, you’d think it was his God-given calling.
“How’s the pressure? Am I pressing too hard?”
His low, soothing voice barely registers with me, and I simply purr a soft “it’s perfect” in response. He’s been attentive and careful from the moment his hands came into contact with my skin, and it’s only made me more relaxed. In fact, I haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time. It’s making me consider adding regular massages into my already jam-packed schedule. I’d definitely find the time if it meant feeling like this.
After massaging my shoulders and neck so well I’m practically drooling and lucid, his hands leave my body for good and I miss the feeling of his fingers immediately.
“Take a few minutes to come back to earth, and make sure you drink plenty of water for the rest of the day,” he says, stepping away from the table. He wanders over to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows I fought tooth and nail for, overlooking the bustling city below.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to come back yet,” I murmur, only half-aware that I’m thinking out loud.
He chuckles, and the sound is deep and rich. “It’s fine. Take your time.”
I blink open my eyes and see him standing across the room, facing the windows and looking out into the world. He looks comfortable—relaxed even—in my impeccably arranged corner office, which is rare for anyone under the age of thirty. I’ve had a handful of tech kid geniuses in here looking for legal counsel before selling their apps, and they never seem to know what to do with themselves, bouncing around with nervous energy, or sweating through their ill-fitting button-downs. I don’t know if this kid works in the corporate world often, but it’s clear he’s not intimidated by a woman in power and I’ve got to admit, I like that. A lot.
