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A few minutes later my face is mushed into a hole and I’m a little panicked. I don’t like to be trapped. The masseuse lays the heavy cover over my head, and I say, “No. No.”
Mrs. Greathouse says, “Are you okay?”
“No, please don’t put the cover over my head. It’s heavy and I feel like I can’t breathe.”
The lady rolls it down the warm weighted cover to my shoulders and I let out a relieved exhale and my muscles relax, somewhat.
“Is that better?” she asks.
“Yes thank you.”
Her strong yet delicate hands knead and soothe the tense muscles in my back, I close my eyes, finally relaxing into the padded table. My worries get pushed to the recesses of my mind as the sweet aroma of lavender and eucalyptus fills the air. The soft instrumental music playing in the background lulls me into a peaceful trance, and I surrender to the blissful sensation of being pampered.
As the therapist works her magic, I feel a sense of rejuvenation washing over me. But as she rubs some sort of citrus oil over my legs in deep long strokes, a vision of Dane appears, and I think of how his hands would feel skating up my body for one purpose only—to please me. To make me come.
She taps my hip, probably feeling me tense up. “Time to turnover.” I roll over as she holds up the sheet and blanket and turns her head. Lana moves behind me and works on my neck and shoulders before massaging the muscles in my arms and legs.
“Ladies, I’ll be back to take you for your facials in ten minutes. Try to keep your mind clear.”
“Lettie, I need to use the restroom. I’ll see you in a few. Take your time and just enjoy this feeling.”
I nod and when the door closes, my hand lifts from the side and slips up to cover my breast. Before I realize what I’m doing, my other hand softly explores between my legs and my nipples harden. “Dane, Dane.”
Imagining it’s his lips sucking my breast and his fingers gliding through my wet folds, my legs tense and squeeze together. My back arches off the table. “Ahhh.” My back hits the table as I feel my arousal leaking out.
“What am I doing?” I ask myself aloud.
This was supposed to be my escape from my chaotic thoughts, but it’s only brought them to the forefront. It’s apparent that I can’t control these feelings. Dane and I have to talk.
Chapter Twelve
DANE
My dad throws his arm around me. “There’s my boy. Dane, this is Mr. Langer and Mr. Dorsey.”
I shake each of their hands. “Nice to meet you.”
“Do you play craps?” Mr. Dorsey asks.
“No, sir.”
He lets out a hearty laugh. “It’s better if you don’t. The game can take thousands from you in no time.”
All three of them have stacks of one-hundred-dollar chips in front of them.
“Greathouse, you roll and if we win, your dad wins this as a contribution,” Mr. Langer tells me and gets the okay from the pit boss.
It’s not my money, but what if I lose and my dad gets nothing?
I roll a pair of sixes, and the table erupts in cheers. “That’s my son,” my dad cheers. Then the dealer pays out fifteen thousand dollars.
My dad’s friends insist I keep rolling. I have to admit it’s fun when you’re winning. I rolled for over an hour, winning close to one-hundred-thousand dollars that they would donate to my dad’s campaign.
There’s no doubt my family is wealthy, and my dad could finance his whole campaign, but that’s not how politics works. Donors do for you, and, down the road, you do for them.
They cash in their chips and then suggest we go to the sauna and back to the room to confront Lettie, but after twenty minutes waiting for her to return from the spa, my dad calls, “Get your ass down here.”
“On my way.”
