Confined with the CEO and the Bodyguard

I say.
A smile ghosts over his lips. “Always so polite.”
I grin. “No. Not always. But I try to put my clients at ease.” I gesture to the table which is made up in pristine white sheets and towels. I like white because it is easy to bleach and it gives the impression of cleanliness. “I see from your intake form that you’re thirty-six, and that you have ongoing pain in your lumbar region stemming from a recent injury.” He nods confirmation. “I’ll let you get undressed. Lay on the table face down. I’ll be back in a few moments.”
“How old are you, Miss Banes?” he asks softly. I freeze mid-step.
Old enough to know I have no business wanting him the way I do. Beau Read is fourteen years older than me. I know from the form he filled out that Dakota turned twenty-nine last month. I peek over my shoulder. Ignoring the twinkle in his blue eyes, I inform him, “I am twenty-two.”
Then, I leave.
In truth there’s nothing I need to do. I am all set up. I wash my hands again, just to be thorough. The window in the other room is open and there’s a fire going in the kiva stove. There is no practical way to avoid getting infected if he is sick, but just in case, I’ll take as many precautions as possible.
As it turns out, I am unable to take any precautions about the effect of seeing Beau’s naked back. There’s a towel draped across his buttocks, but he has eschewed the top sheet I had laid out.
Oh, and he’s definitely not wearing underwear.
My breath hitches. It’s not the first time I’ve run into a man in the buff on a table. A couple of times, I’ve had a client try to get me to give him a tug. It’s not that I don’t know how to. It’s that I refuse to engage in sex work—massage therapy is my way out of that world. I don’t want the two to intermingle in any way.
Or at least I didn’t, until today. I turn on the music and busy myself with hot stones and lubricant. I use plain almond oil, since I know he doesn’t have a nut allergy. I inhale, and then lean over his prone body.
The moment my hands touch him, Beau exhales audibly. He groans as I begin to knead my way from the center of his back to his shoulders. His very broad, muscled, tan shoulders. There’s a lot to admire about his physique. The low light and soft music make it very hard to keep my thoughts where they should be. Instead, I find myself thinking about the same things I’ve spent the past two weeks contemplating: sucking his hard cock, and riding him like a rodeo bull.
Look, I’ve been lonely for a long time, okay? A girl can dream.
“How’s the pressure?” I ask with all the professionalism I can muster.
“You can do it harder.”
My insides squirm. I force myself to focus and work down to his low back. I can feel the knots on either side of his spine. Beau winces when I goose a sore spot by accident.
“Sorry,” I mumble. He smells faintly earthy with an underlying hint of masculine spice. He relaxes beneath my touch. “Now I know where your injury is.”
He chuckles, though the sound is muffled. I feel it rumble under his ribs. It makes my heart skip a beat and my stomach drop as though I’m on the downside of a roller coaster.
Here’s the thing: I have daddy issues a mile wide. Beau pushes every malfunctioning button I have.
Older man? Check.
Authoritative? Double check.
Not likely to return my affections? Triple check. I’m just a 22-year-old nobody who’s seen too much of life. I’m projecting all my unmet needs for safety and love onto this man. My brain knows it’s unrealistic, but my hormones don’t.
I close my eyes against the wave of desire that swells through me.
“Time to turn you over, Mr. Reed.” I hold up the towel and stare at the opposite wall while he shifts position. I drop it over his groin, low enough to get a glimpse of his Adonis belt—the furrow beneath his hip bones. Unh. The sight hits me like a fist of pure lust.
I remind myself sternly that I can’t afford to mess this up. All I have to do is keep my libido in check for a few weeks. I can do that.
Besides, I know perfectly well that Beau isn’t relationship material. What I need more than a chance to work out my issues on the hard cock of a daddy figure, is a relationship—one that won’t crumble if I happen to show my body to the wrong person or, worse, people.
But it isn’t Beau’s chiseled chin and blue eyes that come to mind. Instead, it’s Dakota’s firm hands and kind eyes. I inhale sharply and force myself to pay better attention to the task at hand. It’s’ll confusing to want two men at the same time, knowing that I can only have one.
Do I choose Beau, the older man who represents all the figures who’ve rejected me throughout my life? Or do I reach for Dakota, the man onto whom I’ve projected the stability I crave?
Dakota’s kind eyes are burned into my memory, as if to say, I be here when you’re ready. But you have to find the courage to ask me for what you want.
I inhale and return my focus to Beau’s muscular chest. There’s a delightful whorl of hair between his pecs. Two flat male nipples peek at me from nests of crisp hair.
What I need is both men, together—as if that would ever happen. I sigh.
“Beg your pardon?”
My face flames, but I manage to maintain my professionalism by squirting a little more lubricant into my palm and moving to his thighs. I must have spoken out loud.
“Nothing,” I mutter. “I was just thinking about...”
Cock. Speaking of which, my face is about twelve inches from a very