“You’re safe,” he grits out reluctantly.
I smile at him. “Then there’s no reason I can’t leave the house for a bit.”
A variety of emotions flashes across his face. Anger, annoyance, and even worry, then finally acceptance.
“What exactly is it that you want to do, Meredith?”
His hands slide down my back, fingers tracing the curve of my spine, before he grabs my ass and pulls me closer to him.
Pleased that I seem to finally be getting my way, I push my hips into him to get more comfortable.
His cock stiffens against me, growing in the space between us.
“I need a spa day. I’m falling apart. It’s been months since I’ve had my hair or nails done…”
“I’d hardly say you’re falling apart,” he groans, fingers digging into the flesh of my ass as I once again stamp little kisses along his chest. “You’re fucking beautiful.”
“That’s besides the point,” I laugh and brush my lips across his nipple.
His cock jerks, twitching upwards, and leaves a trail of wetness along my thigh.
“What is the point?” he asks, his voice growing growly and husky.
I kiss my way across his chest to his other nipple. “That I need to get out for a bit. I need to air my head out, Simon. I’m starting to go a little crazy.”
I lightly nip his nipple to prove my point.
His entire body jerks and a hiss escapes his teeth. Then he reaches up, grabs me by the back of the hair ,and forces me to look at him.
“Very well, princess. You can have your spa day.”
“But?” I ask, sensing the word hanging in the air.
“But,” he grins, either pleased I guessed there would be more to it, or pleased about whatever he’s about to say. “You have to wear your bracelet, and you have to sign something first.”
“Sign what? A contract promising I won’t try to escape or something?”
Using his grip to drag my head up, his grin grows even wider. “Something like that.”
That grin tells me I should be worried, but freedom is so close I can fucking taste it.
“Fine. Whatever,” I agree, throwing caution to the wind. “I’ll sign your silly paper.”
Simon pushes me onto my back and comes down on top of me. With one hard thrust of his hips, he drives himself deep inside me.
“If you try to run…” he starts to warn as he pumps his thick length in and out of my body.
I thrust my hips up suddenly and lock my thighs around him.
“I won’t run,” I groan. “Just shut up and fuck me, Simon.”
Thankfully Simon let me shower when we finally made it out of bed. Unfortunately, he made me shower with him. After insisting on washing my body for me, somehow he found the stamina to go again.
The man is truly insatiable. Who knew there was such a ravenous animal lurking under his skin?
Once clean and dressed, Simon produced a stack of papers. A stack of papers he refused to let me read. I tried, I really did, but he had a blank white paper clipped to the top, hiding the contents. He flipped through each paper quickly, only showing me the bottom part requiring my signature.
He insisted I sign them, all ten of them, before he would even consider making the spa appointment.
Begrudgingly, I did. I may have very well just sold my soul to the devil…
But as my stylist works her hands through my hair, massaging my scalp, it feels worth it. Very worth it.
“So, are you like a celebrity or something?” my stylist, Tiffany, asks after she finishes rinsing my hair and helps me sit up.
She glances nervously towards the three beefy men in black from my security detail blocking off the front door. Four more guys stand outside, one guy in front of the door and the other three keeping watch over our cars.
I laugh. “Or something.”
Tiffany nods her head and her hands shake, her fingers trembling as she gently rubs my hair down and then wraps it up in a warm towel.
I’m pretty sure Simon put the fear of god in her and the other employees when he dropped me off. His list of demands was extensive, and in my opinion, unnecessary. Especially when he kicked all the male employees out.
Obviously, his jealousy knows no bounds.
The entire spa has been closed for the day. I’m currently the only customer. I have the entire place and every employee left to myself.
Tiffany is unusually quiet as she works on me, but I don’t really mind. Honestly, chatter for the sake of chatter often bores me. I’d rather relax in my own mind.
It takes her over three hours to ‘fix’ my hair. She touches up my roots, applies highlights and lowlights, tones all the brass out, and finishes with a deep conditioning treatment.
Once she’s done with me, she eagerly hands me off to a technician who offers me some champagne before waxing me from head to toe.