Billionaire's Bed | ENGLISH - FREE

47

Traveling by plane is a bit aggressive for me since it is a private flight with first-class attention at a time when I should be relaxed, but I cannot express to Leonardo everything that this situation of confusion and internal struggle generates in me. On the one hand, there is the matter that he fills me with luxuries, something that I have not asked for at any time, however, on the other hand, there is the point that he fills me with things that I do not need, but I like them and I feel guilty. At the idea of ​​wanting to claim something from him, my psychologist would be anxious to hear me speak when I return to the session next week, but she will surely throw me some challenges that I will have well deserved for not being able to put into words what is due when it is due with who is responsible, an aspect that if I had put it into practice much earlier, none of all the discomfort and chaos would have happened.

The plane has a spa space where a woman comes who is in charge of doing my nails, putting my eyes on cucumbers, beautifying my feet, and leaving me feeling like silk before moving on to another sector where two stretchers are waiting with a man and a woman standing on each side, wearing white coats. What is this about?

"Welcome to your massage, Mrs. Ferrari," the man invites me.

It seems I have a choice between going with the strong-armed, white-shirted guy with arms like tubes about to blow the fabrics apart or the sultry girl with waist-length hair and selo cat eyes.

"I... I didn't know there were massages..." I admit.

"Don't worry, it usually happens with Mr. Ferrari's guests on his private flights. Stop by wherever you like" the girl invites me.

After a quick drink, I opt for the side where the man stands.

I don't know where Leonardo is, but if he catches me picking a man to get his hands on me, he'll go ballistic.

The subject stretches out his hands and offers to hold my gown while I get comfortable on the table, where a belt holds me around my waist and ankles, which at first surprises me (I've never had a massage before, but I'm sure he did notice that this is not normal), tension that he seems to notice:

"Don't worry, Mrs. Ferrari. It is only to avoid incidents if we approach an area with turbulence. You will be warned anyway, I will take a seat and ask you to remain relaxed at all times."

Ferrari Mrs.

That phrase makes me noisy, but I try to omit it, for the time being. I wouldn't want to make a scandal of this good man with his large and veined hands.

I wonder how many with that denomination Leonardo has brought.

And now it's a matter of getting naked, just in panties and a bra in front of a man. With his mouth down, he warns me:

"Excuse me."

And detach the clasp on the back.

Doesn't it make you tense that there is also a girl who doesn't observe directly, but the situation could seem strange to her?

My heart races when I feel his fingers brushing a kind of luscious floral-scented oil on the insides of my wrists and under my earlobes.

"This is a relaxing scent," he warns me.

I swallow as hard as I can in the face of difficulty and allow him to continue with his thing... Oh, good heavens.

I feel shaken at his delicious touch. Fascinated, I let myself be carried away by his hands that spray the oil along the midline of my spine and spread from the upper part of my back to the lower part of my waist. A towel covers my buttocks, but something tells me that it will go in that direction later. We have an easy hour until we reach our destination and this is driving me crazy.