Xavier sauntered through the automatic doors of the Hawthorne Spa, his regular mocha latte in one hand, his black Hugo Boss blazer in the other, flung over one broad shoulder by the tips of two long nimble fingers, fingers that were adept at making the ladies moan and writhe on a daily, sometimes nightly basis. Hell, he received fifty to 100 emails a day from both men and women alike requesting his services, the touch of his large and mighty hands, both on and off the massage table. Some of them craved to fulfill their dirtiest fantasies others wanted a mentor in the art of BDSM. With the power of his voice, he had ladies everywhere throwing themselves at his feet -- even before he took them to his playroom. That soft deep rumble made them ache and throb in all the right places.
His business had been proven to be quite lucrative over the past five years and he was making a hell of a lot more money than he had working security for a dive bar on Hollywood Boulevard. His three years of employment hadn't been a complete loss. He had rubbed elbows with some of Hollywood's elite, A-list celebrities, and even made a few lifelong friends, albeit none of them were famous. At Hawthorne Spa, the majority of his clients were women but that came as no surprise. He had a tendency to turn heads every time he walked into a room and due to the spa's many glowing reviews, it seemed everyone wanted a piece of him, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. This morning was no exception. Here it comes. A collective gasp came from several young ladies as he passed through the lobby. There it is! Internally chuckling, he slowed his pace and cast his eyes in their direction, a smug smirk stretching across his handsomely rugged face. "Good morning to you too."
Jaws dropped, cheeks turned red but there were smiles all around, eyes lighting up like Christmas trees. He allowed the chuckle to bubble to the surface, if only for a moment, then went on his way, carrying himself with the same quiet confidence and sophistication that drew people to him like moths to a flame. It had become his mainstay since the day he had become a professional Dominant. With this face, one fantastic head of black hair, a pair of blue eyes that could pierce your soul, and a tall, toned, and tanned muscular body worthy of Playgirl magazine, he was the most popular masseuse in the greater Los Angeles area. He greeted a few of his staff on the way to his office, flashing a couple of the ladies his pearly whites then slipping into the room. Draping his blazer over the back of his black leather chair, he lowered himself into it and turned to power on the flatscreen desktop computer to his right.
Logging into his email, he found several new messages waiting for him, but the one that drew his attention was the one near the bottom, the subject line reading: maman vous manque, mon doux garçon.
Mom. He sighed wearily. What was she sending him this time? Ever since he left the comfort of France, his home country, and moved to America, his mother seemed intent on luring him back any and every way she knew how: sending him care packages filled with his most favorite pastries and un goûter -- "snacks" as they were often referred to in America -- French films, audiobooks, photos of France, even carbon copies of the Effiel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe and the Sacre Coeur, souvenirs that were usually reserved for the tourists. With some trepidation, he opened the email and began to read his mother's words. Salutations, ma chérie!
Tu me manques terriblement. Avez-vous pensé à rentrer à la maison? Le manoir n'est tout simplement pas le même sans votre beau visage. Je ne sais pas ce que c'est en Amérique que vous trouvez si attrayant. Cela m'intéresse peu et je m'inquiète du genre de problèmes que vous pourriez rencontrez. Trouble? Him? He scowled, furrowing his brows in contempt. Now, this was new. What was happening? Had she lost her faith in him? He leaned back in his chair and shook his head. Incroyable. She just didn't get it. He loved her, unconditionally, and although he missed her, his father and Mia, his sister, he was perfectly content with his life here in the states. Despite himself, he continued to read. Avez-vous déjà trouvé une femme? Votre père m'a supplié de demander.
Wife? He blinked, leaning forward to get a closer look at the screen. Was he reading that right? Jesus Christ. He was only 35 years old. He had his whole life ahead of him and she wanted to know if he was ready to settle down? Commitments weren't exactly his thing. Relationships were often messy, not to mention complicated, Good Lord were they complicated. The only committed relationship he was willing to undertake was that of a Dominant to a submissive, but even that kind of arrangement didn't last forever.
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