Trouble

She takes out a small speaker, a bottle of oil, and several towels. “Pretty slow. Would you prefer lavender oil or peppermint?”

“Considering it’s the beginning of the day, peppermint.”

She nods, placing what looks like a saucer of rocks on my desk and plugging it in. I watch as she pours a small vial over it and steam begins to rise, filling my office with the crisp scent.

Her eyes are averted as I take off my shirt, almost like she refuses to look at me. I’m about to comment on it until I turn back from placing the garment on the back of my chair, and I see her blink away fast, pink flooding her cheeks.

That one little tell, that one slip changes everything. Knowing she’s drooling on the inside evaporates my frustration. It makes me want to toy with her.

She thinks she has the upper hand, but two can play this game.

“Should I remove my pants as well?”

My question seems to startle her, so naturally I unfasten my belt. Let’s do this, Sin.

“No!” She quickly holds up a small towel. “I’ll just tuck this in your waistband. It’ll protect your pants, and the oil is washable.”

“I’d rather not walk around with oil stains on my clothes all day.”

“It won’t happen. I’m very careful.”

Hesitating, I decide not to push her too far on our first office visit. I’ve decided I do want her to return—this is fun. Going to the table, I lie on my stomach, closing my eyes as she carefully tucks the white terrycloth along my waist.

She switches off the lights, and the noise of whales and pan flutes surrounds us. It’s very bothersome. The swishing sound of her scrubs alerts me to her approach, and I wait for her touch. It’s sweet torture, my skin tightening in anticipation until she places her palm feather-light against my skin.

Relaxation filters through my bloodstream, and the tension leaves my brow as her pressure grows stronger. She’s silent, letting the fake whales preclude any conversation. Fuck you, whales. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since we’ve returned, and I want to hear her voice.

“When you treated me in my hotel suite, you talked me through the entire procedure.”

“I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. Now that we’ve worked together, you can sleep if you want. It doesn’t bother me.”

It bothers me.

“What wrong idea would I get?” Yes, I’m pushing her to engage with me.

“That I was attempting to violate your rules by doing anything inappropriate.” She’s being sassy. “Now you know what I’m going to do, and I have my own rule about clients.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Again, the whales fill the void, and I allow it.

Her palms stroke my shoulder blades, sliding down my back to my waist. It makes me want to pull her close and kiss her long and hard, but I’ll respect her rules. I’ll wait until she’s ready to break them, perhaps with a bit of encouragement.

I prop my cheek on my fist so I can see her profile. “It’s quite a move from flowers to massage therapy. What prompted that jump?”

“It’s not such a jump if you think about it in terms of service. I’ve always wanted to lift people’s spirits, make them smile, or ease their suffering. Flowers led to aromatherapy and learning which scents eased anxiety and elevated the mood. That dovetailed into healing, which is how massage therapy works, and here I am.”

As she speaks, she kneads her fingers into my strained muscle, and I hold my breath at the pain.

“You need to breathe through it.” Her voice is soothing, calm.

I do as she says, and she gently moves away, dragging her forearms down the large muscles in my back. I feel her breath against my skin, and it’s tantalizing. Her body heat surrounds me as she makes her way to the top of my back again, to my scar. Her palm covers it, holding steady, and I feel something like warmth transferring into my damaged skin.

It’s a place I don’t shar

e with anyone, and her hand feels like it’s opening the lid on a box I keep sealed for a reason. Anger rises in my throat, and my playful mood is gone.

I roll away abruptly. “Are we finished here?”