The way her body relaxed with each passing minute, she swayed to the music. The way her small hands felt on my arms, my back, my chest.
The silkiness of her skin.
The breathy sound of her desire.
The way she came with so minimal coaxing.
It was real. More real than I should want, in a place like this.
I want more.
I’m still caught in a state of intoxication at the thought of her when Dominic’s elbow slams into my ribs, pulling me from my daydreaming.
“Do you hear this fucking guy?” Dom mutters, yanking his practice jersey over his head.
I blink, dragged back to reality just in time to catch Conor’s booming voice from across the locker room.
“—and then sheaskedif I wanted a happy ending. Swear to God, boys. Best. Deep tissue. Ever.”
“You’re so full of shit.”Dom scoffs. “No fucking way one of our very professional therapists would jeopardize his or her job just to palm your tiny dick.”
Conor says, “Hisorher? I’m not queer, Belkin.”
Dominic rolls his eyes. “Hey, no judgment. Whatever gets you off in the bedroom is your business.”
Conor laughs. “Yeah, well, it ain’t dudes, if that’s what you’re fishing for.”
I sigh, rubbing my temples. “This seems like a diversion,” I say. “Conor, no one believes you.”
He grins that easy grin of his. “I never said she worked here. There are other places to get a massage.”
Dom laughs, shaking his head. “Other places? Dude, what, like a spa crawl? Did you swipe right for a happy ending?”
“Oh, it was amission, Belkin. Precision, timing, finesse,” Conor says, clearly proud. “I mean, she knew what she was doing… and I didn’t last long. I’ll give her that.”
“Didn’t last long?” Dom groans. “I knew it. You brag about everything except lasting more than five fucking minutes.”
“Yeah, and she laughed while she—” I add, smirking.
“—finished the job, exactly,” Dom continues. “And you’re callingyourselfa gentleman?”
“I tipped!” Conor protests. “I’m agentleman!”
Dom wipes sweat from his brow. “Gentleman? Please. A tip doesn’t erase the fact that you whined like a kid while she was riding your pathetic ass.”
Conor grins as if he has just won an award. “It’s theexperiencethat matters—technique, form, ambiance, the way she smiled while she dominated me…”
“Dominated?” I snort. “Dude, sheownedyou.”
Mikey pipes up from across the bench. “I swear, Conor, you’re like a toddler at a strip club. Did she even let you touch her, or just humiliate your sad little hands?”
“Shut up,” Conor growls, laughing despite himself. “It’s a story of skill, courage, and… stamina.”
“Stamina?” Dom laughs so hard he slaps his knee. “Your stamina ended before the massage even warmed up.”
Connor flips him off. “You wouldn’t know pleasure if it hit you in the dick.”
“Pleasure? I’ve seen you choke on it in less than two minutes!” I say, smirking. “Honestly, if she gave a medal for pathetic performance, you’d take gold.”
