“Whoa—” I turn sharply toward the wall, heart hammering. “Sienna.”
“What?” Her voice is amused, completely unbothered. I hear the soft rustle as she unties the strings. “I have great tits, Milo. I’m not hiding them from anyone. Especially not you.”
Fucking hell.
I keep my eyes glued to the wall, jaw tight, fighting every instinct not to turn around. My imagination is doing plenty of work on its own—the image of her standing there topless, sun-kissed skin, curves on full display, and that mischievous grin I know is on her face.
“Done,” she announces after a moment, her voice carrying a teasing tone that’s starting to get under my skin. “You can turn around now. I’m decent… mostly.”
I turn slowly to see she’s already lying face down on the table, the white sheet draped over her lower half. Her back is completely bare, the elegant curve of her spine dipping gracefully into the sheet.
The sight of her hits me like a freight train.
Fuck. She’s stunning. Miles of smooth, sun-kissed skin I want to map with my fingers and my mouth… starting at that spot behind her ear and working my way slowly down her spine until she’s gasping my name.
Lila enters seconds later, thankfully stopping my thoughts from spiraling further. She demonstrates the basics—strokes, kneading, pressure points—on Sienna’s back first. Sienna sighs under her touch, her body visibly relaxing.
Then Lila turns to me with a professional smile. “Your turn. Start light, then build pressure. Remember to communicate.”
I step up to the table, hands hovering. The oil is warm in my palms as I rub them together. I place my hands on her shoulders first, thumbs circling the knots there with careful pressure.
Sienna hums softly. “Not bad… a little harder, though. I like it rough.”
The subtle innuendo sparks low in my stomach, and my cock jerks instinctively.
I increase the pressure, thumbs digging into the muscles along her shoulder blades. Her skin is slick and warm, trembling slightly under my touch. Every time I press deeper, she arches just a fraction, chasing the contact.
“Like that?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intend.
“Hmm. Perfect,” she murmurs, turning her head so her cheek rests against the padded table. Her eyes are half-lidded, lashes casting shadows on her flushed skin. “You’re better at this than I expected. Hidden talent?”
“Plenty of them.” I let my hands glide lower to the small of her back, thumbs pressing along her spine in firm strokes.
She arches again, a quiet gasp slipping from her lips. The sound shoots straight to my groin. I want to hear that sound again—louder, unrestrained, with her under me instead of on this table.
Fucking hell. What am I even talking about? What sort of essential oils are they pumping into this room, because I suddenly feel high on lust and nothing else.
Sienna laughs breathlessly, her voice a little shaky. “You’re making this feel too good. I might start expecting massages every morning after breakfast.”
I lean down until my mouth brushes the shell of her ear. “Careful what you wish for, Sienna. Because I might start delivering on that.”
Her breath hitches audibly. “Is that a promise?”
I don’t have a chance to answer before Lila announces it’s time to switch positions. I had completely forgotten she was still in the room with us. The whole world had narrowed to Sienna, the little sounds she makes, and the growing certainty that “fun only” is the biggest lie I’ve ever told myself.
Sienna sits up slowly, holding the sheet to her chest, back still bare. She ties her bikini top loosely, then gestures to the table. “Your turn. Strip for me, Milo.”
I almost smile at the command.
Pulling my shirt off, I lie face down and drape the white sheet across my lower half. Lila demonstrates the techniques on me, then minutes later, Sienna’s smooth hands land on my rigid back.
She starts lightly, fingers tracing my shoulders. Her touch is soft but sure. Every slide of her hands sends bolts of heat through me. I want her hands everywhere—lower, harder, pulling me closer. I want to feel her nails rake down my back while she’s breathless beneath me.
“Too soft?” She whispers, her voice teasing.
“Harder,” I grunt.
She digs in, thumbs pressing along my spine. I groan low, the sound muffled against the padded table. “Like that?” She asks.
