But Babe, I'm WORKING!

Chloe pops in to see Nathan at the parlor and his jaw nearly hits the floor. She's laying it on thick, batting those lashes, practically purring for a massage. Slow afternoon, nobody watching—why fight it? Door clicks shut, she peels off everything and hops onto the table. Nathan’s palms warm from the oil as he works every inch, shoulders to calves, her curves slipping under his fingers like silk. Her breathing gets shallow, hips give a tiny roll. He knows that tilt—it means trouble, the fun kind. Clothes follow faster than either planned. She drops to her knees, teasing him with slow, wet strokes until he’s fully hard and muttering her name like a half-hearted prayer. Back on the table she spreads wide, inviting. He slides in deep and forgets the outside world exists. Her laugh mixes with the soft slap of skin, and the massage table creaks like it’s in on the joke. Exactly the mid-day rendezvous they both pretended they could resist.