Water Under The Bridge

Charlotte Sins preps the massage table when the door swings open and Brad Sterling walks in. They both freeze. Brad wasn’t expecting his ex to be there, and Charlotte definitely wasn’t hoping he’d show up. They trade stiff laughs about how awkward life can be. After joking they were just dumb kids back when the marriage collapsed, they agree there’s no point acting weird now. A massage is a massage. Charlotte grabs the oil bottles, Brad peels his clothes off, and they duck into the shower together. Soap and suds slide over bare skin while they swap old war stories; water keeps running but the temperature feels like it’s rising for other reasons. They step out dripping and hit the table. Charlotte drizzles hot NURU gel across her chest and stomach, then slides right on top of him. The moment their bodies start gliding, hands roam lower, touches last longer. Soon the line between professional pressure and outright lust snaps. He flips her onto her back and they fuck like they’re still twenty-two—slow at first, breath loud, every inch taken with greedy patience, then faster, messier, ignoring everything except the way they know each other’s weaknesses. Old resentment? Buried. Resurfaced craving? Very much alive.