Fix My Tub

The Nuru tub crapped out on Jackie right before quitting time. She’s pacing the apartment when the service guy finally knocks. Jackie leads him down the hall to the bathroom, lays out what’s broken. Eric’s already squatting over the tiles, running numbers in his head, a hint of lower-back pale peeking above his tool belt. Jackie’s eyes catch the view, and heat rolls south. She starts touching herself, slow at first, just enough pressure to make her breath catch. He turns, quote says three hundred. Jackie hasn’t got that lying around. So she shoots him a wicked little grin and offers the house specialty: full-service Nuru. Skin on skin. End to end. Payment in pleasure.