1.
Riley sat in a chic café, savoring her toast. She felt especially sexy today — her green skirt hugged her hips and curved just right over her butt. The raspberry added the perfect note of brightness to the cream and syrup. She took a sip of water, satisfied.
She had a massage appointment in thirty minutes. Earlier, she'd debated whether to eat before or after. Last time, her stomach had growled in the middle of the session. The masseur hadn't said anything, but she'd been mortified.
She liked Michael, her masseur.
Riley was usually easygoing. She didn't fuss over most things — late trains, long lines, forgotten umbrellas. But when it came to her massage sessions, she wanted silence. No small talk, no life stories, no forced smiles. She paid for peace, not conversation. The place didn't need to be luxurious, just clean, quiet, and without the stale stink of cigarettes or noisy customers. After visiting several disappointing spas, she'd finally found this one — her secret refuge.
Michael always wore a mask. Before COVID, during, and after. She had asked him once why. He'd said, matter-of-factly, that he didn't want his breath (if not pleasant) ruining anyone's experience.
He wasn't chatty. He only spoke when she initiated conversation — and when he did, he spoke seriously, thoughtfully. That made her feel respected.
Riley had imagined Michael's body more times than she could count — sometimes just him, sometimes them both, naked and pressed together.
He was 5'9", which was perfect. Tall enough to make her feel safe, like she could tuck herself into his chest and be a little bird. But not so tall she felt small or insignificant. His hands were strong, but there was a smoothness to them. She'd never really seen them up close — always face down on the table when he worked on her back. But the moment his fingers touched her, she could tell: they belonged to a man who was skilled, disciplined, and respectful.
Riley liked the sound of his breath. It wasn't loud — just steady enough that she could tell he was trying. Trying to make her feel good, not just going through the motions. Sometimes, she thought he was moaning — not in pleasure, but in a way that made her feel… special.
Whenever she trembled, he'd stop immediately.
"Are you alright? Sorry if I hurt you."
She liked it when he seemed worried. She'd bite her tongue, then say, "A little bit."
He'd always apologize again, gently caressing the spot he thought he'd hurt. She could tell he felt bad.
"It's okay. I'm just… stressed," she'd offer, watching his face soften.
She wanted to tell him, I like it that way, but couldn't. She'd just laugh at herself instead. Part of her wished Michael would ask what she was stressed about. But he didn't. He knew, most of the time, she preferred quiet. He knew she'd talk when she felt like it.
The toast finished faster than she expected. Riley wiped her mouth and headed to Green Massage, feeling a flicker of excitement. The last few days had been rough — a narcissistic boss, nosy coworkers, and customers who acted like the world owed them something. Some days, she felt like she was just one overdue bill away from quitting it all.
She had enough savings to take a year off if she wanted, but running away never sat right with her. It felt weak. Cowardly, even. Still… with Michael, the job didn't feel so pointless. At least it paid for massages. And for him. Maybe it wasn't all bad.
2.
Michael had gotten a haircut. Riley noticed it the moment he stepped in to the room with her permission.
"Nice haircut," she said, genuinely.
But as soon as the words left her mouth, she wondered if it sounded too flirty.
"Thank you," Michael replied with a small smile, glancing up at her. There was a hint of shyness in his eyes, like maybe he wasn't sure if she meant it.
"I was worried it might be too short," he added, brushing a hand through his hair.
"Oh no, not at all," she said quickly. "I think it's…"
"Really good."
Their eyes met. Riley smiled and clasped her hands behind her back, giving herself a soft squeeze — a small, private reminder not to get carried away.
"Thanks," he said. "Shall we start?"
He unfolded a large towel and held it up, blocking his view to give her privacy.
Riley nodded, then turned her back to him. Normally, she untied her robe quickly and lay down right away. This time, she lingered just a few seconds longer than usual. Five, maybe. She wasn't sure why — just something mischievous in her that wanted to be seen, even when she wasn't.
"I'm ready," she said finally. She knew he wouldn't lower the towel until she gave the cue.
Michael gently pulled the robe away, then placed a fresh towel over her legs and hips. As always, he started with her back.
Riley wished the Green Massage didn't require disposable underwear. Not that she hated them — but she sometimes imagined what it'd be like if she wore her own. Her black lace one. Or the cute pink. Not for him to touch, just… to notice.