Tim's body was at its breaking point. Days of killing, nights of blood, Casey's death and the crushing weight of leadership — it all boiled inside him, throbbing low and hard.
Nina saw it. Her lips curved, silk robe slipping off one shoulder. She leaned in close, perfume heavy and sweet, like stepping into the VIP room of a high-end spa.
"You're too wound up, Leader," she whispered, voice sultry. "Your body's begging for release. Let me give you therapy."
Her fingers, slick with oil, slid into his. She tugged him toward the side chamber. The curtain fell shut behind them — thin, glowing, translucent under lantern light.
Tidam sat outside, steam curling around their bodies. But none of them could look away.
—
From behind the curtain, shadows began to move. At first just an outline: Nina straddling Tim's lap, her hair cascading like a dark veil, hips rolling slow. The silhouette was unmistakable, like a live feed frozen in shadow-play.
Jenny's jaw clenched. She folded her arms tighter under her chest, robe damp and sheer against her curves. Her cheeks burned, though she told herself it was only the steam.
Amy gasped softly, clutching her towel like a child clutching a plushie. Her legs twitched, thighs squeezing together as she buried her face in Jenny's side, but her eyes kept darting back to the curtain.
Lacey leaned against the wall, towel hanging dangerously low, her chest rising fast. She sneered, but her fingers drummed sharp against her thigh, a restless twitch she couldn't hide.
Yuko smirked, lounging back with her knife in hand, but her lips parted just slightly as the shadow on the curtain shifted again.
—
Now Nina bent Tim back, her outline arching over him. The movement was slow, sensual, like a dancer grinding to the bass in a club's neon light. Her hair swung, brushing his chest, her hands pressing his shoulders down. Tim's shadow jolted — his head tipping back, fists clenching. His muffled groan carried through the fabric.
Jenny's lips parted against her will, a sharp exhale leaving her. Amy whimpered, curling tighter against her, fingers trembling on her towel.
Another shift — Nina on her knees, Tim's shadow leaning forward, body rigid. The rhythm of the shadows was steady, primal, familiar enough that every woman watching flushed deep red.
Yuko's smirk slipped, her legs crossing tighter, one foot tapping out of time. Lacey's breathing sharpened, and though her eyes never left the curtain, her shoulders twitched like she wanted to storm in.
Jenny dug her nails into her own arms, heart pounding. She told herself it was rage, not heat.
—
Behind the veil, the whispers came clearer: Nina's low, coaxing voice… Tim's muffled groan in reply.
The curtain swayed with every movement. The silhouettes told the rest.
Outside, Tidam sat in silence — each one blushing, twitching, burning in her own way. Steam clung to their damp skin, jealousy and tension dripping heavier than the oil on their bodies.
And Tim, lost behind the curtain, had no idea his "therapy" was tearing the room apart.