The Female Client

Billy wraps Sarah Vandella up and tells her it's the best damn massage yet. He lets it slip that he gave her name to his buddy Ryan. She blushes at the compliment, watches him walk out, the door clicking behind him. Five minutes later Ryan Keely strolls in. She plants herself in the empty waiting room, boots ticking against the tile. When Sarah comes downstairs expecting another suited man, she finds a woman instead—breasts straining a low-cut sundress, smile like a lit fuse. Sarah freezes. Ryan steps forward, hand out. Recognition clicks in Sarah’s eyes. Billy’s Ryan. “I… normally only work with men,” she says. Ryan shrugs, sweet as poison. “I drove all the way here. It’s just a massage, isn’t it?” Sarah nods—professional to the end. She leads the way upstairs. Inside the dim room she gestures to the table. “Whenever you’re ready.” She barely turns before fabric whispers to the floor. Ryan is naked already, full hips catching the low light, nipples stiff. No underwear, no shame. Sarah’s breath stutters. Heat crawls up her neck; she can’t look away. Ryan keeps her stare pinned on Sarah, hungry. Billy wasn’t lying—this woman is a knockout. Ryan decides right then she’ll have her, on the table, in the shower, any place that’ll take them both.