Let's Get You Warmed Up

Sheena stands by the empty table. She checks the clock again. Where the fuck is this client. The door finally opens. Ailee stumbles in, dripping from head to toe, teeth chattering. Sheena swears under her breath and rushes forward. Rain. Yeah. She looks at the soaked clothes, the shaking shoulders. Sit down, she says, already stripping Ailee out of everything before the woman can catch her breath. Skin appears inch by inch. Cold. Wet. Sheena takes a towel and drags it over every curve until it's only bare skin and goose bumps. Ailee lies face-down. The table's already warm but not warm enough. Sheena shakes warming gel into her palm, rubs it in slow circles across that chilled back, spreading it lower, spreading it lower still. Aroma hits like steam off fresh rain on hot pavement. Hot stones come next. Sheena places them one by one down the spine, then along each thigh, stones finding the muscle tight from walking in the storm. She works them like paint on canvas. Muscle obeys. When she slides the stone over Ailee's ass, she cups it firmly, lets the heat bleed through. A soft sound escapes Ailee's throat. Sheena stops moving. Just listens. Then she leans down, breath hot against Ailee's ear. I can finish you right here, she says, hand still resting between those cheeks. Yeah. Yes. The answer comes quick, hungry. Sheena flips Ailee on her back. Gel hands coat her nipples, thumbs pulling them until they stand hard. Then she drops lower. Tongue replaces fingers at Ailee's slit, licks once, twice, then deeper, chasing the heat until the girl writhes. Sheena strips the zipper down her own uniform and climbs on, skins sliding, wetness meeting wetness. Rain outside, fire in the room. This time the client came in cold. She sure as hell won't leave that way.