Secret Recipe

Emma lets Nicole in. She'd heard good things. Hoped this would knock the edge off her week. Nicole sees the table already set up and smiles like she likes that Emma's the kind. Emma strips, lies face down. Towel low on her hips. Nicole's hands hit warm skin and the questions start. Work bullshit, the usual grind. Nicole works deeper, knuckles finding knots. Then she asks if she touches more men or women. Emma laughs once, short. Says she doesn't know. Doesn't care. Nicole tells her to flip. When Emma rolls, the towel slides off one breast. Hard nipple in the air. They both freeze. Nicole's mouth opens, closes. Says it's fine. Tells Emma she's beautiful. Hands start again. This time on thighs that open on their own. Fingers drag higher each pass. Heat builds. Nicole's voice drops. Asks if she can lose the towel. Emma answers fast—do what you want, just don't stop. Towel hits the floor. Nicole's palms cup full tits, thumbs circling tight peaks. Then lower. Slick heat. Emma's hips twitch. The real work's only starting.