Mistaken Identity

Abigale Mac pumps iron hard first thing. She needs those arms strong. The door swings open. Erica Fontes steps in. Tall. Stunning. Abigale can't look away. She slips a voucher into the woman's bag like a thief. Hoping. Waiting. Months drag. Then Erica walks into the spa, bare skin glowing under soft lights. She stretches out on Abigale's table, trusting. No talk. Just oil. Strong hands. Heat. Abigale works slow, ruthless. Fingers press deep. Erica's breath catches, turns into a low, dirty moan. Every tight spot yields. Every hidden knot. Abigale touches places meant to stay hidden. Erica's legs part. Her back arches. She shakes, gripping the table edges while Abigale takes her apart one inch at a time. No muscle spared. No inch left unclaimed. Heat pools. Tension snaps. Erica comes undone under those knowing hands and stays that way, trembling and slick.