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That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?
Charlotte stood and followed the pretty, petite woman she guessed was in her mid-thirties. She was slight, but her arms looked strong and her body muscular.
She doesn’t look like a sex worker. The thought forced Charlotte to realize she only had Hollywood depictions to base that opinion on. She had no idea what a person of that profession might look like in real life.
The sound of flip-flops slapping against the stone floor echoed in Charlotte’s mind. She was hyper aware of the essential oils wafting in the air as they marched down the hallway. Of the air kept warm because clients were in various stages of undress for their treatments. When she’d toured the place as a spectator, she’d found it stifling, but now that she was wearing so little, it was comforting.
With each step closer to the open door at the end of the hall, Charlotte’s stomach twisted painfully, and her heart pounded so hard she wondered if she might faint. She’d never passed out in her life, but the loss of consciousness felt imminent.
“Have you ever had a massage before?” Candy asked as she glanced back at her.
Can she feel my panic?
“No. Not really,” Charlotte admitted. “Once in one of those chairs at the mall, but I don’t think that counts.”
Candy smiled. “This is going to be so much better than that. I promise.”
Charlotte believed her, but it didn’t make her any less nervous. Her hands had started trembling and her knees had begun to wobble beneath her. Part of her wanted to run and the rest of her wished for a fast forward button.
The massage room smelled like incense. It was dimly lit with colorful tapestries hung on the walls and a sheet-covered table at the center.
“Lift the top sheet and cover yourself with it,” Candy instructed as she moved a small cart holding various bottles closer to the table. “You can undress fully if you like,” she added, kind dark eyes glancing up at her.
“Okay,” Charlotte squeaked out.
If Candy hadn’t nodded and started toward the door, she wouldn’t have known her response was audible.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes once you’re ready,” she said with a soft smile before closing the door behind her.
Alone, Charlotte resisted the urge to panic. Clutching the tie around the robe, she forced herself to undo it.
Remember what you’re doing this for. This is for you and Jay.
He will be so proud you confirmed the services o ered here.
Charlotte tried to swallow past the dry knot in her throat but failed. Or he’ll be furious you did what he told you not to do. This was way more than watching. It also constituted a crime. The two things he was adamant she not do.
Charlotte cast o her doubts along with the robe and underwear. She’d decided to do this and there was no going back now.
The massage table was soft and warm against her naked skin. She didn’t want to risk Candy reading her under garments as a signal that she wasn’t interested.
Moments after she settled under the sheet and calmed her breathing just below a pant, a soft knock on the door sent her heart hammering painfully in her chest. “Come in,” she managed far too loudly.
Candy entered, turned on some nature sounds, and rested her hand on Charlotte’s linen-covered back. “Ready?”
“Yes,” she lied.
Fifty-five minutes later, Charlotte emerged from Candy’s comforting cocoon feeling light and obscenely relaxed. In a haze, she followed her out to the lounge and accepted a cold glass of watered-down salad dressing. Charlotte didn’t even care; she’d never felt so good in her life. Her body was tingling, and her mind was clear.
“You might be a little light-headed, okay? I want you to sit here for a little while,” Candy said with her warm hands on Charlotte’s forearm. It was the most she’d been touched in months and probably the most intimate contact she’d had in years. “Hydrate and when you think you’re done, hydrate some more.”
When she smiled, Charlotte smiled back. “You got it.
Thank you so much. I can’t even —”
Candy gave her arm a squeeze. “Don’t mention it. Just relax a little bit before you get dressed.”
Taking a seat next to a man in his fifties, Charlotte melted into her throne-like chair and stared at the fountain. This time, she didn’t have any trouble sinking into the comfortable padding and losing herself in the sight and sound of running water.
